Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Valentina
When Kaden Crawford Invades Your Subconscious
The incessant ringing of my alarm clock seeps into my dream, dragging me from the depths of something sinful and delicious. Kaden Crawford. That intense gaze of his. His stupidly sexy mouth.
It’s no surprise that I wake up breathless, my hand fumbling around for my clothes like they’re missing. In my dream, I was naked—completely bare in a massive bed that seemed to stretch for miles. And Kaden? He was between my legs, his head buried, his tongue moving like a man starved.
“Good girl,” he’d murmured, his deep, gravelly voice vibrating against my sensitive flesh, making me moan louder, my back arching off the bed. His hands gripped my thighs, keeping me wide open for him, as his tongue worked its magic, licking, sucking, devouring.
The way he flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, had me writhing, begging, desperate for more. My body trembled, pleasure pooling low in my belly as he pushed me closer and closer to the edge.
I swear I can still feel the heat of his breath and the slick wetness of his tongue as I wake up, my pussy embarrassingly soaked, aching, and ready for more.
I groan and roll my eyes, slamming my hand against the alarm clock like it personally offended me. The shrill beeping cuts off mid-wail, but the damage is already done—my peaceful morning is ruined. Not because I had a sex dream. Oh no, that’s not the problem. The real issue?
It was about him.
Kaden Fucking Crawford.
My jaw tightens as I lie there, staring at the ceiling fan lazily spinning above me, like the universe itself is mocking me. I don’t need this kind of bullshit from my subconscious. Not today. Not ever.
“Seriously, universe, take a damn breather,” I mutter under my breath, shoving off the covers with more force than necessary. My skin tingles, remnants of the dream lingering in ways I’d rather not admit. It wasn’t just the usual frustrating banter and smirks that make me want to throttle him—it was . . . more. The way his hands gripped my waist, the rough timbre of his voice, the searing heat in his gaze. Damn it.
My chest heaves as I suck in a deep breath, trying to exorcise the memory. No dice. My body is a traitor, responding to phantom sensations I can’t shake. I shift uncomfortably, the ache between my thighs impossible to ignore.
My eyes flick to the nightstand. The rabbit vibrator sits there, half-hidden under a paperback romance novel I abandoned weeks ago. My lips press into a thin line as I reach for it, hesitation battling with the persistent pulse of need.
“Fuck it,” I whisper, pulling the vibrator free and tossing the book aside. The soft hum of the device fills the room as I slide my panties down, kicking them off to some corner of the room. My body reacts instantly, warmth spreading through me as I guide the toy lower, the first pulse of vibration making my breath hitch.
My free hand drifts to my chest, fingers kneading the curve of my breast, teasing a hardened peak through the thin fabric of my camisole. My head falls back against the pillow, a low moan escaping my lips as I give in. Each thrust of the vibrator pulls me deeper into the haze, and my traitorous mind paints a vivid picture of him—his rough hands, his mouth, his infuriating smirk. It’s primal and maddening, this need that burns hotter with every second.
I bite my lip, the pressure building, my body taut as a bowstring. A fractured cry breaks free as I crest, the intense release leaving me breathless and boneless, sprawled across the bed.
That’s when I hear it—a low, persistent buzzing. Not the vibrator. My phone, vibrating like it’s got somewhere better to be, rattling against the floor like it’s trying to drill a hole to freedom. I squint at the nightstand, noticing the empty spot where it should be. Figures. Even my phone can’t be bothered to stay put.
Groaning, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet meet the icy hardwood as I shuffle around, feeling blindly until my fingers close around the damn thing. I grab it and glance at the screen.
Jacob.
Great. Nothing says “good morning” like a call from Kaden Fucking Crawford’s agent—who also happens to be my brother-in-law. I wonder if he’s calling me from the dining room, but by the look at the time he’s already in his office trying to fix something.
I swear, only my sister can keep up with him. She’s like a saint in steroids.
Dragging myself upright, I swipe to answer but hesitate, my stomach already tying itself into a neat little pretzel. Last night, after I realized that Kaden could go full asshole-mode at any time, I might’ve made a Google alert for anything remotely related to him. Just a precaution, I told myself. And now?
More than a hundred notifications.
One hundred.
“What the fuck could he possibly have done in the span of a single night?” I mutter, dread pooling in my stomach like lead. I can already picture Kimmy’s face turning a shade of red that would make a tomato jealous.
My mind whirls, racing through worst-case scenarios. Did Kaden punch someone? Flip a table? Pick a fight with a bouncer? My shaky hands swipe through the lock screen, desperation taking over as I scroll to the first notification.
And then, my heart doesn’t just drop—it fucking disintegrates.
“No. No, no, no. Fuck no.” The words tumble out in a panicked rush as my eyes lock on the headline glaring back at me. “I wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. I wanted a week, maybe two so I could be more . . . less. I’m not sure, but even though this was the plan I’m so not ready.”
