Intercepting Daisy (18 page)

She wasn't memorable, but he knew that saying it in front of a woman sitting across the table from him wasn't going to win him any friends. “It was one night. I wasn't interested in pursuing her again. I didn't think there was a problem.”

“The other women you've been physically involved with—did you make sure they consented to any sexual activity?”

Grant stared at Matt in shock.

One of the PR people glanced up from her laptop. “Matt.”

“I won't have a rapist playing for the Sharks, Trudy.” Matt didn't break his stare. The PR employee inclined her head. “I'll deal with HR if they have a problem with my asking these questions.” Matt straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes or no. If you're lying to me, Parker, I'll cut your ass.”

“I met some of the women I've been with at bars in the Bellevue area, but I know the difference between yes and no, Matt. And I don't sleep with nonconsenting women.”

“You'll stake your job on that?” Matt said.

“Yes, I will.”

Matt appeared to be thinking this over for a minute or so. He jammed his hands into his pants pockets.

“When did you decide it was a great thing to do to screw over the PR group as well? And when were you going to tell us about it?” Matt said.

Grant rubbed one hand over his face. “I didn't do this on purpose—”

“Bullshit, Parker. We told your agent the other day you were already skating on thin ice, and now this happens? Do you want to start for this team? Did you think about the impact of your actions at all?”

Matt and Grant stared at each other. If Grant didn't give a shit about his future (or where he'd end up playing after Matt cut him before they got to the team plane), he would have asked Matt how he would feel about having his private life dictated by a pro team's PR department. It wasn't his fault their former backup fucked up so badly. He hadn't driven drunk. He'd never hit a woman in his life, and he never would. He'd never done anything (besides sleep around with other consenting adults) that anyone else would raise an eyebrow over.

Celibacy wasn't written into his contract. Not even for eight million dollars a year. Matt was still glaring at him, but he must have decided to take another tack.

“How did you meet Ms. Spencer?” Matt said.

“She handed me a bottle of water and some pretzels or something on a team flight.”

“Did you know she'd written a book about you?”

“No.”

“Has she ever talked with you about writing anything?”

“No. We've talked about her job, my job, the usual stuff people dating each other talk about.”

Grant was going to have to spend some time thinking about what all this meant later, but mostly, there was one thing that was going to happen when he could get out of his uniform, get a shower, and get into street clothes: he was calling Daisy. He wanted some answers.

“She doesn't seem like a stalker,” one of the assistant coaches said.

“Her bosses didn't want her working our team flights. It seems the airline awards charter flights to flight attendants with a lot more seniority than Daisy has, but she filled in one day for someone who was sick, and I told her bosses that I wanted her on our team flights permanently,” Matt said. “She does a great job. She takes care of us, and she's been patient when another flight attendant would have gone storming into the terminal and quit her job.”

“The pillow fight incident,” one of the assistant coaches said.

“Nerf football in the back of the plane while Daisy and her coworkers were trying to serve dinner,” another assistant coach said.

“She was laughing,” Trudy said. “She wasn't mad.”

“That and a few more. Let's not talk about some of the guys getting their hands on the in-flight announcement mic again, either. Plus, she makes sure everyone has what they need.”

“She also let Jonathan help her pass out the water bottles. He's still talking about it,” Matt said. “I can't believe she's some nutty stalker, or she's the greatest actress known to mankind. The airline told me that her employment record with them is stellar. My kids love her. Amy has been talking about her since they met too.” Matt shoved one hand through his hair. “What the hell is going on here?”

The room fell silent for a few moments.

“That sports reporter is acting like the world's caving in,” Matt said. “She's making a hell of a lot of trouble for no good reason.” He rubbed one hand over his face. “What's her end game?”

“She wants a scoop,” Trudy said.

“That book brought practice to a standstill for a few days,” the head coach said.

“We've been answering questions about it ever since,” an assistant coach said. “It's a distraction. And the media questions at our practices over the next few days will be nonstop.”

Trudy glanced up from her laptop. “I can write a statement for both Matt and Grant on the subject. Matt's will be something to the effect of, ‘It's been a pleasure for us to fly with Pacifica, the official airline of the Seattle Sharks. We have been very pleased with Daisy Spencer's job performance on behalf of our team. We had no knowledge of and nothing to do with this book. We wish Ms. Spencer the best. Grant Parker is an adult, and we don't involve ourselves in the personal lives of our players.' ”

“The press is expecting us to come out there and tell them Grant's had the starting job taken away, Tom is playing next week, the team is disgusted and appalled at this latest development, blah blah blah,” Matt said.

