Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (11 page)

I
shook my head. "No, thanks. I was never very good at it."

"Suit
yourself. Do you mind if I do?"

I
nodded and took the seat he offered me. The dean's home office was simple but
elegant, with a large, hand-carved desk and luxurious, leather chair. Patrick
took the hard-backed chair next to me and lit his cigar.

"You
know, I'm impressed with you. I think it's great how you can see past the
narrow confines of your classroom," he said between puffs.

"I'm
afraid other people think I'm not suited to academia for that very
reason," I said.

Patrick
shook his head. "I suppose it helps that you are closer in age to your
students, but I think it's great how you get involved in their personal lives. Especially
Clarity."

My
eyes flared wide. "Especially Clarity?" I asked with my heart
hammering. Had her father picked up on my feelings of attraction for his daughter?
The thought horrified me and I could barely keep it from my expression.

"Yes,
by encouraging her creative writing. I am so happy that she took it up again. You
have no idea how many hours she spent writing stories as a child."

I
leaned back and relaxed my shoulders. "Well, that would explain why she's
very good at it."

"It
nearly broke my heart when she stopped." Patrick puffed on his cigar. The
smoke drifted upwards in three wobbling rings. "Clarity is still so
affected by her mother leaving. She's driven by the idea that she has to be the
complete opposite of her mother to be a good person."

"Hmm,"
I said and wiped my palms on my knees.

"Oh,
she wasn't how she sounds, not exactly. Clarity's mother and I were a bad match
from the beginning and I knew it. When she left I wasn't all that heartbroken,
but it killed me to see what it did to Clarity." Patrick slapped my
shoulder. "Take a little advice from an old man: it's not your heart you
should follow when you fall in love, but your gut."

"My
gut?" I asked.

Patrick
returned my skeptical smile with a vigorous head nod. "I knew in my gut
that Clarity's mother and I were never going to be able to make a serious go of
things, but my heart wanted it to be true. I hesitated to make plans with her
even from the start because I knew I couldn't rely on her, I knew she'd be gone
sooner than later, but I tried anyway. Go with your gut."

I
shrugged, uncomfortable. "My hunches have never really been that
good," I said.

"Now,
see, I can tell when someone is lying," Patrick sat forward and studied my
face. "In fact, I think you might have already gotten a hunch about
someone but you're holding back."

There
was a loud clatter from the kitchen and Clarity's faint voice called, "I'm
alright. Everything's fine."

Her
father stood up. "I better go help dry the dishes. Help yourself to a
glass of scotch. It'll warm you up before you head out in the snow."

I
stood up as he headed out the door. It felt awkward to be alone in his office,
but a moment later, I heard laughter in the kitchen. Patrick was a genuinely
kind and generous person and his daughter ... I needed a drink to think about
Clarity.

On
the far wall of the office was a built-in cabinet and shelves. I took a lowball
glass from the shelf and turned the scotch bottle to admire the vintage before
I poured a drink.

"Thanks
a million, Michael Tailor?" I looked at the small, handwritten tag two
more times before I put back my glass and backed away from the cabinet.

I
paced back and forth and read the tag a few more times. Why was Michael Tailor
giving the dean custom cigars and expensive scotch?

The
short stretch between the cabinet and the opposite wall was not enough area to
help me think. I expanded my pacing and took a lap around behind Patrick's
desk. On the second lap, I felt the hardening cement in my stomach that meant I
had a hunch.

A
manila folder was open on the dean's desk, I didn't even have to touch the
spread out pages to see what they were. Test scores from Michael Tailor Junior.
Terrible test scores.

"Ouch,
that's not going to get you into Landsman," I muttered.

Junior's
application essay lay closer to the dean's computer. I stepped forward to read
the ridiculously bad opening lines and accidentally bumped the desk.

The
computer screen glowed to life and showed two documents. The one behind was a
template from Landsman College entitled Acceptance Letter. The other was a new
version of the application essay, or rather, a loose interpretation of what the
young man must have meant.