And there it is. A gossip site, complete with a photo of Kaden and me at the restaurant last night. The exact moment he wiped chocolate off my face, immortalized forever. The caption?
Kaden Crawford’s New Mystery Girlfriend Sparks Dating Rumors.
Mystery. Girlfriend.
My mouth falls open as waves of horror crash over me. For now, I’m just some “unnamed woman,” but it’s only a matter of time before someone puts two and two together.
I groan loudly, sliding down the wall until my ass hits the floor. My phone dangles from my fingers as I stare at the photo like it might burst into flames if I glare hard enough. This is a fucking disaster. A nightmare.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, letting my head thunk back against the wall. My hair sticks to the sweat on my neck, and I shove it away, the frustration bubbling up like a volcano ready to blow. This was supposed to be a smooth transition—not . . . whatever this is.
My head spins, a nauseating mix of dread and panic. How the hell am I supposed to spin this? Two shitty options flash through my mind. Option one: make Kaden look like a womanizing asshole. Option two: turn him into the victim of an elaborate PR scheme. Either way, I’m screwed. My job? Gone. My sanity? Hanging by a thread. Worst of all, I’ll have to talk to him.
I close my eyes, exhaling sharply as a new thought creeps in, cold and unwelcome. He’s going to find out. And when he does? Oh, Kaden’s going to fucking love this.
The phone buzzes in my hand, snapping me back to reality. With a groan, I swipe to answer the incoming three-way call from Jacob and Kimmy. Perfect. Nothing like a group strategy session to salvage a clusterfuck.
“Please tell me you’re already fixing this,” Kimmy’s voice is tight and exasperated. “Because the phone calls I’ve gotten this morning? Un-fucking-believable. One guy literally asked if Kaden’s planning to announce his engagement today. We weren’t ready to go viral this fast, what happened to the plan?”
“Engagement?” I shriek, practically swallowing my own tongue. “To who, a carton of milk? He doesn’t even commit to his favorite beer, let alone a woman.”
“Your sister is going to kill me,” Jacob says. “I’m trying so hard to convince her that I’m not pimping you, it’s just a publicity stunt. With this . . . I don’t think she’ll believe me.”
Before I can answer Kimmy says, “Relax. This isn’t as bad as it looks. We spin it right, keep the story organic, and nobody has to know it’s fake.”
I blink at the phone like Kimmy just suggested I moonwalk across hot coals. “You want me to sell this as real when just a few days ago there was a big scandal?”
“Well, that was the plan all along,” she says, unfazed. “If the media already believes it, let’s lean into the narrative. Make it look natural, like you’re just a private couple caught off guard. People eat that shit up.”
Jacob snorts. “Natural? Kaden doesn’t do ‘natural.’ He’s about as warm and fuzzy as a cactus dipped in vodka.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So what’s the plan here? You want me to meet with him and . . . what? Stage some cutesy date for the cameras as of right now? I needed more time to get to know him.”
“Well, your time is up,” Kimmy announces. “Text him, set up a meeting, and actually, you two should probably move in together.”
I freeze. Is she kidding? I’m not moving with a stranger just for publicity’s sake. That’s my hard limit, she can fire me if she wants. Sharing a house with another man . . . and one I work for is a big no.
I let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, because talking to Kaden Fucking Crawford is such a walk in the park. Moving in with him . . . I’d rather move back in with my ex-husband. I prefer to stay here, with my sister.”
“No, you don’t need to leave,” Jacob says.
“Why don’t you move in with him, Kimmy?” I propose.
“Better you than me,” Jacob deadpans.
“This isn’t a game,” Kimmy says. “I’m not the one he’s allegedly wiping chocolate off of.”
Ignoring the heat rushing to my cheeks, I pull up my text messages and send him a quick, painfully neutral note.
Valentina: We need to meet. ASAP.
Kaden: I heard, apparently you’re moving in with me.
Valentina: We can avoid that.
Kaden: Good. No offense, but I don’t know you well enough to take that leap. But you can come to my place so we can discuss your plan. I don’t want to be seen out and about on my day off.
By nine o’clock, I’m showered, dressed, and standing in front of my closet, debating if the pencil skirt and blouse combo screams “business professional” or “fake girlfriend who has no clue what she’s doing.” I settle for a crisp white blouse, tucking it into the charcoal skirt, and throw on a pair of low heels. Professional enough to look like I have my shit together—comfortable enough for damage control.
I grab my bag and toss in a few essentials. A jacket in case this disaster spills over into the evening, some paperwork, and my anti-anxiety meds. Talking to Kaden isn’t exactly my idea of a fun morning, but it’s not like I have a choice.
By the time I step outside, the Boston air feels crisp against my skin, doing little to calm my nerves. My heels click against the pavement as I head to my car, gripping my bag like it holds the last shred of my sanity.
I’m off to meet my fake boyfriend soon to be fiancé. What could possibly go wrong?