Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Valentina
Fixing Your Image, One Lie at a Time
And this is exactly why I should’ve left my sister’s house months ago. If I’d just sucked it up and found a cozy studio—or even one of those overpriced lofts with “character” (translation: exposed pipes and a skylight that leaks)—I wouldn’t be here.
Instead, Jacob dragged me out of bed at an hour when I should be slathered in a face mask, listening to a true crime podcast, and blissfully minding my own business. Now, I’m planted in his office well past midnight, in that hazy time of night when my brain feels like it’s wrapped in gauze. Not that Jacob’s crisp, ridiculously expensive office lighting cares about my exhaustion.
The massive screen in front of me glows with the PR team’s faces, scattered like a corporate Brady Bunch. They’re all in California, of course—looking effortlessly alert and camera-ready—while I sit here in sweats, clutching a mug of tea like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. After a year of working with this company, I’ve developed a love-hate relationship with how they always look so polished, as if they walked straight out of a lifestyle ad.
Kimmy, my boss, keeps saying, “You need to try harder, Valentina. Just because you’re behind the camera doesn’t mean you can look like you’re barely trying. No more regular clothes and minimal makeup. You need to look on par with the trending fashion and makeup.”
“I really appreciate you coming in, Val,” Jacob says, handing me the tea like it’s some magical olive branch meant to erase the fact that he ruined my night.
I shoot him a flat look that practically screams, you owe me big time. “You dragged me out of bed. This wasn’t voluntary. So, what’s the emergency?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he clicks a button, and the screen floods with video clips. I squint at the first one, then the next, and within seconds, the puzzle pieces start to fall into place: Kaden Crawford, the famous hockey player and son of the Mathieu Scott Laferty—legendary captain of the Boston Barracudas in the ‘80s, beloved by the city for leading them to three championships—and John Dominic Crawford, an iconic quarterback whose name is still synonymous with record-breaking plays, just had the world’s messiest public breakup.
Poor bastard.
His now-ex-girlfriend didn’t just dump him; she staged an entire public meltdown. There she was, in the middle of a packed bar, live-streaming a tear-filled rant in front of his teammates and her legion of one hundred thousand followers. She called him cold, selfish, inattentive—the holy trinity of breakup insults.
But here’s the kicker: she forgot to turn off the camera. She also forgot that others could be recording the scene.
By the time she climbed into her getaway car, she let it slip that the whole thing was a calculated ploy. A little revenge for Kaden not making their relationship “online official” or introducing her to the WAGs. Then there are other videos where you can see how she slapped him pretty hard after being an asshole to him—right before the big break up.
Now it’s all backfiring. Hard. Her followers turned on her faster than you could say hashtag accountability. But not before Kaden’s image took a nosedive. Thanks to her dramatic exit, he’s now “the guy who made her feel invisible and mistreated her.”
I scroll through the trending videos, my tea going lukewarm as I watch the chaos unfold. Something about Kaden feels . . . familiar, but my foggy, caffeine-deprived brain can’t place him right now.
Meanwhile, the PR team is in full damage-control mode, their voices overlapping as they throw out phrases like “narrative shift” and “crisis rebranding.”
“Why do I feel like this is about to become my problem?” I mutter under my breath, shooting Jacob a side-eye.
His guilty smile tells me everything I need to know.
“Kaden Crawford is a pain in the ass,” Gloria, one of my colleagues, says, not even bothering to mute her mic. “I worked with him on one project right when he hired us, and I couldn’t stand him. Entitled, aloof, and completely convinced the world revolves around him. This is karma doing its thing.”
I raise an eyebrow, curious to hear more, but before I can ask any questions, Jacob jumps in.
“As you all know, Kaden Crawford is one of our biggest clients,” Jacob begins, his tone calm but firm, though the tension in his jaw betrays him. “He might not be the poster boy everyone wants, but he brings in major endorsement deals and media attention. We can’t afford to lose him.” He pauses, his gaze sweeping across the screen. “Also, his parents and siblings are my clients. They called me personally to handle this. This breakup is all anyone’s talking about. Even though the Barracudas pulled off a win last night, the media is obsessed with Kaden.”
“Great,” someone mutters. “So, what are we supposed to do? He’s blown through dozens of reps, and he doesn’t listen to anyone. If he suddenly starts acting like a choirboy, no one’s going to buy it.”
They’re not wrong. I clear my throat, cutting through the noise. “Changing the media’s opinion of someone isn’t impossible, but it takes something big. Weddings, babies, even a death in the family—those are the kind of monumental shifts that make people reconsider their narrative. You just have to find the right angle to make this go away. He didn’t make it official because he has a girlfriend. Clearly, this Brittany girl didn’t get the memo that they weren’t a thing and was actually just a puck bunny using him.”
