Page 2 of Please, Stay

“I’m Juliana Campbell. We were supposed to meet at five for the interview. I had a little mishap and just got here.” He looked up. His eyes were still hidden behind expensive sunglasses.

“I explained to the lady that answered the door that I understand I don’t get the full fifteen minutes, but if I could at least finish out my time slot.”

He pulled the glasses off. His eyes, the color of the Mediterranean, met her own. He took a slow glance at his watch. “You have four minutes.”

“Great—”

“As long as I get to ask you a few questions as well.”

Her stomach knotted. What could an A-list actor possibly want to know about her?

“I’ll start.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, confirming her best friend Becky’s question about Hollywood’s tendency to airbrush. Nope. No airbrushing necessary. His simple shirt defined every muscle. “Why do you have pink icing on your…” He trailed off as his lips spread in a slow smile. “Skirt?”

Her mouth dropped open as heat crawled up Juliana’s neck. She twisted around and checked the back of her skirt in the mirrored elevator wall. Sure enough, a six-year-old’s handprint in bright pink icing looked like she’d gotten a good-game butt slap from the Easter bunny. That really screamed professional.

She shook her head. The floors were flying by, and her time was almost up. She’d deal with her skirt and embarrassment later. She needed to ask at least one question. “What made you choose the role in your latest movie?”

He pointed at her skirt. “You have to answer my questions if you want me to answer yours.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up. “I baked cupcakes with my niece this morning, and she managed to smear icing all over me when I wasn’t looking.” She held up her notepad and pen. “Why did you choose this part?”

He met her level look with a serious one of his own, slightly mocking. “Because Thomas Fitzgerald has as many bad qualities as good, but he’s portrayed as a hero. It always fascinates me when people cheer for someone so flawed.”

Juliana opened her mouth for a follow-up question, but he held up his hand. “Nope, my turn. Is the icing incident why you’re wearing a new shirt?”

“How did you know?” She ran a hand down the front of her shirt. She’d taken that sticker off the front.

Grayson pushed away from the wall. His slight smile made him look like he knew a big secret she didn’t, but she damn sure wished she did. He took a step toward her. An unfamiliar heat crept over her skin. With his next step, his body towered over her own, blocking out the dim glow from the recessed lights in the ceiling. Suddenly, reality didn’t exist in their small corner of the elevator.

His hand reached behind her shoulder, his fingertips brushing across her neck.

She licked her parched lips. How was this happening? For a moment, the amusement in his eyes vanished.

Juliana took a breath. He smelled like the beach. Warm and sunny. It matched his dark, Spanish complexion like he’d spent his life lounging along the beaches in Ibiza. She focused on a small white scar along his eyebrow. How did he get that?

His fingers caressed her neck again in a featherlight touch. Her knees weakened. She reached out, thinking to brace herself on the wall but instead resting her hand on his hip. Life moved in slow motion as the elevator descended.

He tugged on something.

Andthatdestroyed the dream.

She closed her eyes. Damn it. “It’s the tag, isn’t it?”

Unconstrained laughter laced his voice as his minty breath fanned over her face. “Do you want it on there?”

“Nope.” Talk about a perfect moment ruined.

The tag snapped off with a twist of his hand. The heat from his body faded.

Juliana opened her eyes like her dream had never existed. Hot movie stars weren’t interested in small-town girls like her anyway. She’d seen some of the women he’d dated in the past. She’d only fit into that lifestyle as the wallflower little sister with dollar store shoes.

The door to the elevator opened. Time’s up. She flipped her pad close and shoved it in her purse. “Thanks for giving me a little bit of your time.” Her embarrassment was a minor blip on her radar compared to the wrath of her dad for failing to get the story. The doctor had just increased her dad’s medicine, too. Doubtful that even prescription drugs could keep his blood pressure from skyrocketing when she told him her interview blunder.

“Was that the only question you had?”

She paused and looked over her shoulder when he didn’t move to get out of the elevator. “No.”

Grayson tilted his head to the side. What did he find so amusing? A late, messy journalist? Crap. He was looking at the icing on her skirt. She shifted to hide it.

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