“We're not releasing any information right now. We're making a short statement, and we'll figure out how to handle the fallout later,” Trudy said. Matt locked eyes with her.

They stared at each other for a minute or so. He finally nodded and said, “Fine.” Despite the fact that Grant pretty much thought Matt was an asshole right now, he was surprised to see that a team owner would allow his public relations professional to shape the team's message.

Trudy glanced over at Grant. “Your statement will be something to the effect of ‘No, I didn't know anything about this book before my teammates told me about it—' ”

“Actually, I did,” Grant said.

“How did you find out?”

“I was on a date. The woman left her e-reader in the sheets. I grabbed it, turned it on to see if it still worked, and saw it on her bookshelf,” Grant said.

Matt raised an eyebrow.

“Let's not tell everyone that's how you found out about it,” Trudy said. “Let's go with ‘My teammates told me about it.' You will be thanking the team for standing by you in your statement, and you are not confirming or denying any personal relationship with Ms. Spencer. You will not be taking questions after you read your statement. Got it?”

“I told Pro Sports Network in a pre-taped interview this week that I was dating someone. We've been photographed together.”

“We'll let the press dig into that. We're not giving any more information about it,” Matt said. “I need to meet with you and your representative tomorrow morning at the practice facility.” He nodded at Grant. “You're excused.”

“I need to make a call before the press conference,” Grant said. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. It matched the cold sweat trickling down his spine and the fact he wanted to barf. He knew that getting benched was the best thing he'd hear tomorrow morning. He was fairly sure that he would hear he'd been cut, and the team would be starting a combo of Johnny and one of the free-agent veteran QBs they'd tried out the other day.

He was also starting to wonder if he really wanted to stay with the Sharks. He was going to spend every day earning his credibility as a player and as a man back. He realized he should have been truthful about himself and his life, but he wondered if things might be better somewhere else.

Talking to Daisy would be the filling in his shit sandwich. He'd earned (and probably lost) the starting job he'd been working to achieve for several years now in less than a month.

“You'd better find out if she's some kind of nutjob before you see or talk to her again, Parker,” the head coach warned.

“I need to talk to the airline,” Matt said. He glanced at Grant. “Go get dressed. We have a press conference to do.”

D
AISY LIMPED OFF
of the plane in Phoenix. She wasn't sure she could make it through the Jetway leading to the terminal, let alone walk to the airport shuttle outside. Her ankle had swollen to approximately twice its normal size and was painful. She reached out for the handrail that ran along the wall and leaned against it as she took small steps.

One of the airline's maintenance guys (who always seemed to be around; she wondered how many of them were actually law enforcement after her experience earlier that day) reached out for her elbow.

“Let me help,” he said. “Lean on me. Did you hurt yourself?”

“There were some drunken passengers and a brawl. Just a typical workday,” she said as she smiled at him.

“We heard about that,” he said.

“We're famous already?”

“It was on the national news.”

Daisy shook her head.

“Take it easy. We'll get there.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “I can carry you if you'd like.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “It's only a few more feet.”

Another gate agent hurried over as she sat down in the passenger waiting area. “I can call first aid,” she said.

“That would be great.”

Two hours later, Daisy had spent some time in the emergency room of the hospital closest to the airport. Her ankle had been x-rayed. The diagnosis: a bad sprain, which meant she couldn't work in the morning and most likely would not be working for several days. She called her bosses in Seattle, who put her on the next flight home that night.

“You should have been checked out before you left Seattle,” the scheduler said.

“I didn't think I was hurt this badly.”

Her boss let out another sigh. “Put some ice on your ankle and keep it elevated as much as possible. Give me a call tomorrow morning to let me know how you're doing.”

“I will,” Daisy said. “Maybe we could talk about my bestselling book then too.”

She hoped that her boss would brush it off or make a joke. It didn't happen.

“Daisy, this isn't a great time to tell you this, but there's already been a conversation about the fact you won't be continuing on the Sharks' charter flights. I know that's hard to hear.”