I don’t like throwing her under the bus, but her video made it pretty clear that her goal was to ride Kaden’s fame as long as she could.
“Well, it’s our job to make the media believe the unbelievable,” Kimmy says, puffing out her chest like she’s delivering a speech of a lifetime. I suppress a laugh—she doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken.
Listen, I like my job—I can do it from anywhere—but days like today remind me that I’m not exactly climbing the corporate ladder. Maybe all I need is one chance to prove myself—a client, a project, anything to show what I can really do. Or maybe it’s time to start looking for something new, or even take a leap and build my own business. After all, isn’t this supposed to be my big reinvention era?
“Still,” Gloria grumbles, “what do you expect us to do? The guy’s impossible to work with. It’s like the more we try to help him, the more determined he is to screw it all up. He doesn’t listen—ever.”
I nod silently, waiting for Jacob’s response, though this whole situation feels like a real-life soap opera. I’m caught somewhere between cringing and wanting to grab popcorn.
“Leave that to me,” Kimmy says confidently, her tone leaving no room for debate. “Our immediate priority is shifting the focus back to last night’s win. That’s what we need the media talking about.”
Her gaze sweeps across the room—or at least, it feels like it does—and for a moment, her eyes linger on me. My stomach tightens, anticipation and dread curling together. Could this be my chance? Or is she just looking for the next person to throw under the bus?
I shake off the uneasy feeling. Why would she be looking at me? I’m just here for moral support. Right?
“He’s in Boston,” my boss says, smirking like she’s about to drop a bombshell. “Valentina, I have great news for you.”
I blink, instantly suspicious. “Great news? Do tell.”
Before she can elaborate, the door swings open, and in strides the man of the hour.
Kaden Crawford walks into the room with an energy that immediately draws every eye. He’s tall, with broad shoulders that stretch the seams of his shirt just enough to make you take notice. His jaw is set, the hard lines of his face making him look like someone who’s used to getting what he wants—or at least fighting for it.
He looks . . . familiar. For a moment I wonder where I’ve seen him then I remember it’s obviously the videos I just watched. This is what happens when you’re working without caffeine at midnight.
His dark eyes scan the room, assessing everything and everyone with an intensity that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. He’s unfairly handsome, the kind of good looks that feel deliberate, like he was designed to make people forget how to form complete sentences. And, judging by the way my stomach twists, I’m not immune.
“Let’s get this over with,” he says, his deep voice carrying an edge of irritation as he pulls out a chair and drops into it like he doesn’t care if it holds.
Jacob clears his throat. He pulls up one of the clips of Brittany’s meltdown, freezing the frame on her teary, mascara-streaked face. A collective cringe ripples through the room.
“As you know, Brittany made quite the spectacle,” Jacob starts, gesturing at the screen like it’s exhibit A. “And while her followers turned on her for not turning off the camera, the damage to your image is already done.”
Kaden leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his jaw working like he’s grinding down a bag of invisible rocks. “And how exactly is that my problem? She’s the one who made a fool of herself.”
“Yes,” Jacob agrees, his tone maddeningly patient, “but in the process, she made you look like the villain. And we already covered that no one wants a villain.” He clicks to another clip, where Brittany’s dramatic exit is on full display.
“Add to that the fact that you’re not getting along with your new team and . . .” Jacob pauses for emphasis. “We have a lot to show this town, your fans, and the world of hockey.”
Kaden lets out a low, irritated growl. “She wasn’t even my girlfriend,” he mutters. “You said to keep her around for damage control or to look like a puppy. I can’t even remember the wording.”
“We’re aware,” Jacob says, not missing a beat. “But the world doesn’t know that. They think she was a steady girlfriend, and now you’re the bad guy—again. We need to do a complete makeover of your image.”
Kaden gives him an unimpressed glare. “What’s this? The Taming of the Shrew? Twelfth Night?”
I snort, unable to hold back the thought of Kaden playing Katherine instead of Petruchio.
“What’s so funny?” he snaps, glaring at me. “I assume you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Or is that not a fact in your database?”
It’s such a weirdly formal way to phrase it that I almost laugh again, but instead, I say, “You’re Katherine. Well, in this case, Kaden. Get it? Kate, Kade. We just need to find your Petruchio. “
Crickets. Nobody laughs. I roll my eyes. “Obviously, you don’t get it.”
“I get the joke,” Jacob says then glances at the rest. “This isn’t the time, Val.”
I want to tell these people they need a sense of humor, but I don’t. I know Jacob doesn’t have it. Unless he’s around Noelle. Then he’s all smiles and sweetness.
