Resisting Redemption

by Amabel Daniels

  “As soon as this case is over. As soon as Ben is acquitted, Jimmy’s facing retribution,” Grant said.

  Roxie leaned back and stared at him. “How so? My case was closed. And I have Lucy. That’s all that matters in the end.”

  No. She had Lucy. And fear. And jadedness. And colossal unwarranted debts. Roxie didn’t deserve to be blackmailed, framed, and persecuted for doing the right thing. No one deserved it. But especially not Roxie, not his gorgeous, loving, compassionate Roxie.

  “If I’m worth any part of my license to practice law, I will bring that bastard to justice.”

  She frowned and returned to her seat. “I didn’t tell you with hope you’d help me. You wanted to know, so I told.”

  What, she thought he viewed her as needy and weak because of her experience? How quickly she drew the bridge and hid behind her moat.

  “Roxie, look at me,” he said and waited until her smirk faced him. “You are not a damsel in distress. The fact you remained in my employ for more than twenty-four hours speaks of your courage and strength.”

  She scoffed.

  “I became a lawyer to fight the good fight. To challenge myself. To win.”

  Saying the words, he realized he owed much more to her than what met the surface. After Tara’s destruction of his pseudo-family life and his soul, he’d succumbed to not even caring about his cases, his job, or his previous passion for law. Roxie’s injustice, her case, those were the puzzles, the fights against the impossible he strived for. And he had her to thank for bringing him out of his sadness and misery. She reminded him of what was worth fighting for. Just as he was determined to prove Ben’s innocence, he wanted, no, needed, to do the same for Roxie.

  “What happened to you is unspeakable. Jimmy deserves to be punished for his crimes, and as soon as Ben is acquitted, I will seek to appeal your case and settle this once and for all.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  He will settle this once and for all? He will?

  So what had she been doing all this time? Facing the department’s board, pretending she was an inept fool who accidentally killed a horse, and lying in the courtroom, faking her stupidity that she hadn’t realized the implications of the drug “she” gave Bolt? He was going to take care of the mess of her life?

  Hadn’t she been doing just that, in every way possible? By sucking it up, moving Lucy and Sophia to that rat-trap of an apartment so they weren’t homeless, looking for work, any work, and then suffering the mundanity of being under Grant’s employ—Superman, Gallant Sir Knight Grant? Particular, demanding, impatient almighty lawyer man—who was going to so graciously swoop in and settle this once and for all?

  Gritting her teeth, Roxie rode out the rest of the flight in silence, fuming over Grant’s commandeering attitude and her stupidity in telling him her woeful tale.

  Why did I even tell him?

  Worked up from leaving Lucy for a night, and out of shape from her outburst in the airport—she cringed again at her explosion and tears—and she was up for gabbing away.

  Even after they’d disembarked, collected their bags, aimed for a rental car, and then made their way to their hotel, she still hadn’t cooled off from the maelstrom of anger, regret, and annoyance rioting in her mind, the color of her hair reflecting the heat of her ire. Mute and moody, she’d spoken not one word to her boss.

  She plopped down in the leather chair of Grant’s sleek hotel room and rubbed at her temples, tossed from this nonstop worrying.

  I never should have kissed him. Never should have told him a single damn word.

  Fighting back a groan, she recalled how she’d willingly climbed onto his lap on the plane, seeking the comfort of his hold, how naturally her hand fit into his grasp. What happened to keeping these damn distances? He was her boss. Not her rock to depend on, not her answer to her problems, and definitely not her source of comfort.

  She needed to stack the bricks up around her heart fast and keep Grant on the other side. No more falling for him, in any damn way. No more letting him in.

  “Roxie!”

  Focus on the job. Help him win Ben’s case to score the bonus at the end. Do it all for Lucy.

  “Roxie!”

  She began to repeat her pep talk once more.

  “Earth to Roxie!”

  She raised her face from her hands and glared at Grant. Hell if she were going to focus on the job, she’d best start by dissecting why he was so pissed, frowning and pacing across the forest-green carpet. Focus, you moping, worried idiot.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he muttered. “Help me out?”

