Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Valentina
The Fumble Recovery Plan
Everything is such a mess.
When I came here this afternoon, I thought it would be a simple apology. Kaden’s technically my brother-in-law’s client, so I figured I owed it to Jacob to hear him out and smooth things over. But, of course, Kaden Crawford had to turn everything upside down.
Instead of just apologizing, he offered me a job. Not through the PR firm that threw me under the bus—no, he wants to hire me directly. And, as if that wasn’t enough to leave me reeling, he added a curveball: he missed me.
He. Missed. Me.
Not just professionally—he missed me as a person. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and I had no idea what to do with that.
Then, he made things even more complicated by suggesting we date. Like it’s some casual thing you throw into a job offer.
Now, I’m sitting at Kaden’s sleek dining table with my laptop open, a notepad beside me, and a growing sense of unease. Staying to work on this plan wasn’t supposed to be part of my day’s itinerary, but here I am.
Across from me, Kaden sits with his brow furrowed, flipping through some papers like he’s actually taking this seriously. His damp hair curls slightly at the ends, evidence of a recent shower, and the plain black T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his biceps in a way that’s unfairly distracting. I focus on my notes, refusing to let myself get sidetracked by him.
“You’re quiet,” he says, not looking up from the papers. “Should I take that as a good sign, or are you plotting my demise?”
“Neither,” I mutter, scribbling a note about upcoming press opportunities. “Just trying to figure out how to make the world believe you’re not a complete asshole.”
“Good luck with that.” His lips twitch, and he sets the papers down. “So we’re only focusing on the job part, huh?”
“And the dating part,” I say bluntly, raising an eyebrow. “Because, seriously, who combines a work proposal with a dating proposal?”
“Someone who knows what he wants,” he replies without hesitation.
I stare at him, unsure if he’s being serious or just trying to throw me off balance. “This isn’t exactly how people usually approach things.”
“Well, I’m not exactly usual,” he says, leaning back slightly. His voice softens. “I know I fucked up, Val, but I’m not playing games. I missed you. Not just because you’re great at what you do, but because I like having you around. A lot more than I probably should.”
For a moment, I don’t know how to respond. The words feel heavy, weighted with meaning I’m not ready to unpack. “Let’s just stick to fixing your image,” I say finally, glancing back at my laptop. “One thing at a time.”
“Fair,” he says, but there’s something in his tone that tells me this isn’t the end of that conversation.
By the time we’ve hashed out a few ideas, my stomach growls loud enough to echo in the room. Kaden raises an eyebrow.
“Hungry?”
I shrug, embarrassed. “Didn’t have time to eat lunch and it is almost eight o’clock.”
“Figures. You’re always working.” He pulls out his phone. “What do you want? Chinese? Pizza? Thai?”
“Whatever’s fastest.”
He grunts, scrolling through options. “Thai it is. But you’re picking the dishes. I don’t need another repeat of that pineapple chicken disaster from last time my siblings were here.”
“Wait—did you just admit you made a mistake?” I gasp, clutching my chest dramatically. “The great Kaden Crawford slipped?”
“It was Killion’s fault for distracting me.” He glares at me, though the corner of his mouth quirks up and he sighs. “Don’t push it, Holiday.”
I grin and lean over to take his phone, deliberately brushing his hand. The brief contact sends a tiny spark zipping up my arm, and I hate how much I feel it.
After the order’s placed, we settle back into work. But as the minutes tick by, my focus starts to waver. Kaden is too close, too warm, too . . . Kaden. He’s tapping a pen against the table, his lips pressed into a thin line as he studies the screen of his laptop. And I hate how much I notice the way his shoulders flex when he shifts in his chair.
“Got something to say?” he asks without looking up.
“Nope,” I say quickly, pretending to be engrossed in my notes.
The doorbell rings, breaking the tension. Kaden gets up to grab the food, and I take a deep breath, trying to collect myself. When he returns with a bag full of takeout containers, he sets it down with a satisfied grunt.
“Dinner is served,” he announces, handing me a pair of chopsticks. “Don’t say I never feed you.”
“You ordered it. That doesn’t count as feeding me.”
“Details.” He smirks, opening a container of pad Thai.
We eat at the table, and it’s easy. No arguments, no tension, just two people sharing takeout and tossing around ideas for his new image. Every now and then, I catch him watching me, but I ignore it. I have to. Because if I let myself think too much about how good he looks, or how comfortable this feels, I’ll lose my mind.
As the evening winds down, I glance at the clock and realize how late it’s gotten.
“You can stay,” Kaden says, cutting off my excuse before I can even make one. “It’s late, and you look exhausted.”
“I’m fine?—”
“Holiday.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “You’re staying in the guest room. End of discussion.”
And just like that, I’m spending the night at Kaden Crawford’s place. What could possibly go wrong?
The blare of my alarm clock jolts me awake, and I slam my hand down on it to stop the incessant screeching. The abrupt silence feels like a blessing until I turn over and squint at the sunlight streaming through the window. For some reason, it seems brighter today—blindingly so.
Dragging myself out of bed, I stretch and throw on a loose sweatshirt over my tank top before making my way downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that makes me think Kaden is probably still sleeping—or maybe he went for a run. Either way, it’s peaceful, and I’m determined to take advantage of the calm.
The kitchen is pristine, almost too pristine, like it’s barely used. I glance around, taking in the sleek countertops and high-end appliances. It’s the kind of kitchen that begs to be cooked in. I rummage through the fridge and cabinets, pulling out ingredients for a frittata—eggs, spinach, cheese, some leftover roasted veggies. I’ll make some pancakes if he wants, so I take out the ingredients to. A quick, easy breakfast.
I crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them with a fork and sprinkling in salt and pepper before setting it aside. The pan goes on the stove, a little butter sizzling as it heats up. While I wait, I pull out my phone and start scrolling through social media.
The usual nonsense. Pictures of influencers’ brunches, a viral video of a cat wearing sunglasses, and then—us. There we are, Kaden and me, kissing in that staged-but-not-quite-staged moment at the airport. The headlines are calling us a “hockey power couple,” and I nearly choke on my own breath.
We’re going to need more than a few fake smiles and a public kiss to sell this. The goal is to show Kaden as a reformed citizen—someone the media and his team can root for. But how do you humanize someone who spends most of his time growling like an angry bear?
Lost in thought, I don’t hear him until he’s standing right there.
“Morning.”
The deep rasp of his voice startles me, and I turn to see him leaning against the doorway. He’s bare-chested, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung athletic shorts. His hair is damp, messy in a way that makes him look stupidly attractive.
“Good workout?” I ask, trying to sound casual while my brain supplies a very detailed mental image of those abs pressed against me.
“Yeah.” He smirks, grabbing a water bottle from the counter. “What about you? Planning on burning the house down?”
I frown, confused, until I realize he’s staring at the stove. “Oh shit.”
The pan is smoking, the butter nearly burned, and I frantically grab the eggs, pouring them in to stop the crisis. My heart races as I try to salvage breakfast.
“Relax,” he says, taking a long drink from his water. His Adam’s apple bobs, and I can’t stop myself from staring. “You’re lucky I came down when I did.”
“Lucky?” I mutter, focusing on stirring the eggs. “I had it under control.”
“Sure you did,” he teases, stepping closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the small kitchen.
I can’t help but notice how his broad shoulders seem to fill the room, or how his scent—clean soap mixed with the salt of sweat—lingers in the air. My mind betrays me again, conjuring thoughts of his hands sliding under my shirt, his fingers teasing my nipples, his lips trailing down my neck. Would he take his time, savoring every reaction, or would he push me to the edge, commanding my surrender?
God, I want him to make me moan.
“Valentina.”
His shout jerks me out of my daydream, and I whip around just in time to see a small flame sparking on the stove.
“Oh fuck,” I yelp instinctively reaching out with my bare hands.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kaden roars as he grabs me around the waist and yanks me back before I can touch the flame.
I stumble into him, my back hitting his chest, and for a moment, all I can feel is the heat of his body and the firm grip of his arms around me. The air feels charged, like every nerve in my body is tuned to his presence.
“You can’t just stick your hand in a fire, Holiday,” he growls, his tone threaded with frustration—and something else. Concern?
I stumble backward, pushing the flour bag and dropping some on the counter and myself. This day can’t get any worse. I sink onto the floor, my legs giving out as the adrenaline crashes over me. My hands rest on my knees, my breathing uneven, and I glance down at my flour-dusted arms and shirt, feeling sticky, ridiculous, and utterly drained.
Kaden turns back to me, slightly out of breath. When he sees me sitting there on the floor, he immediately drops to his knees in front of me. His hands move over my face and arms, his dark eyes scanning me like he’s checking for burns.
“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low but urgent. The intensity of his concern makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to think too hard about.
I blink at him, my lips twitching as I push back the adrenaline still coursing through me. “I’m fine,” I mumble, brushing some flour off my leg.
His hands linger on my arms for a moment longer, his gaze searching mine. “You scared the hell out of me,” he mutters, his tone softening.
“You know,” I say finally, “I’m really starting to question my culinary expertise when I’m around you.”
His brows lift, and I can see him trying to suppress a laugh, his lips twitching as he fights it. But it’s a losing battle. He throws his head back and laughs—a deep, booming sound that’s so full and genuine it seems to shake the walls around us.
Despite my embarrassment, his laughter is infectious. I can’t help it—I start laughing too. Soon, we’re both sitting on the flour-coated floor, clutching our sides as we howl at the absurdity of the situation.
As the laughter dies down, I reach up to my hair, grimacing as my fingers find clumps of flour. “Ugh, I’m a mess,” I mutter, pulling at what feels like a hardened chunk.
“Nah,” Kaden says, his voice softer now. “You’re beautiful.”
He reaches out and gently wipes a streak of flour from my cheek, his fingers lingering there. The playful glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with something deeper. His gaze locks on mine, and my breath catches in my throat. The way he’s looking at me feels like a pull—like gravity shifting to center around him.
I know what’s coming. He’s going to kiss me. It’s written in the way he closes the distance between us, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s giving me a choice. But there’s no hesitation in me—I don’t want to stop this.
There’s no audience, no cameras, no performance. Just him. Just us.
Closing the last inch of distance, I press my lips to his.
The moment our mouths meet, everything else fades. His lips are warm, firm, and insistent against mine. I let out a soft moan as he tilts my head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushes the seam of my lips, and I part for him, welcoming the heat, the taste of him, the way he makes my head spin.
This kiss is electric—passion and hunger wrapped in a moment that feels like it might burn us both alive. My hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping him as if he’s the only thing keeping me steady here on the flour-dusted kitchen floor.
The kiss breaks, but his forehead stays pressed to mine, our breaths mingling in the charged air between us. My back is against the cabinet, his knees planted on either side of me, grounding us in this messy, unexpected moment. My heart is racing, and I can feel the same energy humming through him.
If I was confused about how I felt about Kaden Crawford before, this kiss clears everything up.
I’m falling for this man—hard and fast—and I have no idea how to stop it.