Page 117 of PR Stunt

Chapter 35

I wake up slowly, stretching until my toes graze the edge of the sheets. God, I haven’t slept this well in months. Maybe even years. My body feels loose, sated. Like every muscle melted overnight, and the tension I’ve been carrying vanished. I shift onto my back, inhaling deeply. The pillow still smells like him, but the bed is empty. Frowning slightly, I blink toward the other side, my fingers brushing over the sheets. Cool to the touch. Then I hear it: the rush of water coming from my bathroom. Heat creeps up my neck as flashes of last night hit me all at once. The shower. The heat. The steam. Grayson.

I bite my lip, glancing toward the bathroom door. Maybe I should join him… For a second, I actually consider it. Then I stretch again, letting my limbs flop back down against the mattress. Today’s the last full day in Mexico. We are supposed to fly home tomorrow. Originally, I planned to spend it sprawled out by the pool. But now… Maybe we’ll go surfing again. Or I wonder if Grayson has a favorite food spot we could go to, maybe go jet skiing. I’d love to stay longer. I’ll ask him if he’s open to extending our trip by a couple of days now that we are… What are we exactly? I bite my lip.

A phone on the nightstand buzzes, and I blindly grab it. I sit up in bed, my brows pulling together as I read the text.

I’m looking forward to getting dirty.

“Who the hell is Lydia?” I blurt.

I quickly realize this is not my phone.

I rack my brain, coming up short. The name doesn’t ring a bell. No actress, no publicist, no one from his team that I can think of. Curiosity prickles at the back of my mind. Acting on instinct, I reach for my own phone, quickly typing her name into social media. A stunning woman fills my screen—long black hair, striking features. I click the pinned post at the top of her profile. New York Fashion Week. She’s tall, slender, all legs, and has incredible bone structure. No. It can’t be. My spine snaps straight as I click another photo. She’s laughing, running along a beach, the sun catching in her dark hair. I squint, zooming in on her face, my pulse hammering in my ears.

My stomach twists violently.

The woman from the Silver Lining fundraiser. Weeks ago, at the very beginning. The one who made it her mission to get Grayson’s attention over dinner. Her manicured hand brushing his arm.

Her laugh too loud, too deliberate.

I stare at her name at the top of his missed texts. My ears start ringing.

My thumb swipes through her photos too fast, vision blurring, careful not to double tap. Each one sends another sharp pang through my chest.

I can practically hear Juno in my head. Don’t be rash, Charlie.

But I’m already there. At my breaking point.

The constant stream of headlines. The photos. The way every article finds a way to tie him back to someone else. His past is always louder than our present, and I’m just tired.

I can feel my walls building back up, brick by brick, each one stacking higher than the last.

Defense mode.

How could I be so stupid? So naive?

It’s only been one night together in this truce, and no, we never said anything about exclusivity, but I still thought what we had, or whatever we were building, meant more. Never had that talk. And yet here I am, struggling to breathe around a tightness in my chest that refuses to let up. My eyes sting. My heart pounds. And somewhere deep down, I already know. I’m pulling away. Curling back into myself. Protecting what’s left. And at the end of the day, it isn’t my business. He doesn’t owe me an explanation.

I hear the shower turn off.

The sound breaks me out of my trance. I blink, my fingers tightening around my phone before I force myself to move, scanning the room in a blur. I shove the covers off, swinging my legs out of bed. My hands shake as I start frantically shoving my things into my suitcase, barely registering what I’m grabbing, just knowing that I have to go. I sprint back through the living room, grabbing my sandals from the front door before running back to my suitcase and tossing them in without a second thought. My charger is still plugged in beside the bed. I yank it free, wrapping the cord around my fingers as I grab my phone again.

I type fast, my fingers trembling.

Me

I need a ticket home ASAP.

I toss the charger into my suitcase, my heart hammering as I glance at the door.

Hailey

On it. I’ll email you the confirmation. Is everything okay?

I stare at the message, my pulse pounding in my ears. My gaze drops, registering that I am still wearing a robe, the one that still smells like him, like last night. A fresh wave of nausea rolls through me. I reach for the first thing I see in my bag, shoving it over my head, barely processing what it is. Just needing to get the hell outta here. The bathroom door swings open. Grayson steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist and steam curling behind him. His hair is damp, drops of water sliding down his chest.

He’s mid-grin, his mouth just about to form words, until his eyes land on me.