Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (10 page)

"Heavenly,"
Ford said. When I started, he chuckled and amended his comment. "The
dinner. Everything smells heavenly."

He
put the bowls and gravy boat down on the table and reached out to help me with
the turkey. When our fingers brushed, I felt like a jolt of electricity
scrambled my muscles. The turkey tray wobbled again and between the two of us,
we set it down with a heavy thunk at the head of the table.

"Everything
alright in there?" my father called from the living room.

I
looked up to see everyone watching us with curiosity and amusement. Lexi wore a
dangerous, calculating smile and I flashed her a warning look that she ignored.
"Yes, fine, I think you might have underestimated the turkey this year,
Patrick," I said.

Everyone
laughed and my father gestured for our guests to file into the dining room. "Go
big or go home. I hope you've all brought your appetites," my father said.

"Wow,
Clarity, you and your dad really outdid yourselves this year," Lexi said
with a speculative twinkle in her eye.

My
father beamed. "It's been a few years since we did the full Thanksgiving
spread, so I'm glad you think it looks good. Clarity's been working hard. She
even tracked down a candied yams recipe for Ford."

My
cheeks flared. "You mentioned it to our lecture class one day before your
presentation," I said.

Ford
smiled at me. "I'm glad to know someone is listening," he said.

"Clarity's
good like that," Lexi said. "When she is interested in someone, she
notices everything."

Ford
cleared his throat. "Well, she hasn't noticed that I've been trying to
talk to her since I arrived, but now that I have her attention, I can finally
say it."

My
vision clouded and closed in around the edges. "Say what? Now?"

"I
have a letter for you," Ford pulled a narrow, white envelope from his
pocket and addressed the entire table. "It's from Wire Communications. My
teaching assistant opened it, but I promise I did not read the contents."

I
sat down hard in my chair as everyone clapped. "Why? What?"

Ford's
lips quirked up at the corners. "I thought you would like to read it
yourself. I imagine it has something to do with the internship you expressed
interest in. Very competitive, very real world experience. Remember?"

"How
did you get it?" I asked.

My
father gestured for us all to sit and Ford slipped into his chair and met my
eyes. "It was sent to my office. I believe the owner wanted me to see it,
so I could present it to you personally."

A
hardened, gray glint flashed through Ford's eyes at the mention of the Wire
Communications owner. I didn't understand why he would be so annoyed with
having to pass along the letter. Unless he had never intended to come to our
Thanksgiving dinner. Unless he was hoping to avoid me in social situations for
the rest of my schooling at Landsman College.

"Well,
aren't you going to open it?" my father asked. His hands paused next to
the carving knife, and I knew I was holding up dinner.

I
slipped the heavy stock, embossed stationary from the envelope and read out
loud. "Ms. Dunkirk: It is our pleasure to announce that you have won the
coveted position of Wire Communications Journalist Intern for the coming summer
months ... How is this even possible?" I asked Ford.

He
watched me carefully, an inquisitive squint around his eyes. "They most
likely noticed your excellent writing skills and your proven track record of
hard work and perseverance," he said.

"Hear,
hear!" Lexi broke my confusion with her raised glass.

"Thanks,"
I laughed, "but this is so surreal. I never sent in my application."

My
father reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "I meant to tell you,
darling. Remember how you wanted help proofreading your cover letter? Well, it
was flawless, so I gave it to my friend at the donors’ dinner."

"Wesley
Barton?" Ford asked.

Jackson
almost knocked over his water glass. "Sorry," he said but Alice
shushed him with a glance.

"No,"
my father said, not noticing anything was wrong. "Michael Tailor told me
he was happy to do me the favor. He said he had an in at Wire Communications. Not
that I think you needed a leg up, but I wanted to make sure you had a good
chance at getting what you want. I'm so proud of you, Clarity."

I
was caught by the scowling exchange between Ford and Jackson. The mention of
Wire Communications and especially Wesley Barton wiped away Ford's polite smile
and made Jackson sit up rigid in his seat. I couldn't tell if their distaste
was personal or professional, but either way, it made me uneasy.
 

