17. April

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

april

I'm typing that report for Preston when a beautiful young lady knocks on my door and pops her head in.

"Hi, there. Are you Dr. April?" I do the courtesy of answering her, even though we're both well aware she knows who I am. She attended both meetings earlier today, shadowing Liam's every step, even though we never got a proper introduction. Guess it's easier to pretend she didn't testify to her boss being a jackass to me.

"Yes, I am. Please come in."

She has big green eyes and pale freckled skin. She might be even younger than me. Her auburn hair is gathered in a high bun, aging her a great deal, but I think that's her goal. Her whole look, demeanor and excessive makeup, purposely and successfully ages her. I've been down that road, trying to pass myself off as older in the hopes of gaining a little more respect from others. Makeup became war paint and set the mood for the tough exterior I wanted to portray. Nowadays, my work's earned me the recognition I craved.

"Sorry for dropping in unannounced, but I have a delivery for you." She's sporting a naughty smile that, by this point of the day, terrifies me to the core. Never a dull moment in my life, I swear. I don't know if I can handle any more surprises today.

She hands me a brand new iPhone with a sticky note attached to the box. "Glad to have you with us. Welcome to Chelsea FC." She gives me a wink and leaves in haste.

The note reads:

Were you aware that Apple makes olive branches now? This is one.

In case yours is still lost, here's a new phone for a fresh start.

L

Liam's not giving up, is he? It's safe to guess that a man like him doesn't hear a lot of nos. The phone is unnecessary and changes nothing. I'm friends with Callie. Expensive gifts from rich people don't impress me.

But I kind of appreciate the Post-it. This simple handwritten note I'm now reading for the third time.

Fine, seventh.

I consider sending the phone back, but I think accepting his gift and still refusing a date will taunt him more. And goodness, I do need to call Callie as soon as I get home. Wouldn't surprise me if she has really reported me as a missing person by the time she sees my email. I get my new phone working and text her and Pres my new UK number.

The next few hours are filled with paperwork, getting acquainted with the place, the people, then booking exams for Max and a meeting for me with the chief of ortho from King Edward Hospital.

That will be a much better use of my time than babysitting Max twenty-four-seven. And having a part of my fellowship training in London won't look too shabby on my resume either.

By the time I'm done, Max and Dom have already left. Max invited us to dinner with his teammates, ‘something light and low carb' . Ha! As if that would entice me. Plus, I'm beat so I gave it a hard pass. Dom, on the other hand, was thrilled to hang with a bunch of footballers and almost skipped his way out of here.

The receptionist calls me a cab, and two breaths after I'm settled into the back seat, I doze off. My sleep is all messed up due to jet lag and the exerting activities that kept me from getting much sleep last night.

The driver wakes me up when we arrive and I'm just thankful he didn't deviate from the route to steal any of my organs and leave me in an ice-filled bathtub. I'm still half asleep as I climb the steps to the gate of my new unhumble abode.

Locking the door and placing the keys at the same place as yesterday starts to build some familiarity to the place. It's not even 7 pm. I can't go to sleep now.

I flirt with the fancy coffee machine in the kitchen, but opt for something even stronger. Callie.

Untying the pale greenish-blue bow from the welcome hamper I haven't had the chance to open before, I call my best friend. Oh, wow. Dinner is sorted. Thank you, Fortnum & Mason.

I video call Callie from one of the bar stools at my kitchen island and lay my elbow on the cold marble counter to help me support the weight of the iPhone . That's how spent I am.

I chomp away, waiting for her to digest my latest news while she's on a monologue, repeating "girl" with every inflection imaginable.

"Girl… What?" Disbelief. She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind, and looks at me like she can smell something funny.

I give her time to process everything and try a pistachio biscuit next. Yum .

"But… girl, no, no, no, back up…" Confusion. To my surprise, her eyebrows meet at the bridge of her nose. She must have missed a Botox appointment. Calista is on a crusade against her imaginary wrinkles and I'm so not here for that.

Oh. My. God . Are these the best chocolate truffles of my life? Yes or absolutely? I nod to myself and let Callie carry on.

"GIRL, HOW? HOW?" Perplexity. Her pitch is high. Her nostrils grow wide, her eyes pop and I laugh at the scene playing in front of me before I try the dark chocolate bar and moan in appreciation.

"Ohmygod, girl!" Utter shock. Eyebrows touching her hairline. Yeap. She most definitely skipped the Botox. Good for her. But then again, I take notice of dark circles under her eyes and get a bit concerned for my friend. I'm gone for two days and she looks like she's already taking extra shifts at the hospital.

I make a mental note to ask Preston to keep an eye on her while I'm away. I put down the jar of lemon curd I didn't bother opening.

"GU-URL!" Okay, she's finally smiling. There's my Callie. Her eyes sparkle and I laugh, unable to match whatever her mad imagination is concocting at this second.

"Girl, I know." I finally join in, then pop another truffle in my mouth and smile, recognizing the mischief on her face too well.

"Honestly, I'd ask if you made that shit up, but no offense, you're not that creative." That's it. I made it in life. I've stunned Calista Maverick. " Even I am not that creative."

