Intercepting Daisy (16 page)

“Are you okay if I call my agent back?” He was already getting out of bed. He wrapped a towel around his midsection and padded into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and sat down on the toilet lid. He hit Blake's number.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Blake asked.

“It's a long story,” Grant said.

“Listen. There's trouble. I did my best, but there are several people in the Sharks' front office who are not happy about the story that's now been picked up by all major sports outlets. Sportscaster Barbie sure gets around.” He let out another long sigh. “I did my best. I told them it was unreasonable for them to equate anything you've done with that dipshit QB they cut before, but they're not budging. I'm meeting with the front office guys and your coach tomorrow.” He let out a long sigh. “Also, one of my buds in the scouting group called me earlier. They're bringing in some veteran QBs for a tryout tomorrow morning.”

It took everything he had to get the next words out. “Are they cutting me?”

“No. They might be benching you, though.”

“Johnny can't quarterback his way out of a paper bag, and Reed's still hurt.”

“You owe Reed one hell of a fruit basket, by the way. He was on the call. He told them there were guys currently on the team who are bigger manwhores than you've ever been, and they're making a huge mistake by bringing anyone else in.”

Grant couldn't seem to make his mouth work.

“I'm flying up there in the morning. Get some sleep, and we'll strategize beforehand,” Blake said.

“Yeah.”

“We'll get through this. If we don't, Los Angeles has already called and would like to give you a tryout.”

He didn't want to play for LA. He wanted to stay in Seattle. With Daisy.

“Thanks, I think.” Grant pulled breath into his lungs. “And thank you for trying.”

“I'll let you buy me brunch tomorrow at that Brown Bag place. Big portions. I'll call you in the morning. My flight lands at ten
AM
. The meeting is at two
PM
.”

Blake disconnected the call. Grant stared into space for a few minutes. The bathroom door opened, and Daisy walked in in some silky, flowery bathrobe. She sat down next to him on the edge of the soaking tub.

“I guess this wasn't good news,” she said.

“No. It wasn't.”

“Come on,” she said. She held out her hand, and he took it. She led him back to her room, repositioned the pillows, pulled the blankets up to his chin, and put his phone down on the bedside table. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

“I need to tell you what happened,” he said.

“It's all going to look better in the morning.” She shut off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed next to him. “Sleep.”

D
AISY
'
S ALARM WENT
off at five
AM
the next morning. Grant wasn't in her bed. She reached out to feel the pillowcase. It was cool. In other words, he'd left sometime during the night. She could see one of the drawers in her dresser slightly ajar. He must have found the sweats and the huge Microsoft Vista T-shirt her brother left at her place once upon a time.

She sat up in bed and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her forearms around them. He'd awoken in the middle of the night; they'd had sex again, and she'd had another huge orgasm. She was falling asleep in his arms when she heard him say, “We have things to talk about, Daisy.”

“I have something to tell you too,” she murmured.

“Then we're even,” he said. She heard the smile in his voice. After the drenching on the soccer field and some pretty acrobatic sex, she could sleep for a week.

She was pretty sure she knew what Grant had wanted to tell her last night. It really didn't matter to her how many people he'd been with before or that he wasn't the Goody-Two-shoes everyone else expected him to be. She knew he was worried because he thought the Sharks would retaliate against him for some vindictive sports reporter's nonstory. Wait until he heard what she had to say.

The icy ball of fear was back in her stomach. She had to confess to him. She couldn't believe all the media about
Overtime Parking
. It must have been a slow news week or something. Plus, she knew Grant was handsome, but he was now some kind of sex symbol. He had a new nickname in the media: Quarterback Jesus.

Yikes.

The book had just hit a new best-seller list, and she'd also received a fresh new royalties deposit in her checking account. She'd transferred it to savings and resolved to find a CPA who could advise her this week.

She shoved herself out of bed. If she didn't get a move on, she was going to be late. And she was going to catch up with Grant later today and tell him. Once and for all. If he dumped her, at least she'd told him the truth. Thinking about losing him made her want to cry and cry and never stop, though.

She should have told him a long time ago. She should have told him before they'd slept together, before she'd found out what he was really like, before she'd developed feelings for him. She shouldn't have published the book in the first place. She knew how it could affect him. He liked his privacy and didn't need to be the subject of jokes and conjecture. Grant wanted to play football and not have to deal with the fallout that came from something everyone else expected him to comment on.

She'd traded with another flight attendant this morning because she wanted to work the Sharks' charter flight this weekend. She'd rather spend tonight with Grant than in a hotel room in Phoenix, but she had to work.

