Page 98 of The Publicity Stunt

I’d kill for Eric to be here right now. I would’ve abused his intern status to the hilt. Sent him running through the entire state of California, scouring every corner for Tony.

I enter “Tony Martin” in the search bar and click on his profile. No stories, no posts, nothing. Shit. I swipe left to see his tagged photos and right then, I get a text from Parker.

It’s a screenshot of his lock screen: the picture I sent him this morning.

Parker: Get your cute ass back to this room this instant.

Now I’m sweating and smiling.

“Is it him? Is it Mr. Martin?”

I look up to see Kripke staring at me expectantly. “Um, no. No, it’s not Tony.” I don’t want to tell him it’s Parker and get another lecture on how unprofessional I’m being. I don’t need that right now.

“All right, we need to sort this out in the next two hours,” I tell him with a newfound conviction in my voice. “You’re gonna go ask the front desk if they saw anything, or saw him leave. Ask them if we can get access to the security footage. I don’t care how, but please get that done.

“I’m going to comb through every bar, pub, and smoke shop in a three-mile radius. We got here last night at one. Even if he left at two, I’m sure he would’ve started out by going someplace nearby.”

“Miss Moore, we’ll find him,” Kripke assures.

Not sure where he’s getting this unlimited supply of optimism, but it’s borderline irritating. I put on my black blazer and head toward the elevators. God, I’d kill for another iced latte right now.

I step inside and press for the lobby. I need a quiet place to sit if I’m going to be able to rent a car in the next ten minutes.

The elevator doors open and I step out, iPad in hand. Every step I take, I feel multiple knots form in the pit of my stomach, piling over each other. I have six hours to find Tony, prep him for the interview, and get his hair and makeup done. The knots get tighter and I take a seat on one of the white leather couches in the lobby.

I unlock my iPad and start scrolling through the car rental options displayed on the screen. The Upper East Sider in me refuses to settle for anything that’s not an SUV or a Honda Civic. But the rent-paying New Yorker in me needs to suck it up and take anything that’s available on short notice if I don’t want to get fired. I keep scrolling for another few minutes when I feel a firm hand on my shoulder. I turn around.

Parker gives me a small smile and walks over to sit next to me.

“What’s up? I thought you had the interview with Tony. Was one coffee not enough for Her Highness?” he jokes, tilting his head to the side.

I let out a small laugh. The first one of the day. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

Parker leans his weight to the side, facing me entirely. I notice his T-shirt is a bit wet.

“I went to the gym. I showered. Evidently, I didn’t dry myself off completely.” He shifts a bit in his seat. “It’s not sweat, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“Oh. No, no. I was just—” I force a weak smile and the knots come undone. “Tony’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yup.” I rub the side of my neck.

“Isn’t his interview today?”

“Yup,” I repeat. Christ, how many 1980 Corvettes are there on this website?

“And your plan is to scroll through car rentals till he magically shows up?”

I stop scrolling and turn to him. “I’m renting a car so I can go look for him before his interview. Which is in six—” I push back the sleeve of my blazer to uncover my watch. “Nope, five hours.”

“All right, give me ten minutes. I’ll change into something that’s not wet,” he says, gesturing at his torso. “Meet you back here.” He gets up and starts walking toward the elevators.

“Wait, what?”

He turns around and says with a light shrug of his shoulders, “I’m coming with you.” As if it was that obvious.

“You don’t have to do that. You have work to do too. What about the canyons?”