Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Valentina
Don't Mistake Smug for Sweet
I didn’t bring more than my anxiety meds and a jacket. Why didn’t I plan better? Who knew Kaden would decide to hole up at his family’s home in upstate New York for the day? Not me, obviously.
The thought nags at me as I walk across the tarmac toward the helicopter.
“Miss. What’s your name? Are you and Kaden Crawford an item?”
The paparazzi are out in full force, cameras clicking and voices overlapping in a relentless barrage. Thankfully, I’d slapped on a full face of makeup before stepping out of Kaden’s very expensive luxury car. I don’t stop to answer their questions—I’m not stupid—but I toss them a few polite, shy smiles, keeping my pace brisk and confident.
Anyone worth their salt in PR knows body language is as good as speaking. Let them infer what they want. The quieter I stay, the wilder their headlines will be tomorrow.
By the time I reach the helicopter, my nerves are already buzzing like I downed three espressos. Kaden stands nearby, blending in about as well as a tiger at a petting zoo, even with his baseball cap pulled low and sunglasses perched on his nose. His posture is all sharp lines and tension, his broad shoulders squared as if daring anyone to get too close. Protective, almost neanderthal-like. When he sees me approach, his mouth tightens, but his hand rests lightly at the small of my back, steering me toward the chopper.
It’s a small gesture, but something about it makes my heart stutter—probably the fear of flying kicking in.
“Let’s go,” he mutters, his deep voice cutting through the paparazzi chatter. Without waiting, he leads me toward the steps.
Inside, the pilot hands us noise-canceling headphones. I fumble with mine for a second before settling them over my ears. The cabin smells faintly of leather and jet fuel, and I swallow hard, trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach. Kaden sits across from me, dropping into his seat like the weight of the world is resting on his broad shoulders.
“You look like you might have a hangover,” I shout, my voice louder than necessary thanks to the headphones.
He winces. “Could you not?” His tone is clipped, and he doesn’t bother opening his eyes.
“The pilot’s okay, right?” I ask, leaning forward slightly. The question feels ridiculous, but my anxiety doesn’t care—it’s a wild animal clawing at my chest.
Kaden cracks one eye open and looks at me, his scowl softening just a fraction. “He’s the best. Thousands of hours of flight time, both commercial and military.”
That’s slightly reassuring, but as the helicopter’s blades start to whir and the ground blurs beneath us, the fear claws its way back to the surface. My hands grip the armrests like they’re my last lifeline, fingers digging into the soft leather.
Suddenly, Kaden’s hand covers mine, his touch warm and grounding. A spark zips up my arm, catching me off guard, but it’s quickly drowned out by the rush of panic as the helicopter tilts upward, leaving the ground behind. I squeal, my breath hitching, and without thinking, I bury my face in the crook of his arm, clutching him like he’s the only thing tethering me to reality.
His scent—clean soap and something woodsy—floods my senses, and for a second, I forget about the spinning world outside.
“We’re safe,” Kaden says softly through the headset.
I let out a shaky breath, lifting my head just enough to meet his gaze. “Sorry. I usually take a Xanax before flying, but I didn’t this morning because . . .”
He scrunches his nose slightly, like the idea of rushing offends him. “I guess that’s my fault.”
I pull away, offering him a tight smile. “A heads-up that we’ll be flying next time would be nice.”
He nods, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes again like the conversation is over. Typical. But I’m too wound up to let him drift off just yet.
“Are you drunk?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He groans, tipping his head back slightly. “Not drunk. I had a few too many last night, but I’m fine this morning.”
“Really?” I arch a brow, leaning forward. “I didn’t think someone like you even drank.”
His lips twitch like he’s amused, but he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. “Let me guess. Stick-in-the-muds don’t drink?”
“Not usually. You’re a control freak. Drinking doesn’t seem very . . . you.”
His laugh is short, almost a chuff. “Fair. But I was home with two of my brothers. Even control freaks take the edge off now and then.”
I lean back, watching as he settles further into his seat, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s guarding himself from the world—or maybe just from me. Whatever. At least he’s here, and for now, we’re both still alive.
“So did you see the news about us?” I ask before he can shut his eyes and pretend I don’t exist.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll discuss it when we arrive at my parents’.”
So, he did see that everyone thinks we’re a couple. That’s a relief. At least I won’t have to awkwardly show him the headlines on my phone, complete with the mortifying photos.
“I just . . .” I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts. “This isn’t what I wanted. To be plastered all over social media. I wanted something natural, slow, organic—with a few pictures, maybe. But not this.”
Kaden huffs, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “I suppose fifteen minutes of fame would appeal to just about anyone.”
My jaw drops. The snide remark lands like a slap, and I instinctively pull back, fighting the urge to smack the smug look off his face. Usually, I let his attitude roll off me, but this? This eats at me.
“You think I care about getting my face in the paper?” I snap, sitting up straighter, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I chose a career in public relations so I could keep my face out of the news. This is the last thing I want. You think I’m looking forward to people digging through my past and personal details? I had a very messy divorce—not exactly headline material you want tied to your ‘girlfriend.’”
That shuts him up. The anger drains from his face, replaced by something closer to surprise. He leans forward slightly, his brows furrowed. “You’re divorced?”
“Yes,” I say, my tone clipped.
“How old are you?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
“Thirty-one,” I reply, folding my arms across my chest. “College sweetheart. I thought he was my forever. Turns out he’s found several forevers since me—younger, of course. He has a type. Girls in their early twenties.”
Kaden’s expression shifts again, the hard edges softening into something almost . . . kind. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice lower but more sincere now. “For what it’s worth, he’s a fucking idiot. You’re definitely a catch.”
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “This ‘catch,’ as you put it, had her husband say, ‘It’s definitely you. I’m falling for someone else, and before I cheat on you, we’d better go our separate ways.’” My voice cracks slightly at the end, but I force a smile, determined to keep my composure.
Kaden lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “He’s still an idiot. If he couldn’t see what he had in front of him, that’s on him. You deserve better than that.”
The words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t think of a response. His gaze holds mine just a beat too long before he leans back again, slipping his sunglasses on like he hasn’t just peeled back another layer of my carefully guarded walls.
And just like that, the grumpy asshole has me questioning who he really is.