Luckily,
before my father could see their furrowed expressions, Lexi spoke up again. "Let's
give thanks to the people that see what we want and help us get it." She
smiled at me and slid her eyes to stare at Ford then back to me. "Here's
to your future happiness."

I
tucked the letter under my chair cushion and shook my head. "Here's to a
happy Thanksgiving and the biggest turkey we've ever had!"

Everyone
clapped while my father stood up to carve but the conversation circled right
back around to my internship.

"From
what your father says, you've been planning this internship and this trajectory
since you were a senior in high school," Polly said.

"That's
not unusual," Damien said. "I knew since childhood that I wanted to
be a sculptor."

"Yes,
but this is different," Lexi said. "Clarity's always wanted to write,
but she decided in high school that journalism was the only way to make a
decent living at it."

Damien
scratched his chin. "What happened to the writing?"

"She
didn't take my class freshman year," Jackson spoke up.

His
wife swatted his arm. "Not everyone decides their future the same. In high
school, I loved ballet but it would have made a terrible career choice for me. I'm
too short," she told Lexi.

Lexi,
who was of comparable height, laughed. "I wanted to be a tight rope walker
but my parents never got on board with the whole, join the circus idea."

"You
know, it's not too late to change your mind," Ford spoke up. "If
creative writing is what you truly love, you shouldn't make it second best. I've
seen your short story, remember? You have an eye for details and an ear for
language that really engages the reader's senses."

My
father stopped loading mouthwatering slices of turkey onto a serving plate. "Fiction?"

I
glared at Ford and would have kicked his shin if our table wasn't so wide. "It
was just a short story. No big deal," I said. "And I didn't plan on
showing it to anyone else."

Lexi
narrowed her gaze. "You gave it to Ford instead of me?"

"Does
anyone want more wine?" I asked.

My
father laughed. "Clarity, I don't know why you are always dismissing your
love for creative writing. A lot of people pursue it as both a passion and a
career. It is possible to do that, you know."

Ford
looked apologetic. "The skills I mentioned are key for both fiction
writing and journalism. The choice is yours."

"I'm
just glad you have found a creative outlet. Under all the pressures of college
courses, it's nice to have a way to let off a little steam," my father
said.

We
handed around dishes and everyone filled their plates. I hoped the conversation
would turn to the delicious food. "Please take as much as you'd like. There's
plenty more in the kitchen. Maybe I should grab the other basket of rolls right
away."

"I
can," Carl stood up and strode into the kitchen.

Lexi
beamed. "Creative writing is a great outlet, but I'm pretty sure that
dating is better. No offense to anyone here, but Clarity has plenty of years to
spend quieting typing stories in the future. Now is the time she should be
having a little fun."

I
groaned and topped off my wine glass.

"I
agree," Alice said. "It's no good to go from solitary studies to a
solitary pastime. There is definitely something to be said for finding someone
that dares you to try new things."

"I
suggest you find yourself an older man," Damien said.

I
choked on my wine. "What?"

"Why?"
Ford asked.

"She
is clearly searching for inspiration." Damien winked at me and Ford shot
his friend, Jackson, another dark look.

Jackson
swallowed a large bite of turkey with gravy and said. "I'd love a chance
to look at your short story now that the cat's out of the bag. I always need
more people in my advanced creative writing class, and from what Ford has said,
I'm sure you would fit right in."

I
stabbed a green bean and glared at Ford again. "I think Ford might have
spoken out of turn and exaggerated a bit."

"No,"
my father said. "Ford's as honest as they come. Is that the reason you had
to leave journalism and dive into academia?"

"That's
a whole other story," Ford said with a grim line to his mouth.

"You
know," Polly spoke up, "I've been meaning to talk to some of the
creative writing students about creating prompts for my artists. I love the
intersection between description and illustration."

"Ah,
a crossover of the disciplines. It would be interesting to merge the painters
with the sculptors and challenge them with the written word." Damien
smiled at me. "What do you think, Clarity? Would you be willing to create
characters to challenge the art students?"

