And if he didn’t have work, what did his life look like?
He clicked two buttons on the console, and a call began dialing out.
“Hey, Candace! It’s Max. Max Cava—”
“Hey there, stranger! Long time no talk. What have you been up to?”
Max gave her a couple seconds to become aware and answer her own question, but there was nothing but silence coming across his vehicle’s speakers.
“Um . . . rehab.”
Candace gasped. “Oh, Max, I’m so sorry. That was stupid of me.”
He forced a chuckle. “No, no. It’s fine. Anyway, it’s good to be back. I’m anxious to get back to work, actually. Is he in?”
She paused, and all he heard were computer keyboard clicks on the other end of the line.
“No. Sorry. He . . . he just stepped out.”
“Okay, no problem. Should I just try him on his cell?”
“You know what? He’s in meetings all day today, Max. Why don’t I just give him a message, and I’m sure he’ll call you just as soon as he gets a break.”
He shifted into higher gear and felt the power swell beneath him as he floored the gas pedal. “Sure. That’s fine,” he lied. No longer being his manager’s most important client was apparently part of the new normal. “Just tell him I’m leaving Nashville now, Renowned is a go, and I’m ready to get To the Max back on the air. This Range Rover needs to be given more to do than making me speed trap bait in Tennessee.”
She chuckled. “I’ll give him the message. Talk to you later, hon.”
“Thanks, Candace.”
He ended the call and pushed play on his “Standards” playlist. The soulful sounds of Sinatra began filling the air, and he settled in. He firmly believed that if you wanted to truly feel like a man, the two most important components were a great car and Ol’ Blue Eyes. But the latter was stripped from him as quickly as it was given, as his phone began to ring. He clicked to answer the call.
“This is Max.”
“Hey, hon. It’s Candace again. He had a quick second between meetings, so I was able to get him the message.”
Well, that was pretty speedy. Maybe he still had some clout after all.
“Great. What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Don’t tell people you were in rehab. Say anger management.’”
Max squeezed the steering wheel tightly and tried to remember the techniques they’d taught him at Tranquility Peaks. It was all about deep breaths and not wasting moments. Discovering new things about himself. Putting things in perspective.
And the best way he knew to put things in perspective at that moment was to remember how frustrated he had been at Tranquility Peaks every time Buzz, his counselor, had called him Maxim—which he insisted upon doing at least twenty-five of Max’s thirty days. Despite his recurring insistence that unlike the Russian hockey player down the hall and the twenty-one-year-old model upstairs, his name was Maxwell. Not Maxim.
A little perspective can be a wonderful thing. At least Candace knew his name.
“I’ll try to remember that,” he finally replied. He hadn’t lessened his grip on the wheel—or his desire to see just how quickly the Range Rover could get him across Virginia—but he had managed not to shoot the messenger.
Progress.
“Take care, Max,” Candace concluded just before a click indicated she had no further chastisements to pass along.
He had walked—or, rather, driven like a madman—into an impossible situation, and he was driving away the very next day having pulled off a miracle. Where was his credit for that? Not that it was about credit. No, it was about Renowned. But, still. Would one congratulatory comment—passed through Candace, even—have killed him?
“Don’t act like you knew what you were doing back there,” he muttered to himself with a groan.
Hadley hadn’t been what he’d expected her to be. All he’d heard for the past four months or so was how she’d handled everything perfectly that day on the set, and he’d handled everything exactly wrong. That she was strong and generous and kind, and that she had suffered through his antics with grace and charm.
He didn’t doubt that was true. He didn’t remember any of it, per se, but he could imagine. She seemed to have the brassy, sassy Georgia—or Tennessee, rather—peach thing perfected on her At Home show, and he had no trouble at all piecing together in his mind the way it all played out.
Seeing her sheltered behind that guy, the director from the show, as soon as Max was spotted on the other side of the door, the evening before, had thrown his assumptions into instant chaos. Add to that the vulnerability that appeared in her eyes at the most unexpected moments—not to mention the healing that seemed to happen inside of him when she laughed—and he’d been left with intentions and plans in a tailspin.
He lifted his hips and tilted slightly so he could reach into the front pocket of his jeans, and then he took his eyes off the road just long enough to confirm he had fished out the correct scrap of paper. He sighed as he wadded up and threw in the backseat a half-sheet from a server’s order book, with Holly’s name and ten digits written on it.
All he knew for certain was that the same old Max he was used to being wasn’t going to cut it with Hadley Beckett.
10. Cover and remove from heat.
HADLEY
“And with that,” I concluded as I dusted powdered sugar across the plate, “you’ve created a dessert the entire family will go crazy over. And if you really want to make them go crazy, serve these little ditties for breakfast, and wash them down with that sweet tea we made earlier. But only on school days, or days when the sun is shining and the kiddos can be sent outside to play. Seriously, y’all, these vanilla donut drops have enough sugar in them to upset the apple cart of behavior in your house in a way it may never recover from.” I smiled into the camera as Stuart gave me the “wrap it up” cue. “And while that apple cart is lying over on its side, pick up a few of those apples—preferably Granny Smiths—and set them aside for next time. I’m going to be sharing my delicious apple fritter recipe with y’all. What’s more, we’re gonna be getting the new place all gussied up for fall, and I may or may not have plans to jump into a big ol’ pile of leaves. I guess you’ll just have to tune in and see! Thanks for spending some time at home with me today, friends. Until next time.”
“And that’s that,” Stuart called out. “That was a good day, everybody. Great work! Now, you should have all received your relocation assignments. Let’s get it going—the network crew will be waiting for us at the new house. If all goes well, we’ll have this place packed up before Hadley comes down from her sugar rush.” He walked over to me and began speaking in conversational tones. “You know, it’s always a good day when you can find an opportunity to use the word ‘gussied.’”
I laughed as I washed my hands in the sink at the island. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“You’re not actually going to jump into a pile of leaves though, are you?”
I scrunched up my nose. “Well, considering it’s technically still summer, probably not.” Filming ahead really created a weird sensation sometimes. “But I was thinking maybe I’d make some pumpkin spice lattes for everybody, since, as we all know, that’s the only thing that screams fall more than jumping into dead foliage.”