20. April

CHAPTER TWENTY

april

I'm still high from Liam's kiss when I walk into my office, but the feeling fades when I find Max on my couch. What makes him think he can just waltz in here when I'm not around? I don't get the chance to ask before he jumps me.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry. Have you seen it?" He holds me by my shoulders, his eyes pleading heaven knows what.

"Seen what, Max? Are you okay?" My eyes fall to his knee. "What happened?" He's once again not wearing the brace he's supposed to, but he's standing fine.

Dom enters through the connecting door without knocking. Why the hell is everyone inviting themselves in today? Max and Dom exchange a knowing look, and my anxiety skyrockets.

"Max, you're scaring me. What's going on? Did something happen to your knee?" I begin to crouch down to check on it, but he stops me mid way.

"It's not that, I'm fine," he reassures me, flexing his leg up and down to prove it. "Come, sit."

He beckons Dom, extending the invite to him. "Remember when I said American paps weren't as bad as the ones from here? Well, some fucker took photos of us leaving the condo yesterday, and some more of us getting here, holding hands and shit."

Who cares is my first thought, but the look on his face suggests I should care a fuck lot.

"They, of course, twisted to make it look like it was the walk of shame or whatever. It's online, and it's gone viral." He squeezes my hands in his, brows furrowed so deep, he looks almost cartoonish. "Now they're saying we've been having a," he makes air quotes, "‘torrid affair' since I was in the States. I'm so sorry, Dr. Hadden." He hangs his head. "Those bloody wankers. Absolute fucking bellends."

Well, that's a relief. This doesn't sound half as bad as the scenarios my mind was fabricating had something happened to his knee. The mere thought of the years of research and work at stake sends a shiver down my spine. Brrrr . I give my arms and shoulders a good shake to send the bad juju away.

This fake news? This is nothing.

"Max, don't look so upset." He's really taking this to heart. "This is not your fault." There's a knock on my door and in comes Melanie, looking embarrassed and wanting to be anywhere else. Yesterday's hangover, I bet.

I rub Max's back. "I'm sure the club can send a note correcting this or whatever. It can't be that bad."

I say it again, this time staring at Mad Melanie, waiting for her to chip in and ease Max's worries. "It can't be that bad, right?"

The way everybody looks back at me tells me I'm dead wrong.

Melanie hands over her tablet. I hold it as she swipes through different sites, giving me only enough time to read the headlines.

‘Dr. Love came to Max's aid AND BED'

The other says ‘Unethical or illegal?'

Another accuses ‘Not a real doctor.'

It goes on and on. Dozens of newspapers and magazines with the most preposterous lines: ‘Playing Doctor!' There's an actual photoshopped image of my head on the body of some model in a sexy doctor outfit for this one. I chuckle. I wish I had that waist.

‘American bends to England', ‘Overnight visits from the doctor' , ‘Max's Dirty American Souvenir', ‘Bad doctor or bed doctor?' and so many more. Hilarious. Who writes these things?

I smirk and wonder if the universe is sending me a sign that I should really consider changing careers. It's all just too ridiculous. I slide through some more headlines, laughing out loud, but when I look up, the surrounding faces tighten with unease. This is ludicrous. Too absurd to be taken seriously.

"Why aren't you all laughing too?"

Mad Melanie is the first to answer. "Oh, April." Her tone and pause for a dramatic exhale are a bit too condescending for my liking, but I'll hear her out. "This is just the beginning. They'll latch onto you. And believe me, it'll get worse. They'll dig up your past and make up whatever story they can to get sales and clicks. We've seen this happen before."

She stares at me, looking defeated. That's it? She's given in already? MM is not the best at her job, is she? MM, you know, short for Mad Melanie. "These tabloids are merciless. They ruin careers, lives. Nothing is off limits."

Well, I'm still unbothered.

"I've nothing to hide, Melanie. They can dig all they want. I've done nothing wrong." The only silver lining to this mix-up is how laughable it all is, but with everyone looking so mournful, they've sucked out what little fun I was having with it. "When is the next press conference? There's a welcome one scheduled for me and Dom. I'll make a statement and settle this."

"N-n-no, no, no. I'm sorry, my dear, but you won't be giving any interviews. That's basic protocol." She swipes the screen until she finds whatever she wants to show me. "Apparently the US hospital is putting you on administrative paid leave until an investigation takes place. They don't want any bad press."

I'm what now? The hospital sends me all the way here and they're saying I'm an embarrassment?

"No one does," she adds.

Ouch, Melanie.

That wasn't a hint, it was a direct hit. To my face.

Melanie, smarter than I gave her credit for, pulls the tablet back, hugging it into her chest and takes a long step backward.

Good choice, MM. You don't want to be within arm's length of me or give me the opportunity to weaponize that electronic.