"She's
busy," Ford said. He looked up and took a swig of wine. "Clarity's
also on the school newspaper. It's not a big staff and I'm not big on people
poaching my students."

"Speaking
of inspiring the art students, I've been trying to convince Carl to pose for
your sculpting class," Lexi said.

Carl
shook his head and continued to eat. "Not my thing. Just like dating's not
Clarity's thing."

I
could have kissed him. "Thank you, Carl. I'm happy to consider my
journalist internship and I think that's about all I can handle at the moment."

"You're
too shy for your own good," Lexi said.

"Clarity's
not shy, she's discerning," Ford said.

Everyone
glanced his way again, but this time he kept his eyes steady on me.

My
father chuckled, "Takes one to know one, eh?"

Alice
nudged Ford. "He's definitely discerning too. In fact, I think that's why
he's not dating either."

"Really?
That's interesting," Lexi said.

I
considered throwing a roll at her head but instead made one last, desperate
attempt to change the subject. "I hope everyone saves a little room for
dessert. My father's made an amazing pecan pie."

"My
favorite," Ford said, and his smile returned as the conversation moved on.

CHAPTER
TEN

Ford

I
shoved my food around my
plate, annoyed with myself. I had made such a spectacle out of Clarity's
internship letter. Then I had tried to compliment her on her writing. I had
completely forgotten she asked me to keep it a secret.

I
stabbed a piece of turkey and dragged it through the thick, creamy gravy. At
least everyone's responses had been enthusiastic and encouraging. Maybe she'd
forgive me.

"I'd
like to take credit for the whole meal," Clarity's father leaned over to
me, "but really all I managed on my own was the gravy."

I
smiled. "What about the pecan pie?"

"She
did it. I arranged the nuts on top and put it in the oven," he whispered.

Clarity
caught us whispering. "That's not true. You handled the turkey."

"Judging
by the size, I'd say that's a lot," I joked.

Clarity
smiled at me and my appetite came back. I wolfed down two helpings of
everything and thirds of the candied yams. When I looked up from scraping my
plate clean, her emerald eyes locked onto my face.

The
pleasant swelling I felt was from more than the food, but then my stomach
dropped like a lead ball. I needed to tell her about Libby. I couldn't go on
waiting for the other shoe to drop, not with Clarity always in front of me.

I
tried to help her with the coffee, but she declined. I got up and made it as
far as the kitchen door before she reappeared with dessert. Then everyone
adjourned to the living room and I couldn't get up and follow Clarity without
everyone seeing me cross the room.

"Look,
snow!" Lexi cried.

Everyone
heaved themselves out of their comfortable seats and found places by the
frosted windows. Clarity hung back and disappeared into the kitchen again and I
saw my chance. I stepped back and spun on my heel to follow her, but when I got
into the kitchen, she was gone.

"I
hope it's enough to make a snowman tomorrow," Lexi said.

I
heard Clarity reply, "Always the optimist," and realized she had come
full circle through the kitchen and back out to the foyer. I got the distinct
impression she was trying to avoid me.

I
marched up behind Clarity and her friends, but Lexi's speculative look stopped
me short. I could lie and say it was about class, but I had a feeling that
wouldn't fool anyone.

"We
better head out before it gets too deep," Polly said.

"Oh,
that's too bad," Patrick said. He clasped her hands. "I was hoping we
could play Pictionary."

Polly
laughed and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful Thanksgiving
feast, Patrick. Clarity, you did an amazing job. Please, please think about
writing something for my art students."

"It's
a great idea," Patrick said, "I'll keep on her about it."

Damien
shook hands with everyone then kissed Clarity's cheek. "Charming. Thank
you."

I
hung back and scowled as the handsome sculptor winked at Clarity, then curled
an arm around Polly. They waved and headed out into the snow. Lexi and Carl
were not far behind them. She squealed as she danced around Carl until he
picked her up and twirled her.

"Coming,
Ford?" Jackson asked me.

