Page 24 of Faking the Shot
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?
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.”
