12. April

CHAPTER TWELVE

april

Max drives me to the stadium and tells me all about his physiotherapy sessions, plural, with Dominique yesterday. They arrived in London a day before me and were already at it yesterday. As was I, so to speak.

He talks fast, chest puffed out like a rooster at dawn, telling me how great he feels and that he doesn't even need the brace anymore. Is it something in the water that makes everyone in London a doctor? I'll be the judge of that. I manage to keep my thoughts to myself and just give him a side eye.

In all fairness, Max is behaving better than I expected as a post-op patient and I don't want to ruin that by telling him off. He's following every piece of advice we've given him, and the results are beyond my highest hopes. Or just what Preston expected.

So I let him go on and on, and in no time I'm smiling too, because his pride and excitement are just irresistible. I borrow his phone to let Preston and Calista know I've lost mine and contact Uber in the hope that the driver found it.

He parks his flashy car near the entrance, runs to open my door, and holds a hand out to help me. I take it because, goddammit, this car is ridiculously low. Once I'm out, he holds both my hands and stands in front of me.

"Thank you, Dr. Hadden." I'm taken aback by the unusual seriousness in his voice. "Coming here was a big ask, I know." He looks down, like he's a bit embarrassed, but when he looks back up at me again, the grin I've come to know, and seen countless nurses fall hopelessly for, comes out to play. "But I must say, it feels good to have my surgeon and my physiotherapist all the way here, in my corner."

He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and pulls my hand, guiding me inside before I get to reprimand him for the, I don't know, millionth time.

Max is more touchy than I consider ideal between a patient and his doctor. But I know that he's like that with everyone, so I try not to read his behavior as inappropriate or take it too personally. I still don't like it, though.

Dom, the physiotherapist, is already at reception waiting for us and Max wastes no time introducing his doctors to everybody. He wants to show us every bit of the stadium. The new owner just renovated it and so far it looks like a work of art. The facilities are the best and most modern I've ever seen, not that I'm the biggest soccer—sorry, football —fan. No, not sorry, that's never going to happen. Soccer. It's soccer.

I'm so delighted and distracted that my nerves about the meeting take a back seat. A lovely lady from HR joins us for the welcome tour and I'm about to be shown inside my new office when another woman comes sprinting down the hall. She looks me up and down as she doubles over, hands on her knees. She still hasn't caught her breath when she asks between gasps if I'm April.

"Yeah, that's me," I answer, a bit confused, a lot wary.

"Hi, I'm Melanie Groff, head of PR. Would you mind coming with me for a moment? I have some paperwork to discuss with you." She takes me by the elbow and before I can say anything, I'm being dragged away.

"Get her back to me soon, Melanie," Max yells.

Her laughter comes out in a weird pitch that might hurt a dog's hearing. "Of course, Max."

Melanie takes me inside her office and offers me a seat. She's blushing, sweating, looking so uncomfortable, and I'm clueless as to why.

She opens and closes her mouth like she doesn't know where to start. Is she sick and asked me here because I'm a doctor?

"Are you okay, Melanie? How can I help you?"

"April, I must confess this must be the most embarrassing moment of my career. I just want to let you know I'm not passing any judgment on your… occupation. Your body, your choice." She clumsily throws her fist up into the air. "You do you. But it's my job to keep the club from the inflammatory headlines and…"

What? She lost me but keeps talking, making no sense whatsoever, going out of breath, gesturing non-stop. Is she having an anxiety attack?

I have no idea what she's talking about, so I interrupt her. "Wait, wait, slow down. Are you okay? Do you need my services? Do you need help with—" Now it's her turn to cut me off, her eyebrows shooting to the sky.

"What? No! I certainly do not need your services." She laughs it off. "No offense, please. You're absolutely gorgeous, but I'm married and I've only ever been with a woman that one time and…"

What the— "Melanie." She carries on babbling. "Melanie! What the hell are you talking about?"

Melanie is the picture of discomfort as she takes a couple of deep breaths. "Okay, straight to the point." She adjusts herself in her seat and says, "I've been made aware that you are a sex worker who had an encounter with Mr. Liam Gunn last night, and today you're here for Mr. Max Sinclair."

Gray bits of my brain matter can now be found on Melanie's office ceiling. I'm what?

"So I must insist you sign this non-disclosure agreement before you leave my office. I've been authorized to pay you a quite generous sum for the inconvenience, but I also need to ask you to leave the premises immediately."

I'm sitting, mouth agape, trying to assimilate everything Mad Melanie has just spilled.

First thing. Liam? How the hell does she know I was on a date with Liam yesterday? And why does she think I'm a sex worker? Oh, and she also thinks I'm Max's hooker? It takes me more than a minute to gather my thoughts. What the actual fuck?

"Melanie. I'm a doctor," I state, as definitively as I can, to eliminate all doubt. I don't know what the hell is going on here, but I know damn well who I am. "My name is April Hadden. Doctor April Hadden. I'm Mr. Sinclair's physician. I don't know why you'd think I'm a sex worker, but this is obviously a misunderstanding." I'm too overwhelmed to process all the emotions running rogue through my body, but confusion is taking the lead.

"Oh, April." She looks to the sides, up, anywhere but at me, desperate for this conversation to be over with. "Please don't make up any more lies. This is hard enough already." She lowers her eyes and her voice. "Mr. Gunn himself saw you here and told me he hired you as his escort last night. There's really no use in pretending."

Wait. "Mr. Gunn, as in Liam? The same Liam that I had a date with last night? Tall, perfect blondish hair, bearded, God's-gift-to-woman-Liam. That Liam? Just so we're clear."

She swallows a laugh and makes her best attempt at a straight face. "Yes, that Liam. Mr. Liam Gunn, the club owner."

"And that same Liam thinks I'm an escort?"

"Yes, my dear, he recognized you, so there's no need to keep up the doctor charade." The poor woman is all sympathy, with a gentle voice and a hand on her chest. "Again, you'll find no judgment in me."

I laugh hysterically. I look around for hidden cameras. OMG! Is Callie behind this? Did someone slip something in my coffee and I'm hallucinating? There's got to be a better explanation than the one I've just heard.

I'm laughing so loud and so hard that tears come running down my cheeks.

To rub salt into the wound, Mad Melanie looks at me like I'm the crazy one.

I'm still cracking up like a maniac when it hits me. I had the best night of my freaking life and he thought I was a prostitute?

All humor leaves my body at once. I stop laughing, dry my face and look poor Melanie dead in the eyes.

There's no use in wasting another breath trying to sway her. Instead, I open my purse, check my makeup in my compact mirror, reapply some setting powder, shut it close and speak without an ounce of emotion, resting bitch face on full display.

"Melanie, please call Mr. Gunn and tell him I'm not signing anything before I speak to him. Pick up the phone and call him so I can hear you say just that."

Now she can and should be scared. Now I'm positive I look like a certified crazy woman.