“The money was nice.”

“Since you'll be on sick leave until you get a doctor's release, I'm not sure if there will be repercussions for your regular flights as well.”

“I was afraid that might happen.”

“Listen,” her boss said. “Your service to Pacifica has been exemplary. The biggest conversation will be about how this makes the airline look. We don't have a lot of control over what our flight attendants do in their spare time, but the airline would want something that wasn't an issue for public relations.”

“I understand.”

“Again, we'll talk about this later. Go home and get better. I will see you soon.”

“I look forward to it,” Daisy said.

Good-byes were exchanged, and Daisy hit End on her phone. She had another hour before she could board the flight back to Seattle and several more phone calls to make. Maybe she should start with the easiest one.

She pulled up her contacts list, hit the one that read “Mom,” and listened to the ringing. She heard her mom say hello just before the call went to voice mail.

“Mom,” Daisy said. “How are you?”

“I left my phone in the laundry room,” her mom said. “I should have put it in my pocket. How are you doing? How is Phoenix?”

“Actually, I'm on my way back to Seattle.”

“What happened?”

“I sprained my ankle, so I'll be home for a few days.”

“Honey, that's awful. What time does your flight land?”

“It'll be after midnight. I'll take a cab home, and maybe Catherine can drive my car home tomorrow from the parking garage.”

“Do you want to come here for the night? There're no stairs, and you can have your old bedroom.”

G
RANT
'
S PERSONAL AND
professional life had just blown apart with tremendous force, but he wasn't going to be able to get out of the post-game press conference. He clutched a copy of the statement Trudy had written for him. Matt had made it clear there would be more discussions about his future with the Sharks tomorrow morning. He wanted to get through tonight's press conference as quickly as possible.

“Hello, everyone. I'd like to read a statement.”

He read the few sentences offering an apology and expressing regret for his actions aloud while making eye contact with several of the reporters around the room. The media were still going to ask questions about Daisy and
Overtime Parking
, but he didn't have to answer them. He could still hear the shouted questions as he walked out of the room and hurried to where the team bus was boarding. He settled back into his seat and pretended to watch some game film on his tablet while he thought about Daisy.

He hadn't had a lot of experience with stalkers, but some of his teammates had. He'd never met the woman who'd broken into his house a couple of seasons back and claimed he was the father of her twins. He'd met a few women over his career who made his alarm bells go off, though. He'd put as much distance between himself and them as quickly as possible and gone about his life.

He couldn't figure out how he'd been so wrong about Daisy. Had she done this as a joke? One of the articles he'd pulled up on his tablet stated she'd done well financially with the book; she could make even more writing a sequel. She wouldn't do that. Would she? His thoughts circled through his mind like a puppy chasing its tail. He couldn't figure out why she'd done this or why she hadn't told him in the first place.

Had she slept with him because she wanted to see how reality measured up to her imagination? They couldn't get enough of each other, and she couldn't fake that. The thought that she was using him for whatever reason was worse.

He wouldn't get answers until he talked to her. He couldn't believe he'd started this day with so much hope, and it had all turned to ashes.

D
AISY LIMPED UP
the front walk of her mother's house after midnight, dragging her rolling suitcase. Her mom had left the porch light on so Daisy would not trip over the small step leading to the front door. The ibuprofen the emergency-room nurse had given her was wearing off. She was exhausted and in pain, and she wanted somewhere soft to lie down.

The front door opened as Daisy's mom reached out to her. “There you are.”

“Mom,” Daisy said. Seconds later, tears were flowing down her face.

Her mom stepped out onto the front porch, wrapped her arms around Daisy, and patted her on the back. “It's okay, honey.”

Daisy wanted to tell her mother that it may not be okay ever again, but right now, she couldn't get the words out.

“What happened?” her mom said. It was only a few steps from her parents' front porch into the living room. The Spencer family's living room was formal and was typically used when her parents had guests for dinner or someone important came to visit. The furniture wasn't especially comfortable, even though she knew her parents had spent a small fortune furnishing and decorating it after her dad was named a vice president of the bank. Right now, though, sitting on the couch (instead of limping into the much more comfortable family room) would work.

