Page 1 of Please, Stay

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Of course, today of all days, she’d screw-up. Juliana Campbell closed the last button of her crisp white shirt as she tore through the fancy hotel lobby in Atlanta, GA. Late. Five minutes late shouldn’t matter under normal circumstances.

Today it did.

Her private interview with Grayson Moore to discuss his latest film was officially over in ten minutes. She’d secured the final spot on the schedule last month and prepped every day since then.

She pressed the elevator button over and over with one hand while she tried to tuck the new shirt into her black pencil skirt with the other. Too bad her beautiful, silk blouse she’d planned to wear was crumpled in the floorboard of her car, ruined from clumps of pink icing still clinging to the fabric. The front seat also included a nice, long smear of the same bright, pink icing. Her darling niece’s goodbye hug had left more behind than just love.

She’d hustled two blocks to a department store, spent an unbudgeted fifty-two dollars on a new shirt, and gained a nice layer of sweat in the process.

Stupid December heatwave. Atlanta was supposed to be colder than her small town, but the heat must have followed her.

Christmas was a month away. Witnessing a white Christmas was a long shot, but maybe Mother Nature could toss them a cold front or something and give her a chance to wear a scarf and a pair of boots once this winter.

The door to the elevator finally closed, and she waved her hands at her face for some type of air. The mirrored walls confirmed her suspicion that she looked a crazy mess. Her long, maple colored hair hung in a limp heap down her back, and she’d not reapplied lipstick since leaving the house this morning.

Some journalist, she was.

She bolted from the elevator as the doors opened, tossing her hair up and into a neat ponytail to give some type of professional appearance. Clearing her throat, she took a deep, steadying breath and knocked on the penthouse suite.

A woman in her late fifties opened the door. Her gray hair was swept up into an elegant twist and matched her neatly pressed gray suit. Her yellow, cat-like eyes glided down Juliana in judgmental appraisal before she arched an eyebrow to an impressive height. “Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Juliana Campbell—”

“You’re late,” she said with a soft, English accent. She didn’t shift from the door. “Mr. Moore has already left.”

Shit.

“Left?” Juliana checked her watch, panic starting to build in her chest. “But I have seven more minutes left for my interview. I really couldn’t help being late. See, my niece spilled icing on my shirt—”

“Charming story, but as I said, you missed your appointment.”

Juliana ground her teeth together. This was a chance of a lifetime, and she’d blown it. Her father would kill her. Especially if he found out she’d been late because of visiting her sister, Eliza.

Down the hall, a door creaked opened, and a man stepped into the hallway.

Those broad shoulders only belonged to one person. Grayson Moore. He slung a messenger bag across his light blue T-shirt and slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses.

The immaculately dressed English guard dog tapped the toe of her Jimmy Choo high heels, oblivious to his presence. “Is there anything else?”

“Please give him my apologies,” Juliana said and stepped back as the door clicked closed in her face.

Without giving Grayson another look, she managed to walk with some grace to the elevator at the end of the hall and pressed the down button. This was her second chance. She didn’t need more than a few minutes alone with him on the elevator.

He paused a respectful distance behind her. If she could get him to answer a couple questions, a review of his movie would take up the rest of her article in theStatemDispatch. If she were lucky, her dad would remain oblivious. Nothing like his only journalist for the local paper, and its future owner, blundering it completely. She’d been on his good side for a few months now, trying to soften him up. He had to forgive Eliza at some point and finally meet his grandchild. Welcoming her sister home for Christmas in a month wasn’t totally impossible.

The ding of the elevator signaled the start of the race for an interview for the next fifty floors as they both stepped into the small space.

Grayson shifted to the far corner and kept his head down over his cell phone.

“Hi,” Juliana said.

No response.

She pressed the Ground floor button and faced him. Speaking a little louder, she said, “Mr. Moore?”

He made a little sound of acknowledgment but stared at his phone.

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