Page 125 of PR Stunt

The words land in the space between us. He turns around, jaw clenching. His eyes are rimmed with frustration. His eyes move away and then back again, like he’s searching for something to say and coming up empty.

This is too much. My stomach twists, my pulse is a little too loud in my ears, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I’m not naive. I know about Lydia.”

A sharp flash of confusion crosses his face. “What?”

“The morning after…” I hesitate, but it’s too late now, so I just force the words out. “I accidentally grabbed your phone in Mexico. I saw.”

Grayson’s brows furrow. “Charlie…”

“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t even try to lie. I saw the text.”

His jaw clenches. “That’s why you left?” His voice is quieter now, like he’s just realizing how it hadn’t even crossed his mind before. “That’s what all of this has been about?” he asks in disbelief. “You should’ve read the whole conversation. If you’d told me, I could’ve explained.”

“I didn’t have to. Pretty sure I’m looking forward to getting dirty”—I lift my hand, mimicking quotations—“implies plenty.”

“Jesus Christ.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then lets it drop to his side, his fingers curling against his thigh. “You saw an out-of-context text and ran with it?”

Well, yeah, literally. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It should matter. Considering the way you left. The way you—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head and exhaling sharply through his nose. “Charlie, the reason Lydia texted me was to ask for tips on the celebrity mud race. It just got announced that she’s competing in it. That’s it.”

Then he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips through it, and sets it on the island between us. I look down, suddenly unable to meet his eyes as I read through the conversation. A flush creeps into my face. He’s telling the truth.

“Since the night I was seated beside you,” he says, exhaling slowly, like he’s forcing himself to push through it, “it has only been you.”

My breath catches.

Grayson’s hands press against the counter, his fingers flexing slightly like he wants to reach for something, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t know what else to say to convince you.” His voice is careful, each word measured, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing but more afraid of saying nothing at all. “I don’t want anyone else. I haven’t. And if you had asked me, you’d have known that.”

It’s too much. It lands too hard, and I do feel guilty for jumping to conclusions, but the situation is still the same.

“Well, either way,” I say, forcing a shrug, “this was all for a contract.” I press forward, “It’s not like we had a formal agreement, saying this had to be a real relationship.” I gesture vaguely, brushing past the ache in my chest, the way my pulse stutters. “The contract is done now.”

The silence is too loud. Can he just leave already?

I blink, glancing up just in time to see Grayson reach for the stove and turn off the element. The soft sizzle of butter and noodles dies out instantly, and the only sound left in the room is the steady thud of my own heartbeat. When I finally meet his eyes, he’s already looking at me.

And I know that look. I feel something crack inside me.

“I don’t believe you,” he says. Then, slowly, without breaking eye contact, he reaches up and tugs at his tie, loosening it with one hand.

I swallow hard.

He shrugs it off, tossing it onto the counter before taking a step forward.

My breath stalls.

“I don’t believe you,” he repeats, softer this time, like it’s a fact. “That this was only pr. That you feel nothing.”

I open my mouth, ready to say something, but he cuts me off gently.

“Stop.” His voice is quiet but firm. “You don’t have to do that with me. I don’t want the media-trained version of you. I want you. The real you.” He takes another step.

“You kissed me back,” he says, still closing the distance between us. “You looked at me like you wanted me.”

His voice drops, almost a murmur now. “So tell me, Charlie. If it was only for the contract, then why do you still look at me like this?”