“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.