She heard her phone chime with an incoming text. She picked it up off the bathroom counter and clicked on the icon to open it. It was Grant.

Grant:
Let's meet up later.

Her thumbs flew across the keyboard.

Daisy:
I'll be in Phoenix. Tomorrow.

Grant:
Tomorrow night. I'm sorry I left without saying good-bye.

Maybe he didn't like staying all night. Maybe he was uncomfortable. Maybe he had an appointment. Or maybe he was avoiding the conversation they needed to have as much as she was.

Daisy:
I missed you.

Grant:
I miss you too. I taped an interview. I'll send you the file so you can see it.

She heard another chime on her phone as the video file arrived in her in-box.

Grant:
Hopefully I don't look like an idiot. See you later.

He must have done the interview before she showed up at Marymoor for her game; the date on the video file was yesterday. She had to leave for the airport in the next twenty minutes or so, but she could watch it before she left. The listing said that the interview would be part of Pro Sports Network's Sunday pre-game show.

She'd seen the show before because her dad and brother had watched it. Five guys with some connection to the NFL talked about that day's upcoming games, told jokes, and gave each other a hard time. The only one she recognized behind the desk was Brandon McKenna.

Brandon seemed to be the guy the other players and coaches looked to for confirmation or calm in the midst of the chaos of five highly competitive men attempting to talk over each other. He'd also built up solid interviewing skills as a result of talking with some high-profile players about the questions of the day without devolving into needless flattery to elicit information from them.

Daisy sat down on her bed, pulled her overnight bag and purse close so she could grab them up, and clicked on the video file Grant had sent.

Brandon gazed into the TV camera as Daisy watched.

“I was able to sit down with Grant Parker of the Seattle Sharks for a few minutes this week. I hope you'll enjoy this.”

As the taped interview started, Grant and Brandon sat across from each other in director's chairs. Brandon reached out to shake Grant's hand and said, “Good to see you, Grant. Thanks for meeting with me today.”

“It's my pleasure, Brandon,” Grant said.

It was the first time Daisy had seen Grant being interviewed in street clothes. The team usually dressed him in Sharks logo stuff from head to toe. He wore a pullover sweater, beat-up jeans, and his long, sun-streaked dark hair was twisted into a bun low on his neck.

“Let's talk a little about how your life has changed in the past few weeks. You're starting for the Sharks while Tom Reed is rehabbing from broken ribs. How's that going?”

“We've won two games now. I'm really happy the second start went as well as my first. The team's really responding. Reed has been giving me some tips as well. I want to make sure things are great when he's back.”

“There have been rumors that Reed has already told you he's planning on retiring from the league. What are your thoughts on that?”

“That's Tom's business. I will say, though, that it would be a huge loss to our team and to the league. He's been showing everyone how it's done for the past fifteen years.”

Brandon asked Grant a few more general questions about the Sharks and their upcoming opponents, and Daisy saw him lean forward in his chair a bit. Grant put both feet on the floor and leaned forward as well.

“I'd prefer talking about football, and I know you would too.”

Grant's mouth twitched into a smile. “You got that right.”

“You spent a few years backing Reed up. You didn't get a lot of snaps as a result.”

“It was my job. I practiced hard and did some extra work to make sure I'd be ready if I had to go into a game with little notice.”

Brandon gave him the nod. “Exactly. Let's talk a little about what happens when any player becomes a starter in the league. How have you been dealing with the increased fan attention and press coverage?”

“I expected the additional attention, but the press coverage is still a surprise. It's different, and I appreciate those who like to talk or write about me and my career.”

“It's appreciated until it becomes unfair or untrue, right?”

“I don't have a lot of control over what any member of the media has to say about me.”

“Earlier this week, you were visiting Children's Hospital in Seattle and you were ambushed by a reporter and cameraman from a local TV station wanting to discuss rumors circulating about your private life.”

“Yes, I was.” Grant appeared to be thinking for a few seconds. “I'm happy to talk about football or the Sharks to any and all reporters. But I'd prefer to keep my private life private. The things that were reported about my social life have nothing to do with my career. I'm a single adult who dates. That's not news to anyone, is it? ‘Local man goes out on a date with another consenting adult. Film at eleven.' Really? Who cares, besides the other person in question and me?”

Brandon grinned at him. “I remember those days. My wife says I'm dating her for the rest of my life.”

“That sounds like a solid plan, Brandon.” The two men shook hands again. “Actually, I'm going to break my own rule here. I've been seeing someone recently, and I'm really into her. I'm not interested in seeing anyone else besides her. Maybe that'll clear up some of the lingering questions about what I'm doing with my personal time.”