"Nah,
I'm going to help clean up a little. It's the least I can do."

Alice
raised an eyebrow at me. "You're planning to walk home in all this snow?"

I
laughed. "It's only an inch. I think I'll make it."

"Well,
the least you can do is call Jackson when you get home so he doesn't have to
worry," she said. Alice kissed me on the cheek and thanked the Dunkirks.

While
Patrick and Clarity waved, I slipped back into the kitchen and filled the sink
with soapy water. I dumped the silverware in as Clarity came into the kitchen.

"You
really don't have to do that," she said.

"Let
the poor man," her father said. "We're not about to kick out a guest
for trying to help."

Clarity
reluctantly joined me at the double sink and started scrubbing the salad
dishes.

"It's
the least I can do for announcing to everyone about your short story," I
said.

She
sighed. "It's fine. You made my dad happy, that's for sure."

Patrick
chuckled. "That's right. Now all you need to do for me is convince her to
let me read it." He ducked back into the dining room to gather the rest of
the plates.

"I'm
really sorry, Clarity. I screwed up everything I was trying to say." I
took a deep breath. "I really need to talk to you."

"Polly
left her reading glasses. I'll have to take them to her tomorrow," Patrick
announced from the doorway.

I
wanted to come clean to Clarity about Libby, but all I got the chance to do was
wash dishes. Clarity worked beside me, polite but quiet.

"So
how did those candied yams stack up?" Patrick asked. He put the last of
the dishes on the counter next to me. "I suppose nothing can be as good as
the food in your memories."

"Better,"
I said. "Thank you."

A
rosy hue touched the top of Clarity's cheeks. "No problem."

"Oh,
darn, I bet there are more empty glasses in the living room," Patrick left
again.

I
nudged Clarity. "It was really sweet of you to make those especially for
me."

"I
didn't, I mean, I did, but I was trying to …" Clarity puffed out a
flustered breath and tried again. "You're welcome."

I
looked at her from the corner of my eye and had to smile. "You're
blushing," I whispered.

Clarity's
cheeks burned brighter, but she nudged me back. We pressed back and forth in a
playful skirmish and my heart soared. Whatever strict lines she had drawn for
herself shifted whenever we were together. The thought of freeing her from all
her restrictions, seeing her shake off her inhibitions, was all-consuming.

I
wanted Clarity, all of her.

"Careful,
you're dripping soap on your shoes," Clarity whispered with one more
flirtatious nudge.

I
flicked the soap off my hands and leaned on the counter so I could study her
pretty face. Her wide, emerald eyes flickered with nerves but she didn't step
back or look away. The look between us crackled with electricity.

"I
really am sorry for outing your writing. You came to me in strictest
confidence."

She
smiled. "It's alright, you were nice enough to give me feedback."

"So
you didn't mind coming up to my office to, ah, discuss your short story?"
I asked then held my breath.

"Not
at all," Clarity said. Her voice was like velvet. "Especially since
you were so nice to walk me home under the maple trees."

"I
hope you'll let me read your writing again sometime," I said. I reached
out to brush the soft hair from her neck and froze.

Her
father strode back in to the kitchen. "I'm so glad you convinced Clarity
to start writing again. She used to write fairy tales and mysteries and all
kinds of stories when she was a little girl, and I loved every single one of
them," he said with a proud smile.

Clarity
straightened up and stepped away. She kept her back to her father and scrubbed
at the next stack of plates. "That was back when I was a little kid, Dad. I'm
twenty-two now, an adult."

Her
eyes flickered to mine and the heat went straight to my core. I tore my gaze
away from her and cleared my throat. "I'm sure it's hard for you to see,
Patrick, but your daughter is a very mature woman."

Patrick
chuckled. "A fact that worries me every day. I wish she could go back to
being that carefree child making up stories for fun. She stopped writing after
her mother left and it was such a shame."

A
plate slipped from Clarity's hand and disappeared back into the soapy sink. She
plunged her hand into get it and I reached in to give her hand a hidden
squeeze.