“In any case, we pivot the focus to something positive,” Jacob continues, the picture of unbothered confidence. “The good thing is that you do have a girlfriend, after all. Your Petruchio, if we must use the analogy.”
That gets Kaden’s attention. He sits up straighter, his steely eyes narrowing. “I have a what now?”
“A girlfriend,” Jacob repeats smoothly, like this is the most obvious solution in the world.
“I don’t have time for that shit,” Kaden snaps, shaking his head. “You want me to just pull some random woman out of thin air and pretend she’s the love of my life?”
Jacob’s smirk grows even more devilish, which I didn’t think was humanly possible. “That’s the beauty of it. You won’t have to find anyone. We’ll provide you with one.”
I almost choke on my tea, my throat deciding now is the perfect time to betray me. I stifle the sputter as best I can, but Jacob’s gaze snaps to me anyway, catching me mid-failure.
“Val’s the one who came up with some suggestions,” Jacob continues casually, like he hasn’t just taken my life and tossed it directly into oncoming traffic. “I think she could find us the perfect candidate—someone who’ll work with her to clean up your image up once and for all.”
I blink at him, utterly dumbfounded. “What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath.
Kaden’s gaze cuts to me, his irritation palpable. “She did, did she?”
Oh, perfect. Now I’m the scapegoat. This is going to go south faster than a snowbird in December, and I’m the one who’s going to get fired.
“Well,” I say, carefully setting down my mug like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality, “I didn’t exactly volunteer for this. Anyone else could do it. Literally anyone.”
“But you are our best bet,” Jacob cuts in smoothly, not missing a beat. “You’ve got an eye for these things, Val. And Kaden can’t afford any more mishaps. You’re a great judge of character, you’ve proven yourself with other clients, and—best of all—you live in Boston. Makes it easy to keep things local.”
The room goes dead silent, everyone waiting for my reaction like this is a live-streamed episode of What the Hell Will Val Do Next? Meanwhile, Kaden’s gaze drills into me, his frustration practically steaming off him.
“So what?” I blurt, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. “You want me to go to an open audition? Head to Broadway and hire an actress? Maybe plaster a ‘Help Wanted’ sign on the local coffee shop? Or should I just hold a casting call in Fenway Park?”
Jacob, unfazed, merely adjusts his tie. “It doesn’t have to be that complicated. You know the kind of person we’re looking for—professional, polished, believable. Someone the media will eat up. Think girl next door meets sports celebrity.”
Finally, I exhale, throwing my hands up in defeat. “Fine. Let me just open my magical Rolodex of women who are dying to date a guy whose personality can best be described as abrasive at best .”
“ Abrasive at best ?” Kaden echoes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You want her to pick some random stranger and parade her around like my fucking soulmate?”
“Not random,” Jacob interjects, his tone still maddeningly calm. “Strategic. And temporary.”
Kaden raises a skeptical eyebrow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Temporary?”
“Yes, temporary,” Jacob confirms, as if he’s explaining how gravity works. “We’re talking a season. A year tops of dating her. Long enough to shift the narrative. After that, you’re free to go back to your usual bachelor routine, but within limits.”
“Fantastic,” Kaden mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locking onto mine. “Since it sounds like you’re so good at this PR stuff and apparently have a knack for ‘cleaning up my image,’ I’ve got an idea.”
I narrow my eyes at him, already bracing for whatever ridiculous thing he’s about to say. “Oh, do tell.”
“I choose you,” he says, his tone casual, like this is some low-stakes suggestion. “I want to date you. You’ll be the one reforming me in front of everyone.”
The words land like a bomb.
I blink, certain I misheard him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He leans back now, folding his arms across his broad chest like this is the most logical decision in the world. “You’re the PR expert. It’s sound like if anyone can sell the world on me being a changed man, it’s you. Plus, you won’t let me screw this up.”
My mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. Meanwhile, Jacob is absolutely thrilled by the development, clapping his hands together like Kaden just handed him the PR win of the century.
“I agree,” Kimmy, who’s been quiet the whole time, suddenly chimes in.
“Oh, Kimmy, I didn’t see you there,” Kaden’s jaw twitches.“I should’ve known you were involved in this dumpster fire.”
“Now that’s thinking outside the box,” Jacob says, ignoring the animosity toward Kimmy. Or maybe redirecting it. “Val, this could work.”
I whip my head toward him. “This is not my job. My job is behind the scenes—media strategy, crisis management. I can write a great press release. I’m not getting dragged into some fake relationship with Mr. Hockey Hothead over here.”
“Not fake,” Kaden says, that infuriating smirk of his making a full comeback. “It’s temporary. And strategic, right? You said so yourself.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I snap.
