Quarterback's Surprise Baby (Bad Boy Ballers Book 2) (5 page)

T
hat goddamned huge
, gorgeous, bastard. I am absolutely irate. Who in heaven’s name does he think he is, coming in here and acting like he owns the place? Like I’m his servant? This is my turf and I just won it for crying out loud. Just because we’ve practically gone straight from his bed to the office, doesn't mean that he owns me or can treat me badly. Far from it. After all, he did it too. He’s no angel. And if he can't give me the respect that I deserve, then he can take a long walk off a short pier. I don’t care who he is! How he can throw a football, or what team he plays for! Or for that matter, what his salary might be! He can’t order me around.

Carlton is being an enormous pain in the neck, however. I can't tell a senior partner in the middle of a meeting, “Hey this guy just pinched my ass and doesn't deserve your respect, even if we can get him off.”

Get him off. Oh Lord, now I'm thinking of his cock. Don't think of his cock, Odell, don't think about how much you needed to feel him inside you last night, how he stretched and filled you like you've never been before, how you want him to bend you over this conference table and take you over and over again. How you want him to use you for his satisfaction, moving around deep inside you, his hands spreading you open.

Dammit. I should be paying attention. He’s talking about his case. I force myself to take note after note, as he talks, but my mind is still wandering to that body of his.

When Gryphon sits back, Carlton is still looking at me strangely.

“Well, that’s quite a story,” he says. “Thank you Mr. James, for being so open and candid. I think we've done all we can for today, wouldn't you say, Odell? We can let Mr. James get back to the field where he can forget about all this?”

At the mention of my name I realize that I haven't been paying much attention to the last few minutes of Griff’s monologue. My hands kept writing what he was saying, like they were trained to do from law school, but my mind was everywhere else. Thank heaven for the recording, as well. All I can do is agree with Carlton, so I nod. Dammit, this footballer has me acting like a grade schooler again. And on my first day as partner too!
Get it together, Odell
, I tell myself. “Yes, Carlton, I think we have more than enough for now. I can certainly sink my teeth in this case and come up with a strategy for Mr. James.” I grab my papers and let the stack fall through my fingers to line them up. I hit them against the oak a few times, perhaps a little more strongly than I would normally, which causes a few to fall on the ground. I look up and smile stupidly, trying to hide my embarrassment.

Carlton manages to stand up and hold his hand out to shake Gryphon’s again. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. James, I don’t mind saying, it's a real pleasure to meet such a superstar. A champion of one of my favorite pastimes. One of America's favorite pastimes!” He’s laying it on super thick, and I can feel it, I’m in real trouble now. He’s not impressed with how this meeting went, and he’s trying to repair the damage.

Gryphon gives him a crooked smile, and I think of how he had me up against the wall, his strong body feeling so solid and thick, his hard muscles moving under his soft skin. I scramble around, trying to pick up the papers, and Gryphon leans down and hands me a small sheaf. Our eyes meet, and he winks. He winks! My heart leaps a little, and betrays me. That bastard. I give him the meanest look I can muster, and he laughs.

“Thank you very much, Gryphon,” I say through gritted teeth. “As I said, I’ll be studying your notes and figuring out the best course of action.”

“Sounds good to me. And the pleasure's all mine.” And with that, he walks out of the office, his hot, muscular, strong body poured into that six thousand dollar suit, and I'm left to face the righteous wrath of Carlton Smith, senior partner.

* * *

I
have never been simultaneously so
embarrassed and so angry in my life. Ambushing me like that in my own law firm, pinching my ass, and leering. I wasn’t being unprofessional, Gryphon was the one being unprofessional. Who does he think he is touching me? Sure, last night was one thing, but this is business. Despite my anger toward him, I treated Griff and will treat him like I treat any other client in these offices. Which is to say, just exactly as he deserves, which in his case, is not much. He’ll get the kind of professional attention that will ensure his best possible result—just because he might be an asshole doesn’t mean I will let him go to jail. However, Carlton may kowtow to him, acting like he’s the most amazing person in the free known universe, it doesn’t mean that he is a superstar in my mind. He’s a client on a domestic violence charge, no more and no less, and he’s just going to have to get used to the consequences of that. So what if he’s a client with whom I happened to have a crazy night of sex?

Carlton has apparently decided that my “punishment” is to attend Seattle’s match tonight against NC. He wants me to go talk to Griff after the game tonight to beg his forgiveness and plead with him not to give up on our firm—even if he thinks I am a terrible person and a horrible lawyer. Well you can guess what I think of that. Complete bull. But I’ll do it, because I want to keep my job.

The thought of it still grates. I was hired at this firm because of my incredible skill as a lawyer and my doggedness in finding out the kinds of information that would sway a jury—the kind of thing that would make the ultimate decision whether he is locked up or set free. And if Carlton thinks I'm going to lower myself in front of that bastard who has pretty clearly set me up then he has another thing coming.

Sure, I'll go to the game. I'll even talk to him and convince him to stick with us. But I will not beg. That's not who I am and that's not what he deserves.

That bastard
winked
for crying out loud!

The complete and utter arrogance. He set me up and now he thinks he can use his charms to take advantage of me. But I’ll make sure I use my charms to win him back tonight. To the firm. Win him back to the firm. And that’s it.

