Resisting Redemption

by Amabel Daniels

  Roxie rubbed at her forehead. “Okay. Pissy about divorce. Got it.”

  Lia offered her a smile. “Just, well, just try to get through the first day. That will tell you more than any rules you try to memorize. He’s a loner, but still a people person. If he can judge you’re all right, then you’ve got a chance.”

  “I’m not a people person. But I’ll be damned if he tries to fire me. I want that bonus.”

  “Then…” Lia swallowed. “You’ll just have to take it one day at a time.”

  “That’s all anyone ever can do, isn’t it?”

  Chapter Two

  After a half hour on the elliptical machine in the Kaniz’s gym on the first floor, Grant Newland showered and hurried for his office upstairs, primed to begin the day. Despite his plan of not returning to Kaniz & Associates after his much-needed personal leave to a desolate family cabin in Colorado, he found himself reporting for duty in the luxurious offices. One more case. One more job.

  He loathed the concept of returning to the firm he’d come to despise, the hub for top-dollar attorneys where he had begun his career and soared to national fame and success. But he had to sacrifice his mental ulcer and stick around for Ben’s case.

  It wasn’t every day his best bud from childhood—NBA demigod Ben Rohn—would need Grant’s assistance while facing a murder charge.

  For Ben’s sake, Grant would swallow the bile rising in his throat and attempt civility around his ex-wife. And then he’d bolt and start up his own practice—like he should have done years ago.

  Since his hasty return at the beginning of the week, summoned by a breaking newsflash on ESPN from some hole-in-the-wall bar in the tiny town he’d vacationed in, Grant was rejuvenated by his dedication to this case. These weren’t more of the long days of the same old, throwing himself into preparing defenses of corrupt mafia associates and degenerates of society who had enough money to afford his legal fees but should be slammed in jail.

  “Hey, hey, wait up.”

  Grant turned from the elevator at the deep voice calling for him. Chris, a junior associate, hustled to his side.

  “Good morning, Chris.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Chris said as they waited for the elevator.

  “Not yet, no.” But the day’s only started.

  Twin ebony glossed doors swooshed open. Grant gestured for Chris to proceed.

  Backpedaling onto the car, Chris shook his head. “You just got back from your leave. Which was a saving grace for your damn career. Walter was about to kick your ass to the curb for your poor behavior.”

  No. His absence was the breath of fresh air he’d needed to seriously acknowledge he no longer belonged at Walter Kaniz’s law firm. Fat wallets escaping justice with slimy smiles. That wasn’t why Grant had wanted to practice law.

  “I appreciate the reminder.” Sure, I lost motivation for a couple months. But has everyone forgotten the years of wins and millions I’ve reaped for the firm?

  “And now you’re back with all balls and guns blazing. Tara’s pissed. Meeting with Ben behind her back?” He shook his head.

  Grant shrugged. “I’m assisting counsel. I have every right to speak to the client. Only reason Tara’s lead counsel is because I was temporarily out of state. And, by the way, you should have called me as soon as they issued a warrant for arrest.”

  Chris scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. But like this? What’s up your sleeve?”

  Grant pressed the button for their floor. “I’m no magician, Chris. Only a man of law.”

  “Yeah. But do you have to go about it this way? She’s going to be furious. And not let you work on the case at all!”

  Since Grant’s return and jumping in to “help” his ex on Ben’s case, she’d excluded him from meetings and avoided him otherwise. He wasn’t in the mood for any more of her attempts to shut him out.

  “All I did was email the DA with a specific request to negotiate the terms of parole before arraignment.”

  And carbon copied Walter. It wasn’t tattling, per se…

  “All you did? You created a shitstorm. You should have heard her yesterday afternoon, bitching about you trying to take the case from her.”

  “I’m not trying to. I will take the case from her. She’s not acting in Ben’s best interest.”

  “You went over her head to inform prosecution of your desire to negotiate the terms of parole,” Chris said. “Not her. She’s fine with what the prosecution’s put forth.”

  Grant stabbed the emergency brake for the elevator. “Because she’s telling him to fucking plead guilty! To bargain!”