He shrugs, casual as ever. “Probably. But I’m also out of options, and apparently, you’re my best shot.”
I glance around the room, silently begging for someone else to step in and shut this down, but nope. Not Jacob, not Kimmy, not Gloria, not a single member of the PR team has the decency to intervene.
Fucking fantastic.
I take a deep breath, gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing tethering me to sanity. “Let me get this straight. You want me to date you? Publicly? As part of some grand image makeover?”
Before Kaden can answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out and glance at the screen, a text from Kimmy that feels like the final nail in the coffin:
Take this on and fix his image, or you’re out of a job.
Great. Just fucking great.
Kaden nods once, his expression alarmingly serious. “Exactly.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. A grin, a sarcastic laugh—anything to tell me this is a joke. But no, he just sits there, looking like he genuinely believes this is a viable plan.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say, shaking my head like that’ll knock some sense into him.
“It’s the only one we’ve got. Believe me, I’m not that thrilled that you’ll be the one pretending to be with him,” Jacob cuts in. “And Kaden’s right—if anyone can pull this off, it’s you, Val. However, you better be nice to her or I’ll bury your ass and you won’t be able to play anywhere—not even in the North Pole, get it?”
Kaden nods. “Got it.”
“As Valentina mentioned earlier,” Kimmy adds, her tone far too upbeat for my liking, “this can’t just be about a random event or a few photo ops. It has to feel like a life-changing moment. You two need to start dating soon, but you’ll need to gear up toward a proposal.”
“A proposal?” I shriek, thrusting my hand in the air and wiggling my bare ring finger. “Look at this. It’s perfectly happy without a fucking ring. I don’t need to get married.”
Not again. Not even in a pretend world. I’m happy as a single person. Just me.
“It’s fake, remember? The proposal would have to wait until they’ve been seen together for at least a few months—six maybe?” Jacob says, like that’s supposed to make this better. “And again, everything is temporary.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my glare sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re officially my least favorite brother-in-law.”
Jacob smirks. “I’m your only brother-in-law,” he points out.
“Same thing,” I snap, my arms crossing tight over my chest as I throw another daggered glare in his direction. Meanwhile, Kaden leans back in his chair, looking infuriatingly at ease.
“You could have anyone,” I say. “Some tall, blonde model. I’m too . . . blah.”
Kaden’s brow arches, his lips twitching as if he’s fighting back a smirk. “Blah wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe you,” he says, his tone low and almost amused. “Besides, you’re pretty, smart, and someone I can actually have a conversation with. People would believe it if I said we met at a trivia night down at the local coffee shop.”
I freeze mid-eye-roll, narrowing my gaze on him. There’s something about the way he says it—too casual, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And then it hits me, like a bolt of lightning to my already overcaffeinated brain. My mouth drops open. “Wait a second . . .You’re KC?”
He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, a smug grin firmly in place. “Kaden Crawford,” he says, tapping his chest with mock modesty. “See? We’ve already had our first and second date.”
I gasp, feeling my face heat up. “Oh my god. The trivia guy? The one who ordered a latte with half espresso and half oat milk? And then argued with the barista about the Oxford comma?”
“That was a valid debate,” he replies, his tone unrepentant. “And for the record, the Oxford comma matters.”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “This is why people don’t like you.”
“Because grammar matters?”
“No, because you argue about everything and anything.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “ They don’t need to like me. Just you. It’ll make the whole fake dating thing more convincing.”
“Fake dating?” I throw my hands in the air. “We’ve barely established a fake meet cute. You’re a walking, talking red flag wrapped in sarcasm and bad decisions.”
“Wow.” Kaden places a hand over his chest like I’ve physically wounded him. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Oh, trust me, I will,” I snap. “Starting with the fact that you?—”
Jacob interrupts with a cough that sounds suspiciously like it’s hiding laughter. “You two are gonna do great at this. Really selling the couple vibe.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue with him.
Kaden, the asshole, chuckles softly, and it’s annoyingly warm and rich, like he’s savoring my misery. He stands, brushing imaginary lint off his jeans before shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look,” he says, all infuriating calmness, “we already know people will buy into it. You thought I was someone else, and it worked. Let’s just lean into it.”
“You mean lie,” I deadpan.
“Spin the truth,” he corrects, his smirk growing. “It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?”
I stare at him, my mouth opening and closing like I’m trying to find the right words. Instead, I let out a huff of disbelief. “This is going to blow up in your face, and I can’t wait to watch.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, already heading for the door. “I’ll make sure you’re in the splash zone.”
I stare at Kaden as he disappears out the door. This is not how I imagined my night going, or even my week. Or my life, for that matter. And the worst part? I’m stuck with him.