  Blinking, she tucked away her moods and broke from her reverie. Assist him, indeed, that was her purpose. Assist him on the case, not with his blue balls or need to be charitable. But what was wrong? Had she sunken that deep in her own thoughts that she could tune out a hiccup?

  He strode to the ceiling-to-floor windows, the turbulent rainy, gray sky matching her mood outside. One flick of his wrist and he threw his phone to the couch next to her. His right hand clutched a fistful of his mussed blond hair, while with his left, he rubbed the pad of his pointer finger in circles on the pad of his thumb. His tell. Something was cooking in his head.

  “How the fuck are we going to get to Kylie now?” He spoke to his reflection in the window, his back to her.

  Kylie? The point of their trip. Of course they were going to speak to the model. Ex-model. Whatever. They flew down here to finally meet with her right after the all-star event finished. Some charity show, a beach walk to raise awareness for the local police. Beach walk. Her gaze shot back to the torrents of rain blocking sunshine from the sand below.

  Effing h-e-l-l. Rain meant no beach walk. No opening to talk to Kylie afterward as planned.

  She got to her feet. “Well, she’s still here, right?” Had Kylie left Miami already? Because of the change of weather? Roxie wouldn’t put the wishy-washy schedule changes past her.

  “How the fuck do I know?” He turned to face her. “I called her hotel to confirm our appointment with her, but obviously, she must not be there because the event is canceled. I’ve been trying to contact her assistant. Her publicist. Her dog walker. Goddamn anyone.”

  He’d been trying to contact Kylie’s people…a chore that’s usually mine.

  Grant didn’t need to say the words that seemed to be hanging between them. And she wasn’t about to defend her right to have a mental shutdown or inner tantrum.

  “Nothing?” she asked and scrolled through the apps on her phone. Seeking the annoying icon that served unconventionally helpful since working for Grant, she tapped on it and then searched for a clue. Bingo.

  She tugged at his sleeve, still reading on her phone. “She’s still there. Here, in Miami, at least. Not at the beach-walk hotel, but at her hotel.” Holding her phone up for him to see, she showed him the Tweet @Kylie_luver posted seven minutes ago. Rain, rain, go away, was the caption to the image of the blonde model pouting in a white chair at a table at…Roxie checked the tag location. “Lunch at The Blue Heron? Let’s go.”

  Daring a glance at Grant, she allowed a small smile. He wasted no time grabbing his coat and rushing to the door.

  “Twitter?” he asked as she retreated for her bag and then followed.

  She shrugged. “It works. All these celebrities are everywhere online. Why not get a little aid from them voluntarily telling us where they might be? All of your suspects, each of the VIP guests from Velocity, have accounts. And believe me, it hasn’t been a cake walk getting their cooperation for interviews.”

  He pushed the button for the elevator on their floor. Lighter lines on his face, instead of a pissy scowl, showed a chance for hope. “I’m not criticizing. I never would have thought of that avenue.”

  She shrugged again, her attention glued to her phone as they entered the newly arrived car. “Just thinking outside the box.” After a quick search, she verified The Blue Heron was the four-star restaurant at Kylie’s hotel. She saved the
address before she stuffed the phone in her bag.

  Grant slipped on his coat across from her. His hair was messy in a comfortable, sexy way, certainly not the clean, proper appearance he usually presented. In a slight angle, the knot of his tie remained lopsided as he straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. “Her assistant answered me once and said any previous engagements Kylie had were canceled because the event was a no-go. Which seemed to include our meeting with her.”

  Roxie rolled her eyes and moved closer to straighten his tie. Why did the damn woman find it so hard to agree to a simple interview? Was she hiding something? Or just that stinking self-centered and annoying because she banked millions and was probably the star of billions of boys’ and men’s wet dreams? Money and fame allowed people to call their own shots?

  “We didn’t have an engagement with her. This is business.”

  Why does he always have to yank at his tie?