  Chris nodded.

  “Oh, come on. You know that’s bullshit. Ben has no priors. There’s no weapon. No witnesses. It’s a circumstantial case at best. And she wants to fork him over, with a betting chip of allowing parole someday?”

  “Ben was the last one seen with the victim. And it wasn’t a friendly exchange. Plus, there’s the gunshot residue on Ben’s hand…” Chris said.

  “The victim.” Grant scoffed. “Josh Warren was a crap ass singer.”

  But Josh Warren wasn’t only a crap ass singer. He was also dead. Found cold and lifeless with three bullet holes in his famous face. His manhood…mutilated.

  Grant didn’t wish harm on anyone, but he had to believe Josh had it coming, contributing to the controversy of his own death in the foolhardy way of those too cocky to remember the world revolves around the sun, not them.

  “You may be right, but Tara seems to think he’d be better off taking the blame as an easy way out.”

  “Easy way out of what?” Grant smirked and pushed the button for the elevator to resume rising. “They’ve got nothing concrete to charge him.” And it was even more fucked up that Tara would even consider tossing in the towel. She was up to something, Grant was positive.

  He inhaled deeply for a fake sense of calm. “Ben’s not pleading guilty.”

  “Hey, I hear you. I’m with you.” Chris sighed. “Only thing is, I think you could have tried to claim more say as counsel with some other method than contacting the prosecution without speaking to her first. Why do you think she would want to bargain and avoid trial?”

  Grant watched the numbers illuminate, announcing they were almost there. “I think she’s planning on leaving. Weasel out of a timely and messy trial so she can move on with her life.”

  “Where would she go? A new firm?”

  Grant raised his brows at him. “That’s what you and I were going to do when I was done with my leave.”

  Tara abandoning her family firm, though, that was a mystery.

  “True. And the sooner we free Ben, we’re outta here.”

  Finally. Some words of optimism.

  “She’s bargained to prevent trial and you’re confident you can win one?” Chris scoffed.

  And then, here’s doubt. Again.

  His morale had gradually plummeted as he’d come to realize his passion, his job, made him a puppet in a world of dollar signs and lies. As his disillusionment had deepened, his cases had suffered and he’d honestly earned a bad rep at the firm.

  But Ben was innocent. And to defend a worthy client, to engage in a crusade to protect a wrongly accused man, Grant’s underdog ambitions were full-force once more, brighter than ever.

  “I believe him. I know he didn’t kill anyone. As his friend, I owe it to him to give it my best.”

  They were words no sane criminal lawyer should have ever committed to speech. But they were true.

  “After you wrangle the case from Tara,” Chris said.

  Exactly. Two dings chirped at their floor.

  “Oh, by the way, Tara’s meltdown yesterday wasn’t the only news in the offices,” Chris said.

  Grant glanced at Chris as they exited.

  “Wait ’til you see the new assistant Juanita found you.” Chris winked.

  He resisted a growl. “Can’t you guys let it be? I’m going to be very preoccupied. Have mercy on me. I can’t afford the
time to tolerate another clueless employee who isn’t going to last more than a day. How many more pathetic examples will it take for you to understand I don’t want any help?”

  They entered the lobby, with its dark wood-paneled walls and lush, thick carpet that rivaled sheepskin. He strode past the receptionist, who was busy on the phone. As they came to the foyer that preceded the split-off hallways for the lawyers’ offices, he glanced among the office workers for Lia. Please, please have my drink ready. The morning was bound to be horrendous. Caffeine would provide more help than another disposable assistant could.

  Just before the hallway which led to his office, he stumbled to a stop. If he had continued his fast stride, he would have plowed right over the woman on her hands and knees on the navy floor. Papers lay strewn on the carpet. She shook her head as she gathered them up.

  Lia crawled after pages behind the woman. Juanita cleared her throat.

  “Crap.” Lia swatted at the newcomer, still on her knees piling up papers. “He’s here.”

  With a head full of red hair—real red, not strawberry or auburn, but flat-out, vibrant, bold, red—she jerked her face toward him. She narrowed her eyes as she studied him. A slow, concentrated onceover from his immaculately polished shoes, all the way up to his still-wet-from-the-shower hair.