Daisy pulled off the coat she wore and laid it over the back of one of the slipper chairs that flanked the couch. She kicked off the low-heeled pumps she wore to work and finally had a seat. Her mom picked up a couple of the silk cushions that probably cost more than five credit hours at the University of Washington, put them on the coffee table, and helped Daisy prop her foot up. She sat down and took Daisy's hand in both of hers.

“Tell me about it. Don't leave anything out.”

A couple of hours later, Daisy's mom had helped her into the guest room, gotten her into bed, and propped her ankle up on a pillow. Daisy put her cell phone on the bedside table.

“Everything will be better tomorrow,” Claudine said. She made sure there were extra pillows and tucked the blankets around Daisy like she had when her daughter was a child.

“Mom, Grant probably thinks I'm harmful or something. Why did I do this? He's probably really mad at me, plus I'm in trouble at work . . . I should have taken it down before anyone saw it.” She let out a sigh. “Have you ever done something so stupid?”

Claudine brushed the hair off of Daisy's forehead. “I know it's hard to believe right now, but it might not be as bad as you think it is,” she said. “We all do things we probably shouldn't. The best people learn from those decisions. Everyone else keeps making them over and over.”

“I guess I shouldn't write that dinosaur erotica, then,” Daisy muttered.

Her mom laughed out loud. “How much did you say you made from the proceeds of that book? Maybe I should write it.”

“Daddy will freak out.”

“Daddy won't care when he gets a look at the royalty statements,” Claudine said.

Daisy tried to imagine her Junior League, country club, and St. Mark's Cathedral member mom publishing something explicit enough to shock everyone who knew her.

Claudine leaned over, kissed Daisy's forehead, and said, “Good night. If you need help getting to the bathroom or anything else, I'm right next door.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. And don't worry. I think it's all going to work out.”

Claudine shut the door with a gentle click as she left.

Daisy picked up her phone off of the nightstand and turned it on. There was a text from Grant.

I need to talk with you ASAP. Text me when you get this.

It was two thirty
AM
. He wouldn't be awake, but she couldn't ignore him. Tears rose in her eyes as she considered what to say. She tapped her response onto the screen.

I need to talk with you too. I'm at my parents' house in Redmond. Let's talk later this morning.

Her phone chimed ten seconds later.

What time? I'll meet you.

She stared at the screen. She wasn't exactly mobile right now. She needed a set of crutches and a lot of ibuprofen. Hopefully, her mom would be okay if she told Grant to meet her here.

Come over after practice
, she wrote, typing in her parents' address and the code to their security gate.

See you then
, he replied.

Daisy sent him one more message:
I'm so sorry.

He didn't respond. She stared at her phone, hoping he'd say anything at all.

Daisy rolled onto her side, pulled the pillow around her face so her parents wouldn't hear her, and cried.

Around nine the next morning, Claudine walked into Daisy's room with a latte and a set of crutches. Daisy tried to wiggle her toes. Everything hurt. It was the worst morning ever as far as she was concerned.

“One of my bridge partners has crutches you can borrow. Her husband broke his leg in two places during ski season last year,” she said. “He's fine now, but I don't think he's going skiing again. Did you sleep well?”

The only good thing about yesterday's adventures was the fact Daisy had slept like a rock after she cried her eyes out. “I did. How are you this morning?”

“I cancelled my appointments so I could hang out with you,” her mom said.

“Mom, I'll be fine. You didn't need to do that. It's really nice of you, though.” Daisy's phone chimed with an incoming text. Time to confess. “Grant texted me really early this morning and said he wanted to meet me so we could talk.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Is it okay if he meets me here? If you don't want to deal with it, we can go somewhere else.”

“Of course, he's welcome.”

“There might be yelling,” Daisy said.

“Let me go find you something to wear. I'll be right back.”

Three hours later, Daisy was on the family-room couch in one of her mom's Lululemon exercise outfits with yet another ice pack over her propped-up ankle and the TV remote in her hand when she heard the front doorbell. Her mom had even brushed her hair and insisted that she use a little mascara.

Like she wasn't going to cry it off.

“I'll get it,” her mom called out.

She heard Grant's voice, but she couldn't quite make out what he and her mom were talking about. A minute or so later, he walked into the family room with a bouquet of flowers. She wanted to run into his arms—that is if she could run. He wasn't smiling. Despite the flowers, her heart sank.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he said.

