Page 97 of The Publicity Stunt

I head to the mirror and run my hands down the front of my dress. At least I look much better than I feel. My hair’s still a little frizzy from the shower steam, but what can you do?

My phone buzzes.

Tony: Sure, honey. The more, the merrier. ;)

Resisting the urge to type, “Can I bring your mom too?,” I slip on a pair of beige pumps and walk to the TV cabinet to grab my purse. It’s right about then when I notice something atop the glass surface.

A beat. And another. I go on staring at it, hesitant to reach out. Scared that if I do, it’ll disappear. Maybe it will. Maybe I’m hallucinating.

I’m put in my place as soon as my fingers wrap around the cold, wet exterior of the to-go Venti Starbucks cup. The butter croissant lying next to it starts to seem real too.

I turn the cup around and read:Venti Iced Latte for Chere. I look up at Parker, who’s still fast asleep, being the most perfect human being known to mankind.

When did he even get the time to bring me this? There’s a piece of white paper jutting out of the brown Starbucks paper bag.

I pull it out and—oh, my heart.

An iced latte and a croissant “espresso-ly” for you. Kick some butt today :)

This. Man.

I reread the note ten times before folding it in a neat square and placing it in my purse. How is he real? I wouldn’t even be this cute for myself.

Quickly pulling out my phone, I tap open the camera app and take a selfie with the latte, sporting a puppy-dog face.

Me: BRB. On my way to kick everyone’s butt.

I drop the picture in our text chain and stuff the phone back inside. Slowly, I tiptoe over to him and plant a soft kiss on the back of his head.

* * *

It’s only been ten minutes since I stepped into Tony’s room, but I think it’s safe to say I will not be kicking anyone’s butt today.

“How on Earth does someone lose an entire person?”

Kripke says nothing, seeming annoyingly calm about the whole debacle.

“His interview is in less than six hours,” I go on. “What are we going to do?”

Kripke pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a sigh. “Miss Moore, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down and take a seat.”

I stop my nervous pacing and turn to face him. “Calm down? Are you kidding me? Tony is missing!” I clasp my hand shut right in front of his face to emphasize my point.

He doesn’t flinch at all. Instead, he gets up from his chair and brings his hands up, hovering on either side of my shoulders. Not touching. Just hovering.

I frown at him, then at his hands. “Wha-what are you trying to do?” I ask, my eyes darting between his hands and his face.

“Trying to get you to have a seat.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I sit down and look up at him. “There. You can stop with the craziness now.” I put my face into my hands and muffle another loud sigh of frustration. How the hell am I supposed to locate Tony before his interview in a city that’s known for its “party scene”? He could be anywhere. He could’ve very well reached Vegas by now. Fuck. This is it. This is my villain origin story. “Have you tried calling him?” I ask Kripke.

He gives me a blank stare. “Yes. No answer.”

I get up and take out my phone from my purse, wiping my sweaty palms on the side of my dress. “Have you checked his socials?” I open Instagram to do it anyway.

“I don’t have social media.”

Of course, you don’t.