Sacking the Quarterback (2 page)

Grayson stares at
me
and doesn't say anything.

“Can you run through the night's events for me?”

“I already told the officers,” Grayson says. His tone is almost bored, bordering on condescending.

Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the table between us. “And now I want you to tell me.”

He sighs. “I was in Liv. I had some coke on me for recreational use. The cops raided the club. They found the coke. They arrested me and brought me here. End of story.”

“You're telling me the amount of drugs you were carrying was just for…recreational use?”

“I'm a big guy. What can I say?” He lifts one of those aforementioned giant shoulders.

When I look at Grayson, I immediately know the guy doesn't have a drug habit. I've seen enough addicts in my career to know the signs. This guy looks as clean as they come. Besides, if he was addicted to drugs, it would have been flagged in one of the many tests they do in the NFL these days. His team might have covered it up, but they also wouldn't have a high tolerance for him if he was a user. Addicts are generally unreliable and unpredictable. Grayson's contract wouldn't have been renewed, or his team would have found a way to get out of it.

Grayson Knight is their star player. And he was found with drugs. None of this is making sense to me right now.

But I don't need it to make sense. He broke the law. I'm here to see that he goes away for it.

“You waived your right to an attorney.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't need one.”

“You might want to reconsider, Mr. Knight.” I stand up and walk to the door. Before opening it, I turn back to him. “Your release papers are being drafted up.”

His eyes widen. “I'm free to go?”

“For now. I want you in my office in the morning at ten thirty sharp for your plea bargain. That's where I'll explain the charges against you, and you'll tell us how you'd like to plead in court. And, Mr. Knight, bring a lawyer to that.”

He stands and moves to the side of the table. “That's it?”

“For now.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Then I watch as his gaze drags up my body until it rests on my face.

I feel a surprising but delightful chill run through my body.

“I expected more.” His tone is low and cuts through me, putting me off-balance.

“More?” I ask. My head feels suddenly foggy.

“Yes,” he says, taking a step toward me.

He's still staring at me. Something in me wants to step back, yet there's another part that's urging me to go a step closer.

He's intense. And there's a raw magnetism in him that's drawing me in. I guess that's what makes him famous. That and the fact that he's an unbelievable football player.

There's a knock on the door behind me, bringing me back to my senses.

I give Grayson a hard stare. “There will be more. Because all actions have consequences, Mr. Knight. Irrespective of
who
you are.” I yank open the door to see Matt on the other side and then look back at Grayson. Using a hard voice that means business, I say, “Sergeant Daughtry will sort out your release papers.”

Since he's still standing there silently, I pull a business card from my briefcase and hand it to him. His fingers touch mine in the exchange. I steel myself against the jolt I feel. “My office details are on there. My office, 10:30 a.m. And don't be late.” I turn on my heel and march out of there.

Grayson hasn't turned
up
. It's 11:00 a.m., and he was supposed to be here a half hour ago. His lawyer is here—George Simpson, a man who works for the best law firm in Miami. No surprise there. Of course Grayson got the best lawyer in town.

At least he bothered to get an attorney. Shame he couldn't be bothered to show up for his plea bargaining.

Asshole.

“I can try calling my client again,” George says, picking up his cell phone.

“No, it's fine.”

It's not fine
. I'm really pissed off. I don't like being stood up for anything. And I don't like when people make a mockery of me and my career. I get up from my chair.

George Simpson follows suit and stands. “How do you want to proceed?” he asks.

“I'll be in touch.”

He nods and leaves my office.

I sit back down in my chair, my hands in fists. Who the hell does Grayson Knight think he is?
Asshole
.

But why am I really so pissed off by this?

Because I'm an assistant state attorney, for God's sake, and Grayson Knight thinks he can stand me up because he's what? A stupid football player. Well, guess what? I'm the law. He doesn't know what he's got coming.

Furious and unable to let this snub go, I make a quick call to Grayson's agent. I'm so angry that I let my emotions get the better of me and pretend to be his lawyer so that the agent will tell me where he is.

At a training session where his team practices.

The arrogant asshole went to practice instead of coming to his plea bargaining.

Armed with fury, I grab my bag and cell. I head out and catch a taxi on the street, telling the driver to take me to the Bubble, at Nova Southeastern University. That's where the agent directed me.