  His hands covered hers at his neck and she slipped away from his warm touch. “Too tight.” He smirked. “You think she’ll agree to talk over lunch?”

  Roxie stepped back until her back hit the opposite wall of the silver elevator car. Stop touching him, Rox! “Maybe? No one else was tagged in her tweet. If she’s alone, and perhaps bored of the rain, why not? Either way, we’ll have to try.”

  They drove the short distance to Kylie’s hotel. Grant gave the keys to the valet and then they entered the elegant main lobby. Directional signs made short work of locating The Blue Heron, and at the hostess podium, Grant explained they had a meeting with Kylie for lunch. Not far from the truth, but still near a lie. Roxie wasn’t surprised when the hostess firmly stated Kylie had a table by herself. And if she and Grant lacked a reservation for dining, nothing doing.

  While Grant tried to persuade the hostess twice more, Roxie leaned over to check out the view of The Blue Heron past the front doors. Sure enough, there was Kylie, lounging at her table, sipping from a wineglass. Other diners seemed to be glancing the model’s way. Much like moths’ attraction to a light, ordinary people couldn’t resist the pull to gawk—even discreetly—at a famous star like Kylie.

  “Sir, I realize you may have had prior arrangements with Ms. Kylie, but that is neither here nor there. You do not have a reservation. And like everyone else who would like to speak with her, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” The hostess’s lips set in a horizontal line.

  “Grant,” Roxie said and then cleared her throat. “Let’s, uh, let’s have a drink at the bar, okay? Maybe her assistant will call us back and reschedule.” Having interrupted Grant’s useless argument with the formidable hostess, she guided him by the elbow to the other front doors to The Blue Heron, the entrance leading to its bar.

  She found them a place at the end of the mahogany-topped countertop, the closest position to Kylie. He ordered himself a brandy and a water for Roxie. Leaning his hip against the stool, he gave her his attention.

  “Now what?”

  “I don’t know. But you weren’t getting anywhere with the sentinel at the door. We don’t have reservations, and she probably thought you were just another fan who wanted to get close and drool over Kylie or something.”

  He nodded, and even though he still grimaced, she admired him for being impatient, but realistic.

  Over his shoulder, Roxie watched Kylie yawn and scan the room.

  “Here, switch with me.” She pulled his tie and maneuvered him into her spot. If Kylie was bored and scanning the occupants of the room, she’d have to be dead to miss Grant and fail to check him out. “Can you see her now?”

  His lips at the rim of his glass, he said, “Mmm hmm.”

  “Maybe you’ll catch her eye.”

  “I’m not here to pick her up.”

  Roxie made a face. “No, really? All I’m saying is you’re a hot piece of ass. She’ll notice you.”

  A grin showed at the corner of his mouth. A second later, he held out his hand.

  Because she gave him an honest observation of his sexiness, he wanted to hold hands? She glared at him.

  “Quarter.” He took a sip. “For the ‘ass.’”

  Roxie opened and closed her mouth. Licking her lips, she shook her head and dutifully rooted in her bag for the coin.

  “If I’m such a hot piece of ass, why can’t we cross the lines?”

  Chewing on her straw, she rolled her eyes. “Because I said so.”

  He held up his free hand in surrender. She didn’t buy his instant retreat.

  “There isn’t anything substantial to get mixed up in. Lust. Attraction. Okay, I can own up to them. If the circumstances were any different, maybe. But now is absolutely not the time. Send those come-get-it gazes to Kylie, not me.”

  A deep chuckle warmed her from head to toe. “Not quite how I’d like to introduce myself before I ask whether or not she could have killed her former lover.”

  “Well, introduce yourself somehow, because if we don’t talk to her, this trip was a waste.”

  His eyes softened. “You’ll be back to Lucy before you know it.”

  Yes, she missed her baby. But this was work. This was saving Ben. Contrary to his belief, she could be a mother and an employee at the same time with equal commitment. And she’d be damned if they flew down here and missed Kylie. For the amount of headaches and finagling it had cost her in attempting to score a meeting with Kylie, Roxie wanted to get it done for the satisfaction of accomplishing the impossible.