Clarity's
father was rewriting the essay and preparing to send Junior an acceptance
letter.

The
implications froze me to the spot, and that's where Clarity found me. She
bounced into the door frame and laughed. "I hope you're not looking at
those terrible pictures of me. He insists on keeping them on his desk even
though they're almost a decade old."

Words
couldn't escape around the wedge in my throat. Clarity took a step in the door
and locked her eyes on my face. I cleared my throat but no words came out.

"What's
the matter? What is it?" Clarity rushed across the office.

I
stopped her at the corner of her father's desk. "It's nothing."

"No,
I saw the look on your face. What's in the folder?"

I
caught her arm and tried to steer her back towards the door. "How about we
go for a walk in the snow? I need to burn off some calories from that
feast."

"Stop
trying to stop me," Clarity snapped. She pulled her arm back. "If my
father left something out on his desk, I have more of a right to see it than
you."

I
let my hands fall and Clarity pushed past me. "It's probably
nothing," I said. "It's not what it looks like."

She
glanced at the computer screen first. "Why is he retyping the essay?"
She popped her mouth closed as she saw the acceptance letter and then she
picked up the original essay.

"We're
not going to jump to any conclusions," I said.

Clarity
flinched away as I tried to put my hands on her shoulders. "His test
scores are terrible. I mean, really subpar. Landsman College doesn't
discriminate against people of different abilities, but this shows a complete
lack of effort."

"Maybe
your father is giving him feedback so he can try again and be successful in the
future."

Clarity's
eyes were glass hard. "So how do you explain the acceptance letter?" Then
she stumbled and gripped the leather chair for support. "Oh, god. That
explains the sudden friendship and all the nice gifts. My father only just met
Michael Tailor."

I
leaned on the desk and tried to get Clarity to look at me, but she was lost in
a whirlwind of worry. "Don't jump to any conclusions."

She
looked up at me and I saw the first wash of tears. "Do you think that's
why I got the internship?"

I
tugged her away from the desk, but Clarity wouldn't leave the office. We stood
on the plush rug in the center of the room and I squeezed her fingers. "You
got the internship on your own merit. How could you possibly compare yourself
to Junior? All your father did was mail in your application and you did the
rest. Never doubt that, Clarity."

She
shook her head. "You heard my father. His friend Michael Tailor has an
'in' at Wire Communications. I may never have been considered if someone didn't
put my application on the top of a pile."

I
rattled her hands gently. "You don't think I would have told you if you
didn't qualify for the internship? You're probably the best candidate they've
ever had."

Clarity
sniffled. "How can I believe you? How can I believe you if I can't even
believe my own father?"

The
look of grief on her face fizzed like acid in my stomach. "A good
journalist doesn't jump to conclusions. You need hard evidence to be
corroborated."

She
tugged her hands free of my grip and headed for the door. "I have to turn
it down. I can't take that internship."

I
followed her to the door and jumped back as she wheeled around to face me. "What?
What did I say?" I asked.

Clarity
clapped both hands to her mouth and struggled to get a deep breath. Her eyes
were wide with fear. "A good journalist. You're a good journalist."

"No
one ever said that. Just calm down, we can figure this out."

"That's
it, don't you see?" Clarity cried. "You uncovered corruption at
Landsman College. It's your journalistic duty to pursue the story and find the
truth."

"Clarity,
I didn't see anything. Your father invited me to his office to smoke a
cigar," I said.

Her
tears overflowed. "You didn't do anything wrong. He invited you into his
office, he left the test scores and essay in plain view, and his computer was
still on. You can't just walk away from a story like this, no matter who’s
involved."

"I'm
not a journalist anymore, I'm a professor," I said.

Clarity
shook her head. "The first principle of journalistic ethics is to seek
truth and report it. And you're the editor of the Landsman College newspaper. You
have to report it."

I
took her by both shoulders and pulled her close, then I leaned down and made
sure she saw me. "Clarity, I will have seen nothing and I will do nothing,
if that is what you want."

Her
shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. "My father may be guilty of
corruption; please don't make me doubt your integrity too."