The taxi pulls up and I climb out. I make my way to the reception area, which is manned by a security guard. “Hi,” I say. “My name is Melissa St. James. I'm here to see Grayson Knight. Harris Jones, Grayson's agent, said he would call ahead to let you know I was coming.” Yes, I had pulled that little trick with Harris as well. Not my most ethical moment, but my anger is clouding my judgment, so I'm rolling with it.

“He did. I just need to see some I.D.”

I pull my wallet from my bag and produce my driver's license. The security guard checks my I.D., then hands it back to me. I fill out the sign-in sheet and take the visitor's badge he hands me. I clip it to the lapel of my jacket.

“The team is training outside today on the main field. Take that door there,” the security guard says, pointing. “And walk all the way down the hallway. There's another door to the field at the end, on your right.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling at him.

I make my way through the corridor until finally I'm outside. The Miami Dolphins are on the field in the middle of a training session.

Now that I'm here, I'm not really sure what to do. It's not like I can just walk onto the field and interrupt the training session to demand to know why Grayson didn't turn up for our appointment this morning.

It takes me a minute to find him on the field, which is filled with big, sweaty men.

“Can I help you?” a male voice asks.

I turn around and see a guy in his midthirties who's wearing running shorts and a t-shirt. He has cropped blond hair and is attractive. But he's no Grayson Knight.

“Hi, I'm Melissa St. James. I'm Grayson's…attorney.” There, I've lied again. “I have an appointment with him.”

“Ellis Mitchell. I'm the team's conditioning coach,” he tells me as he shakes my hand. “Grayson shouldn't be much longer. They're almost done here. Why don't you take a seat while you wait?” He gestures to the bleachers.

“No, I'm good, thanks,” I say, giving him a polite smile.

“I should get back to it,” he says, returning my smile. I have a feeling mine doesn't look nearly as warm as his. “Nice to meet you, Melissa.”

“You too.”

Ellis leaves and my eyes go to Grayson. In spite of myself, I can't deny that he looks really hot out there. And I don't mean hot in a sweaty way, even though he is. He's hot in the sexiest way imaginable. Grayson looks like the epitome of male out there as he throws the ball to his teammate. His jersey tight over his biceps, showing off the muscles in his arms. And don't even get me started on his legs. I'm pretty sure he could crack walnuts with those thighs.

Or me.

Jesus, where did that thought come from?

Of course Grayson is undeniably hot. But he's a criminal, and I'm intent on making a guilty charge stick to him like glue. A criminal who thinks he can ignore a plea bargain appointment with an assistant state attorney.

And he's a criminal who has just noticed I'm here. I see his head turn toward me, and I watch as he hands the ball off to his teammate before he starts to walk those powerful legs over to me.

And for some strange reason I feel a tremble in my own body.

Grayson stands before
me
with a frown on his face.

It makes me frown in return. Even though I'm angry at him, I can't help but notice his size and how hot he looks with sweat trickling down his neck.

“What are you doing here?” he says in a low voice.

What am I doing here? The nerve of this guy!

“You stood me up.” I practically spit the words out.

All he does is raise a brow in return.

“Remember the plea bargain? To discuss your charges?”

Why am I so flustered right now?

He folds his arms over his chest. “I never said I would come.”

I feel my eyes widen at first, so I narrow them quickly and say, “You don't get a choice in the matter. I tell you to come—you come.”

He glances around at his teammates as they start to move in our direction. Then he takes hold of my elbow and starts steering me away.

I snatch my arm back. He opens the door I came through, giving me a look as if he's demanding I go through it. It makes me want to dig my heels in and stay where I am, but he's right. The field is not the place to have this conversation.

I follow him down the hall and stop behind him when he opens a door. I walk through it. He closes the door behind us and turns to face me. “What's the problem?”

“Seriously? You think I don't deserve your time. That you're such a big shot that you can just brush off your arrest. Do you think it'll all go away as if nothing ever happened?”

He takes a step toward me. “I don't think it'll all go away. I didn't turn up because I had to be at training, so I sent my lawyer in my place. The lawyer you told me to get.”

“Funny. He seemed to think you'd be attending with him.”

“Then he's an idiot.”