  Like Jessica Rabbit, in one sexy, sweet package on her knees in front of him, her hair fell to cover one eye.

  Oh, fuck me.

  “Juanita…?” Grant couldn’t remove his stare from the woman. A sinking feeling she was bad news clouded his mind. The mere sight of her and he couldn’t think fast enough, all blood fueling a more southernly head.

  Red rose to her feet, showing tight curves in her simple black skirt, her green blouse failing to contain her cleavage. Papers stayed clutched in a bunch in one hand, and she stuck her other in a fist at her hip.

  “Grant, please meet your new assistant,” Juanita said.

  Oh, fuck me, please. No.

  Juanita and Lia had pulled this kind of stunt before, when he’d been grouchy prior to his leave. They’d hired gorgeous, fuckable women to be his assistant. Maybe Chris had been in on it, too, thinking a hot woman in his immediate proximity might snap him out of his asshole ways. An office-arranged rebound to distract him from the toxicity of his ex at the firm.

  He never fraternized with the staff. Ever.

  As much as this woman would be precisely the kind of specimen to tempt him, the timing was all wrong. He had to focus. He needed to concentrate on Ben’s case. He swallowed as his gaze slipped down to her cleavage again.

  “Grant, this is Roxie Malone. Roxie, this is Mr. Newland,” Juanita said.

  “Are you kidding me?” Roxie said. “Him? I’m working for him?”

  Lia elbowed her and offered her a cup, encouraging her to take it.

  Grant closed his eyes for a moment. Her voice. Not only did she look like a sex siren, her voice gripped him. Like a cedar-hued vixen fox with a husky lilting tone to snare him in her ways. “Is this a joke?” he asked.

  “She’s your assistant,” Juanita said.

  “Is she…” He choked for air, uncomfortable at how thoroughly and immediately she unsettled him. “Is she even old enough to work? Of legal age?”

  “Flattery is going to get you nowhere,” Roxie said, taking the cup from Lia.

  She seemed young enough to be right out of high school. Too damn alive and fresh. Her eyes sparkled with a captivating energy. Like a dare.

  “I can’t believe this,” she muttered and thrust out the cup. “I can’t say it’s nice to meet you, but maybe we’ll manage not to despise each other. Your drink,” she said. “Apparently, you prefer it dirty. Am I going to have to waste my time and breath calling you Mr. Newland, or is Grant acceptable?”

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “You can bet your salary I’m not going to say ‘your Royal Highness’.” She shoved the drink closer to his face. “Come on. Drink up. I’m told you don’t function without it. I’ve just been informed you pack in a busy day, so we may as well get on with it.”

  Get on with it? How? Where? You on top?

  He shook his fantasies away. Sexy and sassy, not sweet. He wasn’t in the mood. He was only back at Kaniz’s for Ben’s case. Nothing more.

  “Mr. Newland?” Someone spoke from the hallway. “Ms. Kaniz requests to see you immediately.”

  Grant slit his eyes at Tara’s assistant. You priggish kid, of course Tara would command me to come hither. She can wait in hell for me.

  “Excuse me? No. Absolutely not.” Roxie shoved the forgotten papers under her arm and consulted the phone in her hand. “A Ms. Kaniz requests what? I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Grant has several calls scheduled in the next half-hour. He can’t see her until after one o’clock this afternoon.”

  Chris choked on a laugh. Grant brought his drink to his lips to hide his smile. Tara’s assistant frowned as he looked at him, and then Roxie. “Who… What do you mean?”

  Oh, it was rich. The poor peon didn’t know what to do. No one ever refused Tara. No one in the office dared keep her waiting.

  “Who? I’m Roxie. As of this morning, I’m Grant’s assistant. Look upon me as gatekeeper of his agenda. What I mean is, according to this calendar”—she wiggled her phone in the air—“he’s booked this morning. Better luck later.”

  “I don’t…” The young man turned back to the direction of Tara’s office. “I don’t understand.”

  Grant cleared his throat. That was enough fun. “Go ahead and tell her I’ll be there in a moment.” He faced Roxie.