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Clarity

I
took items at random from the
cafeteria line. It didn't matter so long as I wasn't having breakfast across
from my father. He was acting as if nothing was wrong, but not in a normal way.
My father's school spirit seemed strained for the first time ever. At least I
knew he wasn't comfortable with what he'd done.

I
stared blankly at the dry cereal choices. Had my father really ignored an
applicant's test results?
 
Michael Tailor
Junior's scores were not only poor, they were deliberately bad. How could my
father doctor an entrance essay in order to justify letting such a determinedly
defiant student in to Landsman College?

The
most logical explanation made me sick. Despite the sweet smell of the
buttermilk pancakes, I knew I wasn't going to be able to eat a thing on my
tray. I had only come to the cafeteria to avoid my father.

At
least my misery did not stand out. Everywhere students were struggling to
adjust to classes as usual. The first day back after break and most students
shuffled through in pajama pants and collegiate sweatshirts. Messy hair and
blurry eyes were everywhere.

I
just wanted to be alone.

"Student
ID?" the cafeteria worker asked.

I
winced, but handed him the card. The last time someone had asked me that I had
lied. It had been so easy to tell the security guard a false name. I had been
thinking about saving my father the embarrassment. And I had been thinking of
Ford.

Looking
back over the Thanksgiving holiday, Ford had been my only bright spot. Now all
the happy moments with my father were tarnished by the major infraction he had
committed, probably while the turkey was baking in the oven. I squeezed my eyes
shut for just a moment and conjured up Ford's stormy gaze again. He had stood
in front of me, steadied me as I reeled in disbelief, and Ford had promised he
saw nothing.

"If
that's what you want." His words echoed in my head.

"What?"
I asked.

The
cafeteria worker sighed and repeated, "There’s fresh orange juice near the
end counter if that's what you want."

"Thanks."
I scooped up my tray and searched for a quiet table.

I
sat down in the far corner by the window and faced Thompson Hall. I wondered if
I would see Ford hurrying to his first class. I wondered if he was going to
break the story about my father accepting bribes.

Ford
had to know the only reason my father did it was to secure me the internship at
Wire Communications. It was all I had talked about all summer and all I had
focused on since the beginning of the year. The career-making internship that I
was going to turn down.

I
slumped back in my chair. "What's the point of even going to class?"

The
answer bolted me upright in my chair. Ford. Somehow he was the only person I
wanted to see.

"Clarity,
hi! I don't normally see you in the cafeteria. It's so great to run into you
after break but before class," Thomas said.

I
bit my cheek but smiled as he sat down. "Yeah, speaking of class, I need
to get there a little early."

Thomas
checked his watch. "No problem, we've got time for a little coffee and
then I'll walk with you." He smiled. "How was your break? Who did
your father end up inviting to Thanksgiving dinner?"

I
summoned the good section of memories, before I entered my father's office. "It
was really nice. Professor Rumsfeld and his wife were there, and Ford. I mean,
Professor Bauer."

"You're
on a first name basis now?" Thomas put down his coffee cup and studied the
paper rim.

"Well,
yeah, I guess. Actually, all the professors wanted to be normal people so I
called them all by their first names. Professor Rumsfeld's first name is
Jackson," I said.

Thomas
picked at his scrambled eggs. "So, what was Ford like? Did he pull a
restaurant critic at dinner?"

I
laughed. "No, he actually relaxed. My father cracked me up a few times. The
Professor's got an infectious laugh."

"So
you've been infected?" Thomas scowled and swigged his coffee.

"What?
No. I'm just saying that Professor Bauer—"

"Ford."

"Yes,
Ford, is actually very nice. He even stayed and helped was the dishes," I
said.

Thomas
sat back and crossed his arms. "I can't believe your father invited him,
much less let him stay late."

I
narrowed my eyes and searched Thomas' surly face. "What's wrong with
that?"

"You
know that he's no good, right? You're not totally oblivious to the fact that
Ford Bauer is not a good man."