  “Buy her a drink,” she suggested.

  He snorted. “Like any other man in this room probably has attempted?”

  “If you could have a chance to say hello, speak to her, she’d be putty in your hands.”

  He set his half-empty glass on the counter and stepped closer. “Just speak, that’s all it takes?” In a single step, he invaded her space, closing the gap between them.

  “For who? Kylie? Heck if I know. All I’m saying is your voice…” She frowned as he erased the space between them. Tilting his head, he stared at her, too close for her control.

  “My voice…?” He unleashed the low whisper, that husky tone of a quiet caress.

  Her frown deepened with the narrowing of her eyes. It was either stay firm and angry with his persistence or whimper from insatiable want.

  “Causes knees to weaken,” she stated as neutrally as possible.

  He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’ll catch you.”

  She shut her eyes. “I’ve always been one to say I’ll believe it if I see it.” She pursed her lips. “So if I can’t see you, this isn’t real. Right? Ignorance is bliss and all.”

  “Can you believe it if you feel it?” he whispered into her ear as he threaded his fingers with hers and pulled her against his solid chest.

  “Please…don’t…” Her heart hammered. Heat seared her through layers of garments. Spicy hints of his brandy teased her nose. All it would take was a tiny turn, a simple shift and she could have his mouth on hers, her hand further up his chest, into his silky, unkempt hair.

  He squeezed her hand as he whispered, not with the tenor of a seductive drug, but a cold glass of water. “When I say three, you push me back and exit. Give it five minutes, come back in without your jacket and have your hair up. One, two, three.”

  Three? Wha—? She blinked her eyes open and shoved. Needing air to calm her racing heartbeat, she nearly ran from the bar. Five minutes? What was he doing? She’d been ready to wave a white flag and go for it. Job be damned. Was he playing with her? Confusion conveniently chased away the potent arousal he’d sparked in her as she went to the lobby bathroom, stuffed her jacket into her already bulging tote, twisted her tresses into a bun, and returned to the bar.

  Clueless to his instructions, she’d trusted him nonetheless. As she claimed her place at the bar, she noticed Grant’s absence. Checking Kylie’s table, she bit back a gasp. There he was. With a smug smile on his sexy lips, he raised his brows, a summons to join him and Kylie.

  How in the hell?


  “Kylie, my assistant, Ms. Malone,” Grant said as Roxie came to the table. He stood and pulled out a chair for her.

  It was happening. Finally. They’d cornered Kylie! Roxie held out her hand. “Ms. Kylie, I’m such a fan.” When elephants fly. No, wait. Dumbo technically already did that. When wooly mammoths fly.

  “Ah, thanks, hon,” Kylie said while she ignored her outstretched hand but graced her with a faint smile. “So sorry to have you waiting so long to chat, Mr. Newland. I had no idea I was in such demand.”

  The hell you weren’t.

  Grant dismissed her with a wave. “Kylie, no worries at all. It’s very generous of you to share your time with us. Josh’s passing has to be a horrendous pain to overcome.” He covered her hand on the table and patted it twice.

  Laying it on thick there, eh?

  Sniffing once, Kylie’s head bobbed in a strained ‘yes’ as she cast her attention to the ceiling. “Goddamn, I fucking miss him.”

  “The world is emptier without him,” Grant murmured.

  “I can’t, I just can’t see why the motherfucker had to kill him.” Kylie sighed and met Grant’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Newland. I can’t help but speak ill of your client.”

  Grant held Kylie’s hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

  Roxie grimaced at the sight. Jealous, much? She cleared her throat and set her notepad on the table, opening to the page where she had dictated Grant’s primary questions for Kylie.

  “Why do you suppose he did kill him?” she asked Kylie.

  The model sneered at Roxie. “Didn’t y’all read the police reports?”

  “We did. But why do you think Ben killed him?”

  Grant scooted his chair closer to Kylie and patted their joined hands. Clearly he was going to be the good guy, and Roxie the bad.