“And you're the one who hired him. Wouldn't that make you an idiot, too?”

His lips turn up into a smile. I'd like to say it doesn't affect me, but it does. And I'd never let him see that.

“I told you to be at my office, Grayson. If I tell you to do something, you do it.”

Something flashes in his eyes and he takes another step closer to me. The room suddenly feels a lot smaller. “I like a woman who takes charge.”

“I don't care what you like in a woman.”

He steps closer. “The thing is, I think you do care. That's why you're so pissed that I didn't show up. That's why you've come all the way here.…”

“You're very close to crossing a line,” I tell him.

“Maybe I like crossing lines,” he says, taking another step. He's close now. Too close.

My heart is beating hard in my chest. My breathing becomes quicker.

Take control of this situation now, Mel, before it gets out of hand.

Lifting my chin, I look him square in the eyes. “I came here,” I say, “because you didn't show for an appointment”—
that's not exactly true; I came here because I was pissed off
—“and it was an important appointment at that. I was trying to do you a favor, but that was clearly a mistake. You can kiss the plea bargain good-bye. I'll see you in court, Mr. Knight.”

I pull a
bottle
of wine from the fridge and pour myself a glass. Carrying the wineglass and a large bag of chips over to the sofa with me, I put them down on the coffee table and turn the TV on.

After a long, shitty day and zero sleep, all thanks to Grayson Knight, I'm ready to relax for an hour before I hit the hay. With my remote in hand, I channel-hop while sipping my wine. I settle on a rerun of
Friends
. It's exactly what I need right now—some light humor.

I'm still chewing over Grayson's behavior earlier. I can't believe he was hitting on me like that. And I'm still trying to ignore the fact that it affected me.

That he affects me.

I stretch my legs out and rest my feet on the coffee table. My phone starts to ring. I reach over and pick it up from the table. The call comes up as a private account, and for a moment I consider ignoring it, but then I decide to answer. It could be a client. Always the lawyer.

“Hello?”

“Melissa?”

“Yes.”

“Melissa, it's…Grayson. Grayson Knight.”

Why the hell is Grayson Knight calling me at 9:00 p.m.? Actually, why the hell is he calling me, period?

Whatever his reason, I'm not going to make it easy for him. “How did you get my home number?” I ask. My tone is accusing.

“I, um…if I tell you, will you have me arrested?”

“Probably.”

He laughs, but I'm not entirely kidding about having him arrested. I won't put him behind bars for this call, but it's my job to put him there for drug possession.

There's a distinct pause. I feel the tone in the conversation shift to serious as he blows out a long breath. “Can we…talk?”

“About?”

“Earlier.”

I take a deep breath and let it out. Then I say, “You have one minute.”

“One minute. Got it.”

I hear him exhale loudly down the line. Again. But then he says nothing.

“Minute's ticking,” I say, taking a sip of my wine.

“Right. Look, I'm calling to apologize for my behavior earlier. I acted like a total dick. Not showing up for our appointment, and for the way I behaved…I'm sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Okay…as in, okay, you forgive me?”

This guy is actually charming when he's not acting like a total tool. A smile is fighting its way onto my lips. I'm just glad he can't see it.

“Who helped you realize you were being a jerk?”

He laughs again, this time knowingly. “My dad might have chewed my ass out after my idiot lawyer told him that I hadn't shown up for our appointment.”

There's another pause. Charming he may be, but I'm going to make this guy work for it.

“So…am I forgiven?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe. Okay. I'll take that,” he says, chuckling softly. “And now this is the part where I ask you to keep that maybe-forgiven part in mind, and agree to meet with me tomorrow to discuss that plea bargain you wanted to talk about this morning.”

I sit up, put my glass on the coffee table, and say, “I don't know.”

“Please.” When he says the word, there's a plea to his tone, and that starts to weaken my resolve. “I won't screw around. I'll be there whatever time you say. I swear.”

I pause, thinking. I can hear him breathing.

Ben wanted me to throw the book at him, but I have this nagging feeling that I don't know the whole story here. And the lawyer in me has to know what it is.

“Okay, be at my office at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.”

“I'll be there. Thank you, Melissa.”

“You're welcome. And, Grayson?”

“Yes?”

“This is your last chance. Don't screw it up.”