Page 56 of Boss Abroad
“Later, Doc.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
april
As soon as I hear the door shutting, I jump from the shower, wrap my hair in a towel and my body in another before I unfold that paper.
This contract is entered into willingly by Liam Gunn and April Hadden. Both parties agree to the terms and circumstances of the services that will be provided and received, as outlined below.
Oh, he’s gotta be kidding me. I laugh out loud; the sound echoing back at me. I don’t know if he meant for this to be funny, which just makes it funnier. I skim through the legal lingo, eager to get to the good stuff.
In the month(s) Dr. April Hadden is to stay in London, she’s to:
Have the best sex of her life (your words, not mine).
No strings attached, no expectations. We keep it simple. Uncomplicated.
Have her privacy respected. I’ll protect your image as fiercely as I do mine.
Have sex only with Liam Gunn (I’ll pay you the same courtesy, of course).
Keep the key to this room. It’s ours until you go home.
Agree to keep a bodyguard/driver until I say so.
The parties consent to modifications and/or additions to be discussed and agreed. These amendments/additions shall be valid as if they were part of the original contract.
I’m smiling like a fool, racking my brain to think of a few rules of my own, but coming back empty. He covered it all.
No strings attached sex with Liam in total secrecy sounds perfect. Maybe even too good to be true.
I turn my phone on for the first time since yesterday and it pings with a message from the man himself.
L:
Do you need me to lay it out in layman’s terms for you, Doc?
The condescending bastard. He had to run his mouth, didn’t he?
L:
You’re leaving in a matter of months. Let’s put them to good fucking. Good use, put them to good use.
No, I really do mean fucking. Let’s fuck each other out of our systems and have the time of our lives while doing that.
I’m not going to grace him with an answer. Let me deal with the two hundred plus messages from Callie instead. And none from Pres. That’s weird. I’m about to message her when her call comes through. Knowing better than to go deaf by her screams, I answer it on speaker, lay it on the bed and wait.
“APRIL MOTHERFUCKING HADDEN! There. You’ve been re-baptized. That’s how I’m addressing you from now on.” Sounds catchy. I laugh, but the exhale she lets out makes me feel guilty as fuck, too. “Bitch, how dare you turn your phone off while the world is falling apart by the mere mention of your name?”
That’s how it goes with Callie. No matter how serious the subject is, she finds a way to make me laugh about it. I’ve learned this the hard way, attending a funeral with her. Humor is how she deals with stress and I have mortifying memories to prove it.
“Callie, they told me to turn my phone off in case reporters got a hold of my number. I couldn’t even go home, paparazzi were piling at my gate. So I came to a hotel and got hella drunk instead.”
I lay down and draw an arm over my eyes. The walls of glass are nice, the views are to die for, but I’d love a pitch black room now. “I wanted to call you so bad, girl. You know, so you could make the worst, most inappropriate comments about this mess and make me crack a laugh.”
“You know I would.” Her smug voice comforts me.
“But I didn’t have it in me to reach out yesterday. My first day at work, I find out my Tinder date thought I was a prostitute.”