She rants on. "Right now, there are hundreds of reporters and photographers scattered at every gate of this stadium, waiting to get another pic of you and Max. You're their new Meghan. We're checking your flat to see if it's safe for you to go back there." What? Slow down, Melanie. Be all condescending again. "Our policy is to not engage with these rabid animals. If you starve them long enough, they'll get tired and search for another scandal."

" ‘Scandal?' " I'm trying my best to keep it cool, but it comes out as a yell. That was the final drop.

I rise from my couch and step in MM's direction. She better back the fuck up with the accusations and pick her words better. "Please explain to me what I did that was scandalous?"

In my peripheral, I can see Max shifting in his seat and Dom at the edge of his, ready to intervene if needed. To help me? To rescue Melanie? Time will tell.

"I'm his doctor ." I point to Max. Not that she needs the visual aid, but I need to keep my hands busy or they might cling to her throat instead. " He gave me a ride because we're neighbors. You ," I point at her. Yes, she's answering for the entire club now, "put me in an apartment next to his. Max gave me a lift to the club that begged me to be here ." Not only do I point to the floor, but I stomp on it for good measure. "And now I'm going to be punished like I've done something wrong?" The volume, sassiness, and sarcasm reach new heights the clearer the picture becomes for me. "Oh! Oh! And on top of it, you want me to stay quiet?" I pause to gather some air. "HELL, NO!"

"Fuck, yes." Liam's thunderous voice makes its way into my office ahead of him. I turn to my open door and wait. I tell myself my heart is racing solely from yelling Melanie down.

Everyone goes quiet, listening to his footsteps getting louder, waiting for him to come in. He doesn't. Liam gets to my open door and stays there, filling the frame, and trapping me in.

Why does he have to look so good? It just pisses me off even more. Angry sex would be so therapeutic right now.

I avert my eyes to defend myself from my misplaced, raunchy thoughts.

"It's club policy and you can check the agreement you signed." Oh, I've been trying to, sir. "UK Tabloids are notorious enough that we include a clause in all contracts about them. You won't be making any statements." How long has he been listening? How loud have I been shouting may be a better question.

His mouth ruins him. The more he speaks, the more angry I get and less horny I feel. That's it. Keep talking, big boy.

"It's for the best. Trust me." Oh, he can be funny too. Because that's got to be a joke.

"Trust you?" I scoff. "No, thank you." He sure knows how to bring out the brat in me.

"And when I say ‘the best', I do mean it's the best for you, too. As Melanie has informed you or was about to…" Liam's voice now fills my crowded office and that makes me realize he was talking in a much quieter tone to me before. "Consider all booked interviews canceled. You won't be addressing the press. The physiotherapist can handle that from now on. And it would be wise to keep a professional distance from Mr. Sinclair."

At the sound of that, Max slides further down the couch, as far away from me as he can. He looks miserable, and that pours kerosene onto my burning rage.

It doesn't go unnoticed by me that Liam doesn't address Dom by doctor or his given name, nor Max by his first name or nickname like everyone else does. What a snob . I try to focus on Liam's worst traits to smother the hold he has on me.

"I've had it with people deciding on what's best for me," I say to no one in particular. This is not what I signed up for. I should've never come here in the first place. My organs must be rotting away, swimming in a poisonous mix of indignation, disappointment, and regret.

I need a break before I say something that'll cost me more than I have to give. "If you don't need me to give any statements, I'm ready to call it a day." Calista is amazing at drama, but no one can trump my poker face. My pain isn't a show or for show. Nobody gets to see me hurting.

Liam takes charge of the situation and MM is happy to stand down and just watch. "Of course. I have a driver and a bodyguard waiting for you in the underground private parking."

What? He can't be serious. "A bodyguard? Are you crazy?"

"No, but the reporters are." He glances at his phone. "I just had confirmation that there are dozens of them camping out in front of your building as we speak. Don't fight me—I mean, us on this. We're doing this for your own protection."

Dozens of… Okay. I'm out of my depth here. I step back until my calves hit the couch and let my ass fall on it.

As if summoned, two men enter my office. Liam introduces them both. "This is George. He'll be your driver." I recognize him. It's the guy who got Dom out of the elevator not half an hour ago. Feels like a different lifetime. "And Terry, your bodyguard. They'll take you to a hotel until it's safe for you to go home."

Max takes my hand again. "Hey, don't let the word ‘bodyguard' overwhelm you. Or his ugly mug scare you." Max tries to lighten things up, but overwhelm doesn't even begin to cover it. "Terry's worked for me many times before. He's the best. You have nothing to worry about." Great. Thanks, Max. Now I'm even more worried.

I stand up, but before I reach the door, Liam's voice saying my name reverberates around me, forcing me to look at him.

I hate feeling like his puppet, and I sense he loves pulling on my strings.

"Do not take any calls from unidentified numbers." He holds my arm when I'm about to move past him and says to my ears only, "Call me if you need anything."

"Anything," he says again before he lets me go.