“Would you like to sit down? Can I get you anything?” she said. She couldn't really get off the couch, but she could at least offer.

“No, thank you,” he said. He glanced around. “Your parents have a beautiful home.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He laid the bouquet on the coffee table near her injured ankle. “I heard you got hurt. These are for you.”

She reached forward to pick up the flowers and breathed in their scent. “They're beautiful. Thank you.”

Daisy's mom peeked around the corner. “Honey, I have some errands to run. I'll be back in a while, okay? Grant, it was nice to see you. Stay as long as you like. Help yourself if you'd like something to drink or eat.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Spencer.”

“Call me Claudine. I'll see you later,” she said. Daisy heard the garage door open and the sound of her mom's car backing out.

“How did you hear I got hurt?” she said.

“It was on the national news. Some of the morning TV shows were talking about the fact you must have had the worst day ever between being revealed as the author of
Overtime Parking
and getting hurt while trying to break up a fight.”

“You watch morning TV?”

“When I'm on it,” he said. It was like a knife to her gut. He let out a long breath. “So, I have some questions for you.”

She stifled herself before blurting out, “I'll bet.” She pulled breath into her lungs. “Grant, I am so sorry. I should have told you about the book when we met. I actually should have never clicked Upload, but mostly, I should have been honest. I'm not sure I could ever apologize enough.”

“Do you have any idea what the past month has been like for me because of your book?”

“You said in the media that you were flattered,” she said.

She knew the second the words left her lips that she should never have said it. It was stupid. She owed him the most abject apology she could muster up. He was right—she couldn't imagine what it must have been like to deal with the fact that the sports media were a hell of a lot more interested in talking about
Overtime Parking
than Grant's passing statistics and touchdowns scored. He had worked so hard to become a starter, and instead of being able to bask in that achievement, he'd become the butt of so many stupid jokes because of her book. The last thing she should be doing was anything but apologizing.

“What was I going to say? ‘Some person I've never met wrote something about me that I'm never going to be able to live down'? The only way to get people to stop talking about it was to laugh it off. I can take a joke like everyone else, but, Daisy, this is my career. Everything I do or say is spread all over social media, written about, and talked about on TV, whether I like it or not. How would you feel if someone did the same thing to you?”

She put the bouquet of flowers back onto the coffee table. She couldn't look at him. Even worse, he didn't yell. His voice was quiet. There was so much hurt and anger in his expression, and she couldn't face it. She'd done this. She hadn't thought through the consequences of anyone deciding to actually read her crazy little book, and it had ended up being a lot worse than she could have imagined. She folded her hands in her lap. Her ankle throbbed, she couldn't run away, and she wished she was anywhere else in the world right now.

“My parents were here for the first game I started for the Sharks,” he said. “I wanted them to meet you. I thought you were different than any other woman I ever went out with. I thought they would be proud.”

“Why did you think I was different?” she said.

“You have your own life, and you have a career. You don't depend on anyone else to make your decisions. I knew I had to work to get your attention. You're smart, friendly, and outgoing. I thought they'd think I made a good choice.”

“I'm so sorry—”

“I wonder if I ever knew you,” he said, and her heart broke. She fought back the tears that rose in her eyes. “I mean, we slept together. We talked for hours. I trusted you. I thought you cared about me. Who are you, anyway? Are you the woman I met, or did you conceal yourself in some attempt to be who you're not? I understand that we haven't been together long, but I can't understand how you could do this to me.”

“I'm that woman you were getting to know. I'm still that same person.”

“But I'll never know if you were out with me for me or because you wanted to find out if I lived up to your fantasies.” He let out another long breath. “I might play football for a living, but I'm just a guy,” he said. “I want to be with someone who is interested in all of me, not just the famous part. I know I'm kind of quiet and sometimes don't have a lot to say. I hoped you'd want to be with the real me. I hoped I could find out more about you. I wanted to stay with you.”

Hoped
, he'd said. In other words, there was no way out of this.

“I'm sorry,” she blurted out. She felt hot tears roll down her cheeks. “I didn't mean to hurt you. It was silly and stupid, and I should have kept it to myself. I didn't realize this would have such an effect on you and your career. I really enjoyed spending time with you too. I wanted you most of all. More than your career and more than the book. Please believe me.”