Suddenly it hits me: I know why I can’t escape my future. It's because in the past I was always running away from something, so it was easy to focus that energy, and what I was running toward was just a poor kid’s idea of success. Now all I want to do is run toward a new life—a life with Odell. When I am with her I feel like I am finally truly alive. Sinking into her embrace, taking her by the hand, and yes, fucking the living hell out of her, night after night. It's something that I didn't know that I needed but now it's everything, and my mind is desperately going back to the thought of her, and the bliss I feel when I’m with her, instead of using all my energy to kill it on the field.
I force myself to complete the agility drill as fast as I possibly can, but Drake still notices I'm a little off.
“Coach has his eye on your ass today,” he says, hiding his lips behind his hand. “Get it together, brother!'
“Worry about your own self,” I say with a wink, but in reality I'm pretty grateful for him looking out for me. Reminds me of my old Brooks University friends. At least I have one person on the team who’s got my back. Back in the day I could count on a few, Brando, Jackson, Mack. And a few other friends. We all had each other’s backs.
Now, the only one who does is my lawyer, and I may be falling in love with her. Just my luck.
The next sprints drill, I just pretend that Odell is at the end of the track, and I run it, but coach is right—I can’t risk doing badly. The whole reason I have a lawyer is to save my life, and that means my career. Football's always been my life, ever since I could hold a pigskin, and the Super Bowl has always been my dream..
No woman should mess with that. Ever. Not that witch Sabrina, and …not even my silly fantasies of Odell.
15
Odell
The day has come—I’m going to meet with them all. Sabrina, her lawyer, Griff, Carlton, and me. It might prove to be not only the most monumental challenge in my professional career but also the biggest of my personal life. It’s all so complicated: to stand and present my case to the woman who is accusing the man I'm falling for, to the man who wants me out of my job, and to the man I desperately want to save all in one afternoon is enough to drive a person to drink. But today is not a day for Sandra's lunchtime Margaritas; today is a day for double espressos and killer focus.
I'm wearing my most kickass outfit: power pumps, my Louboutins with red soles, a black suit tailored perfectly for my curves, and a blouse that blooms with giant red poppies. My makeup and hair are perfect—except for that one damn strand that always falls in my face. Sometimes Griff pushes it away, and he laughs when it pops back. But I look good, and as a woman in my world—which is to say, a complete boy's club who probably only hired me so they could continue to discriminate against other women and people of color—it's important to look the part. And that means, sexy, but strong. Powerful. Intimidating.
Enough about packaging. The most important weapon in my arsenal is my full report from Kent. With its contents, I may just be able to bring this Sabrina to her knees. If I'm honest, nothing would please me more.
“That man there,” sobs Sabrina, her blonde hair falling like a curtain in front of her eyes, “is a monster.” She grabs a napkin from the plateful of cranberry muffins to carefully wipe mascara from her lashes, but I don't see any actual black tears coming off on the paper. “A monster!” She blubbers the last word out, and Sam, her lawyer, pats her arm.
The nerve. “The only place my client is a monster—” I want to say is ‘in bed,’ but thankfully I control myself—“is on the field.”
“That's not true,” she cries some more. Her lawyer hands her another napkin, even though the first is completely dry. I decide to wait and let her “cry it out,” and Carlton comes to the same decision. I'm the first responder on this case, and he seems to be deferring to that, despite his complete lack of respect toward me otherwise. I'm hoping that she'll see how ridiculous she sounds if it appears that we are all just waiting for her to finish, rather than paying attention to her.
“Do you have any proof, Sabrina?” I ask when she finally finishes her display of crocodile tears. “We understand your position, but currently, it's your word against Mr. James’s. And that won't hold up in court, I’m afraid. Which could waste the time of everyone involved should it reach that level. ”
“Proof?” she sniffles dramatically. This woman should get an Academy Award for this. “Proof? How dare you even ask!” She boohoos a little, and I wait.
“I'm sorry if my question disturbs you, Miss Forbes,” I say, tapping my pencil on the table, “but I’m sure you understand. People are innocent until proven guilty in the American court system.”
“Damn right! This is America!” Gryphon seethes. I put my hand on his arm, trying to ignore the feelings that rush through me as I touch his beautiful muscled forearm.
