Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
Valentina
How to Fake It and Fall
The thing about your life falling apart is that it rarely gives you any notice.
One minute, you’re happily sipping your third iced coffee of the day, trying to convince yourself that pretending to date Kaden Crawford isn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made. The next? Your phone buzzes with a notification that threatens to send you spiraling into full-on cardiac arrest.
brEAKING: Kaden Crawford’s ‘Relationship’ with Publicist Valentina Holiday Exposed as Fake.
My heart plummets straight through the floor as I stare at the screen. The headline blares back at me like a neon sign for my impending doom.
“No, no, no, no,” I whisper-shriek, fumbling to refresh the page. Maybe it’s a glitch. A prank. Some cruel cosmic joke.
It’s not.
The article loads with the kind of speed that only bad news can achieve. There’s my face, there’s Kaden’s infuriatingly handsome smirk, and there’s a photo of us at some restaurant last week. To the untrained eye, it looks like a couple sharing a private moment. To me, it looks like my career circling the drain.
My phone buzzes again. Another notification. Then another. My brain goes into overdrive as I scroll through the avalanche of headlines.
“PR Disaster? Kaden Crawford’s Relationship Exposed!”
“Hockey Star Plays the Field—and the Media!”
“Love or Lies? Inside Kaden Crawford’s Fake Relationship.”
Oh, for the love of overpriced lattes.
I pace my room like a madwoman, clutching my phone in one hand and a throw pillow in the other because apparently, panic cleaning is my default setting. “Okay, think. THINK,” I mutter to myself, spinning in a tight circle like that’ll somehow manifest a solution.
A loud buzz rattles the coffee table, and I lunge for it, fully expecting a text from Kaden. Or Jacob. Instead, it’s my sister, Noelle.
Noelle: You, okay? Just saw the news. Call me when you’re done hyperventilating.
The panic threatens to overwhelm me as I glance around my room, my gaze landing on the mountain of paperwork I’ve ignored over the weekend because Kaden and his parents wanted to go to Maple Ridge.
“This can’t be happening,” I mutter, sinking onto the couch and clutching the throw pillow like it’s a life raft. “It’s fine. I can fix this. I fix things for a living. This is what I do.”
Except this time, it’s me that needs fixing. And Kaden. And the reputation I’ve spent years building.
Oh God, Kaden.
The thought of him sends a fresh wave of panic crashing over me. What is he doing right now? Is he freaking out too? Punching a wall? Or worse—scrolling through social media and feeding the fire with one of his infamous snarky comments?
I groan and flop back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some divine intervention. “Pull it together, Valentina. You’ve handled worse than this.”
Have I, though?
I grab my phone and pull up Kaden’s number, my thumb hovering over the call button. Before I can talk myself out of it, I hit dial.
He answers on the second ring, his voice low and exasperated. “Let me guess. You’ve seen it.”
“Seen it? Kaden, it’s everywhere. My phone is blowing up like I just won the lottery and lost it all in the same day.”
“Relax,” he says, like it’s that simple. “It’s not that bad.”
“People know we faked it,” I snap, pacing like a caged animal. “This is not going to fix your image. It’s like all our hard work has gone down the drain. Do you know what that does to my career? To your career?”
“I know what it does to my sanity,” he says. “If my career is over, I don’t give two fucks. Not even a little. You, on the other hand—I do worry about you and yours. So what if they’re saying this is fake? Fake was a few months ago. Now it’s . . . well, real, I think?”
“Umm . . .” The words stick in my throat, tangled up with questions I’m not ready to face. Is it real?
He lets out a long sigh, and I can practically feel the tension radiating from him through the phone. He’s probably running a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his jaw. “Look, Val. What’s done is done. We need to figure out our next move.”
I stop mid-pace, clutching the phone like it’s the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. “Our next move? There’s no we here, Kaden. I have to fix this, or I’m going to be blacklisted by every client who doesn’t want to be associated with a PR scandal.”
“Which is why we need to stay ahead of the story,” he counters, his voice firm, no room for argument. “We can’t let the media control the narrative.”
I groan, flopping back onto the couch in defeat. “Do you have any idea how hard that’s going to be? Half the internet thinks we’re frauds, and the other half thinks we’re in some kind of secret enemies-to-lovers situation.”
Kaden’s quiet for a beat, then lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Enemies to lovers? That’s a new one.”
“This isn’t funny, Kaden,” I snap, heat rising to my cheeks.
“I’m not laughing,” he says, though the smirk in his voice is undeniable. “I’m just saying . . . maybe we use that.”
I blink, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean, use that?”
He hesitates, then sighs like he’s about to pitch something ridiculous. “If people think we’re enemies who fell for each other, maybe we let them. It’s messy, sure, but it’s also interesting. People love a good redemption arc. Think about it—hotheaded hockey player falls for his no-nonsense publicist. It’s a Hallmark movie waiting to happen.”
I stare at my phone, my jaw slack with disbelief. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he admits, unapologetic. “But do you have a better idea?”
I hate that he has a point.
“Fine,” I mutter reluctantly. “But if we’re doing this, we need to look the part.”
“Already ahead of you,” he says, and I can hear the smug grin in his voice. “Just tell me where and when, and I’ll show up with my best ‘lovestruck idiot’ face. I mean, I am in love with you, baby. It’s just a matter of wearing you down and convincing you I’m worth sticking around.”
His words hit me like a rogue wave, knocking the air out of my lungs. My mind spins, trying to process the casual confidence with which he says something so . . . big.
I mean, we were heading in that direction but in love? Is he? Am I even close?
“You better be Oscar-worthy with that ‘lovestruck idiot’ face, Crawford,” I kid, trying to keep my tone light.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he replies, his voice a low drawl. “It comes naturally. You’ll see.”