  Red’s got some grit, but she won’t last.

  “Well, come on, gatekeeper. You might actually be handy.” He grabbed Roxie’s wrist and hurried her down the hall with him.

  She did have a point. He had a tight schedule and the faster he toughed out an argument about Ben’s parole and his plea, the faster he could begin his work of getting Ben out of jail.

  “Handy?” She yanked her arm. “How about you unhand me?” She pulled free. “I possess full capacity of my bipedal locomotion. I get it. You go, I follow. Did you mean I might be useful?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What made you so confident of my assistant abilities in thirty seconds?”

  He glanced at her. “Who says I’m confident? I’m merely willing to give you a chance.”

  “Aw, gee, thanks. Because?”

  “No one’s ever had the balls to speak to Tara’s assistant like that.”

  She laughed. “Don’t wait for me to get meek and timid on you. Who is she that makes her so fearsome?”

  “My ex.”

  “Ah. But am I not expected to keep you on schedule?”

  “Yes, you are. I mean, no. I keep my own agenda. Look, just, stand by for now and stay out of my way, okay?”

  He knocked once on Tara’s closed door and entered.

  Chapter Three

  Are you kidding me? Seriously? Standing at Grant’s side, Roxie wanted to groan.

  Asshole lawyer? She’d try to handle.

  Temperamental animals? They’d been a piece of cake.

  Balancing the never-ending obligations of being a single mom? She’d nailed it so far.

  Roxie was made of stronger stuff.

  His stiff attitude, she had been expecting. The classical office jerk. He fired help left and right. No one could manage him, Juanita had warned.

  But Lia and Juanita failed to mention one important detail. They forgot to explain Grant was the sexiest, most drop-dead handsome man alive. He was too good-looking for his own health. People passed that kind of man, and they couldn’t resist a double-take to verify he was human and not an incarnation of perfection. His face, his body, they were the blinding goods that caused car accidents, and joggers to run into fire hydrants.

  Like stepping outside without sunglasses on a cloudless day, she’d been outmaneuvered. Roxie couldn’t have helped her knee-jerk reaction of snapping at him, de
fensive at the threat of such masculine temptation. As though she had to wait for her pupils to constrict, giving her time to squint from shock, she was too slow to remember she was supposed to be some mute, obedient employee, not a bossy smartass.

  Working with horses and dogs, she’d enjoyed a drought from dealing with men. Her rebuffs were stale, so she’d gone for her usual staple of sarcasm on a slice of no-nonsense to combat the intimidation of her instantaneous attraction to him.

  This wasn’t the ranch, with animals to control. This was an elite, wealthy law firm, and she cringed to realize she might have come on too strong in the wrong location.

  Based on Lia’s report of his finicky pickiness, she’d been readying herself for some paunchy-stomached, old dude with a pool cue up his rear, waiting for the world to bow to him. But she hadn’t counted on scolding herself for dropping her jaw at the sight of him. She hadn’t planned on needing to remind herself not to stare at his striking face.

  She followed him into an office of gray walls and no personal touches. He stalked toward the desk and the scowling blonde behind it.

  Do not stare at him. Do not stare at him.

  Not minding Grant’s conversation with the woman, Roxie appreciated the flex of muscles in his arms as he pounded a fist to the desk.

  “I’ve already decided. He. Will. Plead. Guilty,” the blonde at the desk said.

  “You’ve decided? You? This is Ben’s decision, not yours,” Grant said.

  Blondie huffed. “Ben and I discussed this decision last week. You missed it while you were hiding away drinking like a pathetic bum.”

  Roxie grimaced at the nasty woman’s interruption of her woes.

  How can I work in close proximity with the most desirable man I’ve ever seen? She wasn’t a sex-starved idiot, but he was going to be a hell of a distraction. Grant was like a dancing Hershey bar, doing a striptease of his wrapper in front of a person fasting for twenty-four hours.

  And so what, Rox? So he was a lure. She wasn’t a stupid fish chasing a good time. She was here to make money. To take care of her daughter. Shaking the weaker temptations out of her mind, she almost laughed at herself.