Sacking the Quarterback (3 page)

“Grayson Knight is
here
to see you,” my assistant, Jill, says over the intercom.

I press down on the button and say, “Send him in.”

I grab Grayson's case file and my notepad and pen and take them with me to the small meeting table I have in my office. Putting the file on the table, I take a seat on the chair that faces the door.

When the door opens, revealing Grayson, I have to hold in a breath to stop from gasping.

Holy shit, he looks amazing.

He's incredibly handsome. Like, out-of-this-world handsome. He's wearing a closely fitted black suit. And as I take in his size, I assume that it must have been tailored to fit him like that.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at me. His teeth are dazzling.

I force my brain to function. “Hi. Great. Uh, take a seat,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from me.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” I ask as he sits. This gives me time to compose myself.

“Water would be good.”

I go over to the mini-fridge I keep in my office and grab two bottles of water. “Bottle okay, or would you like a glass?”

“Bottle's fine,” he says, giving me another smile.

Jesus, stop smiling at me. And stop looking so damn hot.

I hand him his water and take my seat. Grayson unscrews the cap and takes a drink. I can't help but watch as he swallows that water down. The way his strong neck works on the movement. He lowers the bottle from his lips, catching me staring. Then his tongue darts out to catch the drops of water on his lips.

Holy mother of God.

That tongue…I wonder how it would feel to have his tongue on my…

I press my thighs together.

Stop it, Mel.

I force myself to look away and down at my file.

“Let's discuss the events that led to your arrest on the night that you were at Liv.” I open my file to the police report detailing the arrest and pick up my pen, ready to take notes.

Grayson still has the bottle of water in his hand. He screws the cap back on and leans back in his seat. “I'd had a hard day training,” he says, “so I went out with some buddies to let off steam. We ended up in Liv. We were drinking and having a good time. Then the cops showed up. I was searched and they found the drugs on me, and then I was arrested.”

“Okay, let's start with the first part of the night. You say you went out—to some bars?”

“Yes.”

“Which ones?'

“Can't remember.”

“Where did you get the drugs? Did you already have them before you left home, or did you buy them while you were out?”

“While I was out.”

I make note of that. “Which bar did you buy the drugs in?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?” I ask, looking up at him.

“I don't remember,” he says. His hand curls around the water bottle.

“Who did you buy the drugs from?”

He gives me a look and says, “A dealer.”

“And his or her name is…?”

“I don't know,” Grayson says again, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle and taking another drink.

I watch him again with my attorney eyes and see how uncomfortable he looks right now. I know he's at least looking at a big fine and all the negative publicity that goes with it, but there's something else going on here. Something he's not saying.

It isn't my job to save Grayson from a guilty charge—it's my job to give it to him. But I'm also not someone who will charge blindly. More than that, I like to know all the facts before I try someone. And I feel like I don't know all the facts here. Grayson's clearly hiding something.

“So, you're telling me you don't know the name of the person you bought that large quantity of drugs from?”

He lowers the bottle to the table, looks me in the eye, and says, “I told you, I don't know. He was some guy in the club that I bought drugs from. End of story.”

“But you said you bought the drugs from a dealer in a bar, not the club.”

“Club, bar. They're the same thing.”

“No, they're not.”

“Whatever. Jesus. Look,” he says, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. He stares me in the eye as if that will make me back off. “I was in a bar. I went up to the guy because I knew he was a dealer—”

“How did you know he was a dealer?”

“Because I just knew.”

“How?”

“Because he looked like a dealer.”

“He looked like a dealer? How do dealers look?”

“Jesus! I don't know!” He's getting flustered. And he'd only be flustered right now if he were lying.

“But you just said you did. You said he looked like a dealer.”

He clenches his jaw, and a frustrated breath leaves him.

“Grayson, I can't help you if you aren't truthful with me.”

His eyes flash to mine. “I thought it was your job to put me inside—not to help me,” he says, and I have to admit that he has a point.

So why do I feel the incessant need to do it?

“You're right. And based on what you're telling me, there's no plea deal that I can offer you.”

“So we're done here?” he says without meeting my eyes.

I put my pen down, sigh, and say, “Yes. We're done.”

Grayson stands. I feel a weird pull at the thought of him leaving right now. Once he reaches the door, he stops and looks back at me over his shoulder. “Thank you for your time. See you, Mel.”

His words and stare hit me in the gut. And then Grayson Knight is gone, my door closing softly behind him.

“Pass the salt,”
Tori says to me.

“Who puts salt on pasta al forno?” I say, frowning.

“I do,” she says, giving me a cocky smile. “Now pass it over.”

Tori is my best friend. I met her at law school. She works at a private practice, specializing in family law. Honestly, I don't know how she does it, dealing with people getting divorced, fighting the custody battles.

As a child of divorced parents who hated each other and fought over who got to see me the most, I've had my fair share of that pain. No way would I want to deal with it on a daily basis like she does.

Give me criminals any day. But I'm not really sure what that says about me.

I hand the salt to her and say teasingly, “Does my cooking not taste good enough for you?”

I had made dinner, and though I'm not the best cook, I can rustle up some decent al forno. Tori and I make sure to have dinner together at least once a week. Tonight we were supposed to go out, but I didn't much feel like being social, so I changed our plans and said that I would cook.

“It tasted just fine,” she says with a grin, bringing a forkful of some salt-covered pasta to her mouth. “But now it tastes even better.”

Picking up my wineglass, I give her a sly middle finger, grinning as I do.

“So classy,” she says, laughing.

“I learned from the best.”

