Public Relations

Chapter One

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A/N: Hello Readers! So glad you have clicked on this story today! Firstly, I want to issue a very serious trigger warning for rape/sexual assault, sexual assault involving drugging, non consensual touching, vomit, nightmares/flashbacks, panic attacks, mental health struggles including anxiety and PTSD, and swearing. If you aren't at a mental place to handle intense subjects like that, I completely understand and I hope you are able to get the help you need.

If you're still here, I hope you enjoy reading this story. Despite the intense trigger warnings, this is a cute romance fic that I hope you enjoy. Avery and Jameson are literally my favorite ship to write and I love that my readers encourage it!!!

Happy reading!!!

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Hawthorne Heiress Avery Grambs Back in Texas After Recovery From Last Month's Public Breakdown, Sources Find.

Phillianthropist and Socialite Avery Grambs is "In Therapy and Making a Steady Recovery," Heiress's Publicist Says.

Teenage Billionaire Avery Grambs Exhibited a "Clear Decline in Mental Health" Months Before Episode, Experts Claim.

I look up from the shitstorm that has become my Twitter feed, and out of the SUV window. A clear, candy blue sky roles by, dotted with the tops of pine trees. I blow my hair out of my face and lean against the window, my features smashing against the tinted glass.

Right as I start to put my phone back into my backpack, it vibrates in my hand.

New Message from Alisa Ortega:

"Meeting in your room when you get back to H.H. Do NOT try to get out of it."

"Fuck me," I mutter, banging my head against the headrest before telling Siri to call Alisa.

"I told you I'm not interested in pressing charges right now," I snap the instant the phone stops ringing.

"This isn't about that, Avery," she says calmly.

"Then what is it about?"

She sighs as I hear the creak of her leaning back in her ancient desk chair. "Just get to the meeting, please," she says, before hanging up without a "goodbye."

I tell Oren to drive 15 miles under the speed limit and spend the rest of the car ride in annoyed anticipation.

When we pull into the driveway at snail speed, and Oren opens my door for me, I drag my feet to the front door and then up to my bedroom. I take a second, resting my hand on the knob and my forehead on the door, getting ready to face whatever ridiculous lecture waits on the other side of it.

I exhale, and turn the knob, letting myself into the room.

The first thing I see is Jameson, sitting with his legs crossed in one of my electric blue velvet chairs. He's still in his Heights Country Day uniform, pressed maroon blazer and all, sitting across from Theresa, my new publicist, and Alisa, who's aggressively flipping through files on her laptop.

"Welcome, Avery," Theresa says, her hands neatly folded in her lap. "Please, have a seat."

I take up her suggestion and sit next to Jameson, straightening my skirt and asking why I'm here.

Theresa takes off her cat-eye glasses, folds them, and smiles at me, in that empty-publicist way she always does. "Avery, it's no secret your image of intelligence and sincerity has...suffered since last month's incident. You went from a rare example of put-togetherness in the world of teen superstars to a girl who's outburst got picked up by the biggest gossip columnist in the country. And while the more recent headlines—your therapy, your return to the state, Alisa's statement on your progressive recovery—are better than what was coming out a month ago, you don't quite have your footing back."