Patrick
puttered around the kitchen without noticing his daughter's sudden quiet. I
spoke up to fill the void. "There's still a lot on that behemoth of a turkey.
Any chance of leftovers for a starving, single professor?" I asked.

Clarity
gave me a grateful glance and pulled her hands from the soapy water. She
grabbed a dish towel and dried them. "I'll pack up leftovers for you. We
have more of everything, including your candied yams."

"Excellent,"
Patrick said. "I'll go find a bag; I have a bunch leftover from the
Landsman College food drive."

He
disappeared down the hallway to his office. I dried my hands and caught Clarity
as she flitted back and forth, scooping up leftovers. "You know I wasn't
just being nice, right?"

"What?"
she blinked up at me.

"About
your writing. It shows real talent. Wait, what did you think I meant?" I
asked. I was suddenly aware of her silken skin underneath my fingers and the
taut flex of her slender arm. Before I could think better of it, I pulled her
closer.

Clarity
didn't resist, she looked at my lips and wetted her own. “Nothing. I just can't
quite believe that you liked my writing that much."

"I
really did." My voice was rough, scuffed by my rising attraction to her. "Have
you done any more?"

"Any
more ki—, writing?" Clarity stammered.

I
chuckled. "Yes, writing. You've been so focused in class, so rigid. Maybe
I can help loosen you up, as a writer. Help you believe in your writing a
little more."

We
broke apart but neither went far. I leaned on the counter by the sink and
Clarity drifted over to stand near me. "I don't know if I'll have the time
anymore. Remember that bombshell you dropped about my internship?"

"How
was I supposed to know? Man, I really walked right in and stuck my foot in my
mouth, didn't I?"

Clarity
laughed. "Is that why you had such a funny look on your face when you
found out I was accepted?"

"What?
No." I turned back to finish the dishes but there was only one small
saucer left. "Congratulations on that, by the way."

"You
don't think I should do it," Clarity leaned over the sink to look me in
the eye. The neckline of her shirt hung open and I carefully kept my gaze on
the soap suds. "Why not? What's wrong with working for Wire
Communications? You did it."

"I
just think you're too young to get dragged into such a dirty, corporate world. It's
more about politics and money than it is about journalistic integrity at Wire
Communications," I said.

"Too
young?" Clarity's eyes flashed and she leaned closer. "You didn't
think I was too young for other things."

I
smiled at her fierce retort. "We're done with the dishes. Time to say
goodnight?"

Her
rose petal lips quirked in an effort to hide her smile. "How about I walk
you out?"

I
loved when her uncertainty disappeared and I promised myself to rile her up in
the future. It was hard to shake off the thought and follow her into the dining
room.

There
Clarity snuffed out the candles but glowed herself in the dim light. I stepped
closer to her and reached to extinguish a far candle just so our bodies could
brush.

"So
is this why you were so nice about my short story?" Clarity asked.

An
avalanche of snow couldn't have been more effective in freezing my fantasies. "Oh,
my god, please tell me you don't think that could be true. It's not." I
took her by the shoulders and spun her to face me. "I see more in your
writing than puff pieces and articles. I don't want you to be restricted. You
should be free to write whatever you desire."

"I
wish I was free in my desires," Clarity muttered and the words were like
hot magma melting the ground between us.

She
swayed closer, and I couldn't find the strength to step back.

"Ford,"
Clarity's father called from the hallway. We jumped apart, startled, and he
called again. "Go ahead and leave the rest of the dishes. Come join me in
my office."

"Don't
worry," Clarity said, "you're not in trouble."

I
scoffed at her. "As if you've ever been in trouble with the dean
before."

I
found Patrick leaning on his desk. As I walked in the door of his office, he
pulled out two cigars and offered me one. "Care to join me? I find it
helps with digestion."

"Is
that the Landsman College logo? I had no idea the gift shop sold those," I
said.

Patrick
grinned. "No, these were specially made. A gift from one of our largest
donors, Michael Tailor. I think you met him at the donors’ dinner." He
held out the cigar again.