“Please Mr. James,” I say, my voice low. “I’ll handle this. No need to interject.”
“See, this man can't control his temper,” huffs Sabrina's lawyer, Raymond Chu. “And we're merely talking. We can’t just ignore this apparent lack of maturity! An immaturity that led to documented injuries for my client.”
I tighten my hold on Gryphon's forearm, which feels like a tabletop, it's so thick and strong.
“I don't imagine a verbal outburst would hold up as proof of anything in a court of law,” I continue mildly. “I'm still waiting for something iron-clad from your side that you believe would hold up, because so far, you have nothing.”
“Fine, fine,” says Mr. Chu. He opens a folder of papers. “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. Here are some photographs of my client's injuries the night of the attack.” He plops down some photos and shuffles through his papers. “Here is an affidavit from the neighbors that they heard yelling in the apartment before Miss Forbes went to the hospital. And lastly, here is the doctor's report on her injuries.”
He slides them across the table, and I take my hand off of Gryphon’s arm to look through their so-called evidence. My heart beats double-time.
There are some grim photographs in the pile, certainly, but none can be identified as Sabrina. They are either too blurred, or are close-ups of injuries sustained. Some even seem photoshopped, with lights and angles not exactly adding up to a cohesive picture.
“Look Mr. Chu,” I say. “Please, don't make me do your job. These can't be proven to be your client, and I don't want to have link items on the doctor's report to individual photos.”
“Cut the crap, Ms. Williams,” spits Chu. “You know that it's obvious that your monster of a client is the one who did this. All the pieces of the puzzle fit, and we also know how important it is for your client to keep this out of the news. It's not we who should be worried; it's you. Gryphon James is an paid intimidator on the field and a damaged abuser in a relationship, and to pretend that he isn’t, is a betrayal to your—your gender!”
Now I'm getting mad. A betrayal to my gender? I have fought long and hard to become someone and I’ve made great personal sacrifices in order to succeed. Before Gryphon, I hadn’t had sex in years, but besides that—to get to practice law in the first place, and then to rise up to partner? I hardly betray my gender by demanding the kind of proof that any good lawyer would.
“All this evidence is circumstantial,” I say. “And hardly damning to Mr. James. Where’s the smoking gun?”
“Miss Williams, I am surprised. Aren't you a feminist?” sniffles Sabrina, “like me?”
“With all due respect, Miss Forbes,” I practically hiss, “you are nothing of a feminist. And without any substance to your allegations, it’s time for me to present our evidence.” I snap my briefcase open. “I can prove that you have a pattern of seducing, and then framing individuals of means in order to sink your hooks into them and milk them dry of their finances. You're no feminist. You’re a black widow!”
Sabrina's mouth falls open, and with one small sound, her sniffling stops cold. Her eyes narrow.
“How dare you! You're talking about proof, and what proof could you possibly have?” She stands up. “How dare you even say such a thing!”
Gryphon stands up and stares at her. “Keep your hands off Odell,” he growls.
“I can protect myself,” I say, turning to him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Raymond Chu yells.
“Yes, Odell, what are you talking about?” Carlton says in a low, desperate voice.
Here is my moment. I take out my files from Kent’s investigation. “Is it not true, Miss Forbes, that you have been pulling this trifling scam for the last six years?” I seethe, pulling out a piece of paper. “First incident: high school in Tacoma. An attempted rape charge settled out of court. You made a cool two-hundred grand out of that.” I throw another paper down on the table. “Second incident: attempted sexual assault, college, Seattle, against another rich boy.” I hold the next paper up. “You netted about a hundred grand that time! I guess that wasn't enough because the next time, you moved across the US to Florida, where you finished college, funding that with the proceeds of a situation settled out of court again, to the tune of 300 grand. The details of that particular incident are still frozen, but it fits the profile.” I turn to her, putting one hand down on the table and wave a sheaf of papers in my other hand. “Is that enough or should I go on? There are three more incidents I can detail. Lightning might strike once, twice, even three times. But six times in as many years? Hardly. You found your way to make an easy living, and you’ve maximized your profits.” Raymond Chu is shocked. He stares at me with his mouth open before he realizes himself and closes it.