I laugh so hard I choke a bit on my chocolate. "None taken. I wouldn't come up with something like that in my wildest dreams." I cough a little more and clear my pipes with a gulp of rhubarb sparkling water. Nope, that just ruined it. I put the telephone down to get myself a glass of delicious, normal, flawless tap water.

"Hey. What about the other Liam?" she wonders, and a twinge of guilt stabs at me for not asking about the guy first. Hell, one Liam is enough for me to handle at the moment.

"You tell me. I'm not downloading or going anywhere near Tinder ever again."

Callie snickers and asks for a second to login to my account. Her eyes move from side to side, reading the messages on the app. She throws her head back, hollering. "He was there. He thinks you stood him up." Her eyes squint shortly after and her laughter dies a sudden death. "Oh, dude got rude." Callie huffs, exasperated. She recites as she types what she's about to send him. "‘Hi hun, is your phone waterproof? Cause your fragile masculinity is leaking.' There. Now block. Delete. Boy, bye." She stares back at me. "But wait up, let's go back to the wrong Liam. The sex was good?"

I turn to the sink to refill my glass and not face Callie while confessing this. "Oh, Callie. So much better than good. It was the best ever." I miss it already. Has it even been twenty-four hours yet?

"And you still said no to another date with him?" I'm back to the counter and find her making that weird smell face again, making me feel like I'm being unreasonable.

"Of course I said no." I do my best to sound as pragmatic as my usual self, when the thought of him makes me feel anything but. "He's my boss." Erhhh, but is he really? To be confirmed. It doesn't matter. We're still working together. "He thought I was an escort, Callie. He made other people at my workplace think I was an escort, too."

I run my free hand through the long strands of my hair. "Arrrrrgh, it's too complicated. Just thinking about the last two days gives me a headache. He owns the club that hired me to look after Max's recovery." Not sure if I'm trying to convince her or myself at this point. "It's too messy. It's a no-go."

She cocks a single eyebrow and gives me her dirtiest smile. "Hierarchy wouldn't be enough to keep me away from the best sex I've ever had. Just saying."

I don't smile back, determined not to entertain this hypothesis.

"It's not just that, Callie. Apparently, he's a big shot around here. There are loads of stories about him online."

She smiles a knowing grin. "Oh, I see. We did some googling, did we?"

Of course, she had to catch that. "Okay, fine. I googled him. Sue me." I wait for her gloating laughter to subside before I carry on. "Seriously, now. Max gave me a ride to the stadium this morning, and some paparazzi followed us. He drove like a maniac to ditch them. And he acted like that was just another Monday." That gets her worried. "Can you imagine if someone had taken pictures of Liam with me last night? It's my career we're talking about here."

"'Kay, fine. I see your point."

I move to the couch, dropping my full weight on it. The cushions yield to me, molding perfectly to my body. I hum wordless, undying love promises to the furniture. Settled in, I throw an accusing look at Callie before I ask, "Do I attract crazy people?"

She deadpans, unfazed. "I'm your best friend. There's your answer." She waves a hand in the air to dismiss me, feigning impatience. "Now stop distracting me and let's circle back to Good Dick."

"Good Dick is a no dick from now on. He's my boss. He's too rich, too famous and too old. He's forty-two."

She turns even peppier and annoys me much more. "And you're broke and twenty-four! Opposites really do attract, ha."

"Shut up," I laugh. "And I'm not broke anymore. My first paycheck just hit my savings account."

"April! That's not how you do it. First, you spoil yourself rotten, then you put whatever is left in your savings, if there's any. It's like you're not even paying attention to me." She pretends to be offended for a second, then switches to surprised. The woman belongs on the stage. "Okay, nouveau riche . While you're over there rolling in cash, I was over here googling Good Dick."

All efforts in maintaining a straight face fail upon hearing that, but I still correct her. "Liam. His name is Liam."

"Well, yeah, you're right, he has a few pap pictures spread around online. Nothing nearly as bad as Max, though." I see her mouth moving as if she's reading something, then she bursts out laughing. "April Motherfucking Hadden! You fucked one of the UK's Most Eligible Bachelors on your first night in London? I'm so proud of you I could cry."

My unimpressed face just makes her laughter turn into hysterics.

"Done, I'm crying." Great, she's wiping her eyes now. She dries her tears and carries on, so concentrated you would think she's accessing a patient's file. "But hey, he seems pretty discreet otherwise. All the sites I found have the same info and photos of him." Her nails click on the screen as she carries on her research.

"According to Wikipedia, he's never been seen with a girlfriend and attends most events with his brother Noah Gunn and mother Katherine Burgess. Wait. The Katherine Burgess? As in the doctor? No, forget her. Girl, he has a brother!" She perks up, ideas obviously running havoc in that dangerous brain. "I'm googling him next. Maybe good dick runs in the family."

My phone beeps and cuts me off mid-laugh. Color drains from my face.

It's a message from Liam.

He must have put his contact on my new phone. Not his whole name, just an L.