Daisy clasped her hands over her mouth.

“How did you meet her?”

“We were both on an airplane at the time,” he said. “She offered me a bag of pretzels or something. I couldn't resist her.”

Daisy's heart started to pound. At that moment, she knew, even more than she had when she'd woken up this morning. She was in love with him. She could dream of what it might be like with him (and she had), but the reality was so much better than her fantasies. She wasn't sure he was ready to use the
L
word, but she hoped he would. In the meantime, he'd just told everyone in his world how he felt about her.

Maybe she could float to the airport. She felt like she could fly.

A huge grin spread over Brandon's face. “Does she like football?”

“She doesn't know a thing about it. I'm fine with that.”

“Thanks for your time, Grant. We hope we'll talk with you again soon. Good luck on the season.”

“Thanks, Brandon.”

Daisy had to leave, but she had to speak with him. Right now. She reached out to grab her phone, hit Grant's number, and heard his voice.

“Did you see it?”

“Yes,” she said. “You did a good job.”

“McKenna does a great interview,” Grant said. “I really enjoyed talking with him.”

Silence fell. She could hear noise in the background. Grant must have been in the locker room at the practice facility with the other guys. She hauled breath into her lungs.

“I know it's probably dumb to ask, but did you mean what you said about just being with—oh, forget it,” she said. She'd had a sudden attack of bashfulness.

“The reporter? I told you about her,” he said. She could hear laughter in his voice.

“No. No. That's not it. The person you're with.”

“That's you, goofball. Did you really not know?”

“Well, you could be dating someone from Alaska Airlines or something—”

“Nope. I like Pacifica flight attendants who offer me pretzels. Are you okay that I told people I'm off the market?”

“Yes,” she said.

D
AISY DIDN
'
T HAVE
a lot of time to bask in the happiness of Grant's phone call. The next several days were jam-packed with work due to several of Pacifica's flight attendants calling in sick. Daisy and her co-workers scrambled to cover their flights as a result. She wasn't home much. The week sped by in a blur as she and Grant communicated via quick texts. When she tried to ask him about the meeting she knew had happened earlier in the week between Grant, his agent, and the Sharks' front office, he changed the subject. Maybe he'd talk about it when they saw each other. She missed him already.

Sunday morning featured gray granite-colored clouds and threatened rain. She wouldn't be at today's Sharks game, but she couldn't stop thinking about Grant as she dressed for work.

She grabbed her phone and texted,
I know you'll win. Go Sharks!

Her phone chimed a few minutes later with
I can't wait to see you again.

She arrived at the airport, boarded the plane an hour early, and took a quick inventory of supplies in the galley. She put sealed bottles of airline-branded water on each first-class seat, along with pillows and plastic-wrapped blankets. She'd traded flights with another charter flight attendant a few days ago so she could work on the Sharks' plane both ways next week and see Grant's game in person.

Her coworker Rachel stepped onto the plane as Daisy finished counting the available headphones for seat-back viewers. There were plenty, she noted with relief. It was always good to have some form of entertainment on any flight longer than an hour.

“How are you?” Rachel said. “I'm sorry I'm late. Traffic is a mess, as usual. You'd think that things would be clear going the opposite direction, but maybe not.”

“Don't worry about it,” Daisy said. “The meals are in the galley. Drinks are stocked up. Water, pillows, and blankets are ready. We're good.”

“You must have gotten here pretty early.”

“I was freaked out about what the traffic would be like too,” Daisy said. It sounded like her cell phone was ringing again. It had rung a few times in the last ten minutes or so. She wasn't supposed to use her phone while she was at work.

“Isn't that your phone again?” Rachel said.

“It's probably my mom or something,” Daisy said.

“Go take a look,” Rachel told her. “I can handle the rest of the checklist.”

Daisy sat down on the jump seat the flight attendants used, grabbed her phone out of her bag, and looked at the screen. Catherine had called six times in the past ten minutes, which meant something was wrong. She knew Daisy couldn't talk on the phone during a flight. The pilots were still doing their pre-check outside the plane, so Daisy hit Catherine's number and held the phone up to her ear.

“Daisy,” Catherine said on the second ring. “There's a story on KIXI-TV's Facebook page. Harley, that sports reporter, she found someone in the publisher's accounting department who told her you're the author of
Overtime Parking
.”

“
What?
” She tried to keep her voice down. It didn't work. Rachel turned to look at Daisy.

