Page 83 of All the Forbidden Things

“How’s it gonna look, Max? The press were out in force this morning to witness your wife arriving here in a wheelchair, and the next thing they report is that you’re planning on divorcing her? You’ve got an album and a tour coming up. We need to think about the fallout from all of this.”

I shrug. I’m so fucking over it. I don’t care.

“There were no reporters here when she arrived, they turned up later.”

“Sorry, mate, they were here.” He turns his phone towards me, and sure enough, there’s Whitney being wheeled out of the car she arrived in. Looking thoroughly pissed off in the background is me. He slides the image, and next up is Billie walking across my driveway, holding Layla against her. The caption reads: “Max Young Cheats on Crippled Wife”

“What the actual fuck?” Cal and I ask in unison.

“Yeah, it don’t look good, so here’s what I’m proposing . . .” Len takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces. “I think you might be right, Al, that coffee definitely breaches some kind of human rights act.”

“I’ve ordered her a coffee machine; it’ll be here sometime today . . . if the driver can get past the press party happening at my gate.”

“That’s precisely what our problem is, the press know she’s here, they’ve seen her arrivinginawheelchair. She set that up, Max. She’s probably half-expecting you to serve her and has done that so she’ll get some sympathy.”

“I’ll tell them about Gardener,” I argue.

“You can tell them what you like, but I can guarantee all that’ll get reported is that you’re divorcing your crippled wife and possibly fuc—having an affair with your nanny.”

“This has nothing to do with Billie,” I bite out.

“What the fuck?” Cal adds at the same time.

“I’m sorry, but I know how these fuckers work. The rock star and the nanny, you won’t be the first and you won’t be the last. The public will lap it up, and then The Sisterhood will start a hate campaign, demanding that your songs be banned from the radio and for people to boycott your concerts. Andthatis not something we want to happen. So, what are we gonna do? Al, what you got for me?”

Aaron blows out a breath so hard his lips rattle together. “We need to buy some time. Just a few weeks so we can show that Max has tried. Then we proceed as planned—”

“A week,” I interrupt. “I want her gone in a week.”

“We’re going to Jay’s in two weeks, so it won’t matter if she’s here or not for a bit longer.Youwon’t be,” Cal states

“You’re going to Jay’s?” Lennon’s eyes slide between Cal and me.

“For Thanksgiving,” Cal says, “Since all our wives are American, it’s a thing they like to do.”

Lennon pulls his brows down into a frown. “Why are you all married to Americans? What’s wrong with a nice English bird?”

“Well, if you didn’t always send us to the States, we might've ended up with English birds, but back when I met Mel, we were always over there.”

Len turns to me. “What’s your excuse?”

“Too many drugs.” I shrug and tell him honestly. “They obviously distorted my perception of reality and made me think Whitney was good wife material.”

“Well, she certainly makes beautiful babies.” He looks down at Layla and says, “At least you got one good thing out of all this. She’s perfect, Max, a little cracker.”

My chest feels tight, and my throat constricts as I nod in agreement.

“Is anyone interested in my advice . . . as your legal rep? It is kinda what I’m here for, what you pay me to do, after all,” Aaron asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Go for it,” I tell him.

“Well, I think you should play nice for the next few weeks. Whitney’s sly, devious, and knows exactly the right stunts to pull to get the press and the public on her side, so we don’t want to give her any clues, not an inkling of what’s coming.”

Cal’s eyes have been burning a path in my direction since Len’s nanny fucking comment. I’ve made a point of not looking in his direction, when I do, he shakes his head at me.

“We still have five weeks until we can file. During that time, I’d like you to avoid her as much as you can, act pleasantly towards her when you can’t . . .” Aaron trails off. His eyes dart between Cal and me. “What? Why are you looking at him like that?” he asks Cal. “What’ve you done, Max?” Aaron’s narrowed eyes settle on me.

I scratch at my beard, my head, and then go back to my beard before answering. “I may have lost my temper earlier and said some things—”