Then it's her turn to flip me off, causing us both to laugh. And it feels good to laugh, after the past few days I've had. After the laughter has settled, I tuck back into my pasta.

“So why didn't you want to go out tonight?” Tori asks.

“Just didn't feel up to it,” I say, lifting my shoulders.

“Work getting you down?”

“You could say that.” I put my fork down on my plate.

“Wanna talk about it?” She forks more pasta into her mouth.

“No—” I pause. I can tell Tori anything. Anything within legal parameters, that is. “Yes.”

She laughs.

“It's just this case I'm working on…I feel conflicted.”

“Conflicted?” Her brows rise.

“I just…I think the guy is hiding something. I don't think the case is as clear-cut as everyone else thinks it is.”

“You mean as clear-cut as Ben thinks it is.”

“Yeah.” I sigh.

“So, you think this guy is what? Innocent?”

I chew on my thumbnail. “Maybe not innocent. Just not as guilty as he appears.”

She studies me for a minute, then says, “Go with your gut, Mel. You have great instincts. You think there's more to this, then find out what it is. What if Ben makes you put the guy in prison? You give jail time to an innocent man and find that out after the fact…I know you, it'll eat away at you forever.”

I'm just shutting
down
my computer when Ben comes into my office.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn't sit. He stands behind the chair on the other side of my desk, hands resting on the top of it. “I've just been reading over the Grayson Knight case.”

“Okay,” I say, waiting to hear what he's going to tell me. My heart starts to beat a little faster. I don't know why. “What do you think?”

“I think your proposal of charging him with possession of a Schedule II drug is too light. I was reading over the police report, and the amount of drugs he was carrying…I think we should push for possession with intent to supply.”

“You do?”

“You don't?” he says, his brows pulling together.

“It's just…he's Grayson Knight. Superstar football player. Squeaky-clean record. Incredibly wealthy. Arguing for possession with the intent to supply will be a hard sell. It's not like he needs to deal drugs to make money. I think a judge would more likely accept a charge of possession of a Schedule II drug. That way, we still have a good chance of winning the case in front of the public.”

“I disagree,” Ben says, and his words are biting. I'm surprised, because Ben rarely disagrees with me, and when he does, he does it respectfully. “He won't get enough jail time with a Schedule II felony. With a good lawyer, he'll only get probation and a fine. Maybe community service. I told you that I want to make an example of Grayson Knight. That charge won't make an example of him.”

“Okay,” I say, unsure which tack to take right now. “So…you're saying you want me to…?” I let my words drift so he can fill them in.

“Up the charges to possession of a Schedule II drug with intent to supply. Let's make him look at a felony in the second degree.”

I nod once in assent.

“Okay, then,” Ben says. He pushes off the chair and takes a step away. “You're leaving for the night?”

“I was heading out, but I can stay. Do you want me to draw up the charges tonight?”

“No, go home. Do it in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Good night, Mel.”

“Night, Ben.”

I watch him leave my office, my door closing behind him.

His words rattle around in my head.

Why is he so insistent on putting him in prison?
I know that putting a high-profile celebrity like Grayson away would look good for him. But there are no elections till next year. And Ben is highly respected in Miami. It's not like he needs to pull tricks to get reelected.

Ben's words, mixed in with Tori's from last night, swirl around in my head.

What Tori said was right. If I prosecute Grayson without knowing the whole truth and he ends up going to jail as an innocent man, it'll eat away at me. Especially now, since Ben wants me to up the charge so that Grayson will be looking at some serious jail time.

I got into this job to do good. I want to be the best assistant state attorney, and to me, that means being honest. I don't want to put people in jail to better my numbers—I want to do it because those people deserve to be in jail. I want to do it to make my city a safer place—not just to get good publicity. And that's why I find myself dialing Grayson Knight's number.

He takes a while to answer the phone, and when he does, he sounds out of breath. “Mel,” he huffs.

I love the way he calls me Mel. But my stomach sinks as thoughts flash through my mind as to what's causing Grayson to be out of breath.
Is he…with a woman?

God, I hope not.

“I'm not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No. I'm just in my gym, working out.”

“Oh.”
Sweet relief.

I shake away my thoughts. I want to get to the truth, not bone the guy.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes…I was just wondering if you have time for a chat.”

“Sure.” He doesn't ask why. And honestly, I feel a flutter of content that he's so quick to answer yes. “Do you want me to come to your office?”

I don't think it's a good idea to meet Grayson here—Ben could find out about it. But there's a coffee shop I really like that's on the other side of town, not far from my apartment. And I never see anyone from work there. Grayson and I will be able to talk in peace.

“Can you meet me at the Hideout instead? It's a coffee shop on—”

“I know where it is,” he interjects. “I love that place. What time did you want to meet?”

I glance at the clock. “How long will it take you to get there?”

“I just need to grab a quick shower. I'm all sweaty from the gym.”

A nice image pops into my head.
Grayson is all sweaty, naked, and hovering over me as he…

Stop it, Mel!

“It'll probably only take me ten to shower and change, and another ten to drive over.”

I clear my throat, but when I speak, my words still come out ragged. “I'll see you in twenty, then.”

“See you soon,” he says, and hangs up.

I leave my office and head for the elevator. Downstairs, I flag a cab on the street.

The entire time, I desperately try not to think about the fact that Grayson is probably naked right now. Naked and wet, in the shower.

Holy God.

I need to wipe these images and thoughts from my mind so that I have a clear head when I see him. I'm meeting him to discuss his criminal charges, and all I want to do is take off his sweaty clothes.