“Yeah. She knows. Plus, she's reporting your name and where you work.”

“Why would anyone care who I was or where I work? That's crazy. Didn't they have anything else in the world to report on today?”

Daisy felt fear and dread sweep over her in seconds.

“She must really hate Grant. She's a nut. Listen, I know you have to get off the phone. Call me when you get to Phoenix. And we'll handle this.”

“I don't know what to do.”

“Put one foot in front of the other and breathe. Call me, text me, whatever. Safe flight.” Catherine ended the call.

Daisy set her phone to airplane mode, jammed it back into her purse, and slumped in her seat. Her stomach was churning already. She broke out in a cold sweat. Any hope she might have had of breaking the news to Grant that she was the author of
Overtime Parking
on her own was gone. He had his own secrets, but she knew it was no excuse. If she cared for him, she should have been honest with him. She wished she had been.

There was also the small matter of what her parents were going to think when they found out. Her brother was going to flip out, especially since he thought she was still twelve or something. Her friends. The airline, specifically the group that scheduled the Sharks' charter flights. They would think she was some kind of crazy stalker, at the least.

For the most part, though, the other people who would be hurt, angry, or shocked at the news she'd written a really smutty book weren't her biggest concern.

She couldn't stop thinking about Grant. And she had no idea how she was going to explain this to him. She was going to have a number of phone calls to make when she got to Phoenix, and none of them would be pleasant.

She grabbed her phone out of her purse again, pulled up his number, and typed.

I can explain. I am so sorry.

She shut it off, jammed it back in her bag, and got to her feet. She needed to put it all out of her mind until the flight got to its destination.

According to the manifest, today's flight was full. Typically, a full flight was a busy one. A few minutes later, Daisy was also dealing with a series of issues that made any flight miserable. Most of the time, they didn't happen all at once.

There were three customers in first class who were already drunk when they boarded the flight. Drunken passengers fell into two categories: quiet and compliant (and typically asleep for most of the flight) or loud and disruptive. Unfortunately for Daisy, all three were the latter type, and all three were VIPs. She recognized the world-famous rapper (creatively named The Revolution), his socialite wife, and his mogul mother-in-law the second she saw them. The Revolution was almost seven feet tall and probably weighed less than Daisy did. He enjoyed guy liner, significant tattooing, and the
F
word and looked like he hadn't experienced daylight in several years. The airline allowed flight attendants the ability to ask that drunken passengers be removed from any flight before departure, but Daisy also knew that denying boarding to this group would cause big issues for the Pacifica employees aboard and for her bosses.

The fun had started before the plane shoved back from the gate, when The Revolution demanded a drink.

“How about some coffee? I have a fresh pot here. I can also offer water,” Daisy said.

“No. I want scotch. I want one every fifteen minutes,” he said.

“I'm sorry, sir, but we don't serve alcohol until we're at cruising altitude.”

“Fuck cruising altitude. I want it now. Bring her some champagne.” The Revolution nodded at his wife, Prada, and reached into his seat back, producing a full chilled bottle of Roederer Cristal, which he handed to Daisy. She'd seen personnel make exceptions where celebrities were concerned, but she'd never seen someone waltz onto a plane with a full bottle of champagne before. “In a
glass
glass. Not one of those plastic cups.”

“Sir, I—”

“Get it now,” he barked out.

“One moment, please,” she said and hurried to the galley. She set the bottle into the small sink and turned to knock on the pilots' door.

One of the pilots opened the door a crack. “What's up, Daisy? We're trying to get into the departure lineup.”

“May I come in for a moment?”

“Sure.”

She was admitted to the flight deck. She knew Rachel would be standing guard against the locked cockpit door. She'd better make it fast.

“We have a problem. The Revolution, his wife, Prada, and his mother-in-law, Cartier, are on the flight today. They're all drunk and disorderly. Also, The Revolution brought his own champagne.”

The gray-haired pilot turned in his seat and said, “Who?”

The other pilot, a woman fifteen years younger than he was, said, “My teenage son listens to that idiot. So he's here, and he's drunk?”

“He, his wife, and his mother-in-law.”

“The mother-in-law is horrible.”

“Tell me about it,” Daisy said. “What do we do? If we kick them off, we'll never hear the end of it. They're already demanding alcohol.”

The pilot got to his feet. “I'll handle this.” He glanced over at his copilot. “Please let the tower know we'll need a short delay. And I'm reopening the entry door, just in case.”

“Got it,” she said.

Daisy tapped on the cockpit door so Rachel would know they were coming out. The pilot strode through the door, stopped at the row where the rapper and his family sat, and said, “I'm Captain Schaefer.”