* * *

T
he atmosphere
in the stadium is electric. People are wearing team colors, they have their faces painted, and every third person is sporting a jersey with “Gryphon James” emblazoned on the back. Makes it hard to forget why I’m here.

The players jog out onto the field for the national anthem, and the crowd erupts in cheers, and hip hop plays on the incredible sound system. I go by the VIP area to the Gold area, and when I show the tickets that Carlton gave me the usher directs me into the platinum box, which gives me not only the best possible view of the field, but also has several large television screens for replays and close-ups, and a huge array of buffet foods and drinks. There's even a bartender polishing glasses in the back, ready to mix anything you could desire from the sparkling bottles lined up behind her.

I had thought of bringing Sandra, and part of me wishes I did. She'd be bowled over by the luxury of this place, but honestly I didn't want to tell her what went down today on my very first day of work. When I tell her—or if I do—it's going to be over a slow bottle of wine, just the two of us, without embarrassment and without the specter of having to apologize to a raging bastard hanging over my head. So it's only me, all the shrimp anyone could possibly eat, and a willing bartender in this fancy place.

I pick a seat at the front where I can perfectly see both the monitors and the action live on the field, even though I’m sure to be lost as soon as the game starts. I never spent much time at football games in college. I was always too busy studying. The kids who were into sports would run past me in my seat in the library or the student lounge, excited about homecoming events, or yelling about the ‘big game,’ but I went for academic prize after prize. And now I’m lost. Maybe I should have brought a book?

But no. It’s way too loud. The pregame entertainment blasts through the audience, and they’re cheering each person. But when they say Gryphon James, the superstar, everyone goes completely insane with cheers. I guess they're doing a good job of keeping quite the domestic assault charges for now, because nobody seems to be booing.

I’m not sure why someone just being good at throwing a ball around can seemingly erase people’s sense. And how that could possibly be more important than getting charged with a crime. But now that my anger and embarrassment have faded a little, I’m can’t help but wonder if Gryphon might be innocent after all. Sure he’s kind of cocky, but is he really an abuser? He seemed so sweet, in a way when we were in bed.

“Can I get you a drink?” asks the bartender, appearing suddenly at my side.

“Wow, real personal service!” I smile, shaking my head a little to dispel the thoughts of Gryphon’s hard body. I smile at the bartender.

“Yep. It's just you—for now, anyway,” she smiles back. “There might be a couple of other people showing up halfway through,” she advises me. “They usually do. You know, girlfriends, wives. Are you one of them, may I ask?”

“Oh no,” I blush. “Not me. But I could sure use a gin and tonic,” I smile sheepishly.

In a few minutes, a frosty glass appears alongside a complimentary plate of tapas.
I could get used to this
, I think. Then suddenly across every monitor, Gryphon's handsome face is twenty feet tall, as he steps out onto the field. His gait is smooth and easy, waving to the crowd as they cheer his name. I breathe in sharply, gazing on his beautiful eyes, his almost regal nose, and full lips. His strong jaw showcases a genuine smile, as he takes his place by his teammates. He nods at the crowd, who seem to collectively swoon at his appearance.
I’m his lawyer,
I tell myself, doing my personal best to keep my head on straight and not be seduced by that handsome face, and the thought that he could take me in his arms, and ... and ...anything he wanted. Push that hot body in those amazing tight pants against me, while I spread my legs wide…

I shake my head again to ward off the thoughts and drink my gin and tonic. The sharp, bubbly taste clears my mind, at least for a second. Keeping my mind on the job might be harder than I thought.

There’s a clatter of excitement and a couple of women join me in the box. They're dressed to the nines. Both beautiful women, clearly ready to party.

“Hey there,” says one, turning my way. “My name's Ayesha.” She extends a graceful, bedazzled hand to me. “I'm one of the player's wives. This is Nanette. She is one too. She’s married to the linebacker.”

“We're here to get drunk and watch the boys kick some ass,” says Nanette, her perfectly tended curls bouncing. “What brings you here all by your lonesome?”

“Nothing much,” I grin. I don't want to tell the details of my embarrassment. “My name’s Odell. I’m here to watch Gryphon Jones, I guess.”

“You and the rest of the stadium,” snorts Ayesha as she takes a big sip of a colorful drink.

“Are you his girlfriend or something?” Nanette asks, carefully eyeing me up and down.

“No, actually, I’m his lawyer,” I grin. “But I’m afraid I can't say anything about the case.” I smile back at them. “You know, confidentiality reasons. So you’ll forgive me if I leave it at that.”

“Mm hm, yes, I get that.” The women nod at each other. Then Nanette adds, “A lawyer, right. But you know, I'd say you're just his type!” She touches Ayesha’s shoulder, and she nods quickly.

I feel myself blush deeply. Thank heaven for my dark skin that covers such things! “Well, I wouldn't know,” I demur. “As I said, I'm just his lawyer.”

They look at me appraisingly. “Just his lawyer, huh…” Both burst into peals of laughter. “Sure!”

“Not if he has anything to say about it!” Nanette's voice is loud and gleeful, and Ayesha hushes her.

“Quiet, girl, Griff can probably hear you from the field!” She tosses her head back and laughs. “She told you! Confidentiality!”

“Don't be silly,” grins Nanette, then to me. “We had some champagne in the limo on the way over.”

“Anything to make this ridiculous game more interesting.” Ayesha says, raising her hand, waving it in a circle. “Another round!” she calls.