He extended his hand. The rapper stared at him resentfully and didn't make a move to shake the pilot's hand.

“Okay. If that's how you want it, this is how it's going to go. The only way you're staying on this flight is if you are quiet, follow directions, do not ask for any more alcohol, and stay in your seat until we are at the gate in Phoenix. Do you understand?”

“Do you know who I am?” the rapper snarled.

“Yes, I know who you are. I'm also in charge of this flight, which means you should be more concerned at the moment with who
I
am,” the pilot said.

“My Gulfstream is being repaired. We should have rented another jet,” the rapper said. He got to his feet. “I don't have to put up with this shit.”

“Actually, you don't have much of a choice,” the pilot said. “You won't be flying anywhere else today. Enjoy your stay in Seattle.” He stepped back and gestured toward the open door of the jet. “Please get your things and leave.”

“I don't have to get off the plane,” The Revolution said.

“We'll sue,” his mother-in-law said.

“She stole our bottle of Cristal,” his wife said and pointed at Daisy.

“Daisy, please call the gate agent and tell them we'll need security,” Captain Schaefer said.

“You can't make us get off this flight,” the rapper said.

“Yes, I can, and I am,” the pilot said. Daisy heard the cockpit door open and shut behind her and the other pilot's voice in her ear. “I called the tower. The cops are on their way, and airport security is also alerted.”

Two men dressed in the airline's maintenance staff's uniforms appeared at the jet's doorway. They both flashed law enforcement badges.

“Let's go,” the taller guy said. “Time to leave.”

“You can't tell me what to do—”

Seconds later, the rapper was on the floor in the aisle and wearing handcuffs. “I have another couple of sets,” one of the police officers said to the guy's wife and mother-in-law. “Would you like to leave quietly, or would you like your own?”

The rapper was being wrestled off the plane by several people, so Daisy stepped into the galley and handed the gate agent Prada's bottle of champagne.

“I'm sure she wants this,” Daisy said.

“She won't be getting it back until she's off airport property,” the gate agent said.

“That's mine,” Prada said and lunged for it, which started a shouting, hair-pulling melee among the rapper's wife, several passengers, flight attendants, and the law enforcement officers who were attempting to get the wife and mother-in-law off the plane.

It took almost an hour to restore order. Prada had managed to yank out a handful of Daisy's hair and had torn her uniform blouse in the guise of getting her champagne back. Daisy had also sustained a few bumps and bruises as she tried to separate people and get them back into their seats, but she could deal with those later.

She and Rachel formed makeshift ice packs out of Ziploc bags and ice for passengers. A doctor flying in coach came forward to check the passengers and crew members who got the brunt of the fight. The gate agent appeared at the door one more time.

“You guys are going to have to go in the next half hour, or the pilots are going to time out,” she said. “Are you and Rachel okay to fly?”

“I can do it,” Daisy said.

“Daisy, that woman beat the hell out of you,” Rachel said. “She must be an MMA fighter in her spare time. Is there anyone else we can call?”

“They can't get here before the pilots time out,” the gate agent said.

Daisy reached out to pat Rachel on the shoulder. “It's okay. I can handle it.”

One of the passengers raised her hand. “I can help you,” she said.

“Thank you for offering. That's really sweet, but we'll be fine,” Rachel assured her. “Why don't you all sit back and relax, and we'll be under way quickly.”

“I'll see you both tomorrow,” the gate agent said. “Operations will want to talk with you all when you get there.”

“I'll call them,” Daisy said.

Fifteen minutes later, the flight was lining up for takeoff. Daisy and Rachel were belted into their seats and listening for the engines to rev up in preparation.

“What a day,” Rachel said.

“And it just started,” Daisy said.

The pilot got on the overhead speaker when the plane reached altitude and said, “I'd like to thank everyone for their patience while we dealt with a problem earlier. As a result, I'd also like to offer a free drink to everyone over twenty-one on this flight. It's on us. So relax, enjoy, and it looks like a smooth flight to Phoenix. Thanks again for flying Pacifica Airlines.”

Daisy and Rachel handed out drinks, snacks, served the in-flight meal, and cleaned up afterward. The adrenaline pumping through her wore off as the flight continued. By the time they were an hour outside of Phoenix, she wasn't feeling well at all.

“Are you okay, Daisy?” Rachel said as they stowed the last of the glassware and dirty silverware from the meal.

“I feel like crap,” Daisy said. “It's just another hour. Maybe I can take a hot bath at the hotel.”