I
gripped the edge of the cafeteria table. "Ford is a better man than you'll
ever know."

"God,
Clarity." Thomas shoved his tray away and it bumped mine, sloshing my coffee.
"I didn't think you'd be one of those girls."

"What
exactly are you trying to say, Thomas?"

His
whole demeanor changed. A sweaty, hopeful look sprung into Thomas' eyes and he
sat forward. "Maybe once you know the truth about him, you'll forget all about
how handsome he is or whatever it is that attracts girls like flies."

I
crossed my arms and laid my elbows along the edge of the table. "Did you
just call me a fly?"

Thomas
reached out and gripped my hand but I refused to untuck it from my crossed arms.
"Clarity, I'm sorry, but Ford's done this before."

"Done
what exactly?"

"He's
seduced students before. You can ask Libby Blackwell. They had an affair her freshman
year and then he just dumped her flat. A professor, which should matter to you.
A professor seduced a student and then tossed her away like she was
nothing," Thomas said.

I
was glad no one else was near my quiet table. "What is wrong with you,
Thomas?" I jumped to my feet. "I get you're jealous, it makes sense,
but I didn't think you were the type of guy to spread false rumors in the hopes
of making yourself look better in comparison."

"Clarity,
please, wait," Thomas called.

I
went back and whipped my untouched breakfast from the table. "You should
be ashamed of yourself."

As
I marched away, I heard Thomas mutter, "And you should do your
research."

#

I
stormed out of the
cafeteria, only having enough control to stop before throwing out my coffee. The
coffee gave me something to grip in between my angry hands, and something to
sip at so I didn't have to smile. It didn't matter that it was lukewarm and
bitter.

Thomas'
words sent me off-course and I wandered down the hallway without a destination.
At the student mailboxes, I changed course, then stopped abruptly.

Libby
flounced around the corner and giggled at some love note that had been left in
her mailbox. I followed her past the registrar's office and out onto the main
lawn.

The
back of her tight, velour jogging pants flashed the rhinestoned word 'fresh.' Above
it was a long-sleeved tee-shirt at least two sizes too small and that squeezed
her tiny waist. Her shock of dyed blonde hair flipped back and forth in a long
ponytail, and I stared at it as if hypnotized.

Is
that what had happened to Ford? He was taken in by her pretty fake-ness and
all-together too easy attitude?

At
the corner near the limestone chapel, Libby slowed and then spun on her heeled
sandals. "Clarity. Thank god, for a second there I thought some creep was
following me."

I
could have nodded and cut across the grass, but Libby already knew why I was
trying to bump into her. Her brown eyes blinked at me with a calculating
glance.

"Nice
to see you, Libby. How was your break?" I asked.

"It
was alright," Libby shrugged, "though I didn't get any good, send-off
kisses like you. I've been craving a little roll in the fallen leaves ever
since I ran into you and your, um, man."

"What?
No," I swallowed hard. "That is not what you saw."

Libby
sidled closer and kept pace with me as I tried to flee. "I wonder what I
would have seen if I had been a few minutes behind on my mile. If only I was a
little slower, I bet I would have seen your skinny legs up in the air."

"Libby!
How can you say that? He's a professor."

"We
both know the rules weren't made for him. He's not old or lecherous. He's
virile and irresistible. Who wouldn't bend the rules for a taste of those lips?
Maybe a taste of something a little farther down ..."

I
slammed to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. "You are filthy. And I
think it's about time you take your dirty mind and go bother someone
else."

"Why
would I do that?" Libby batted her spiky, mascara-laden eyelashes. "You're
the one locking illegal lips with fantastic Mr. Ford."

"Illegal?
You just said the rules weren't made for him," I snapped.

"A
little touchy, huh, Clarity?" Libby asked. "I get it. You want him to
touch you so bad you're willing to stumble around in the leaves just to brush
up against him. We've all been there."

"That's
it," I said. "You better come straight out and say what you mean,
Libby. I'm done with all your trash talk." I crossed my arms and stood up
as tall as I could.

"I'm
saying that you're not the first one to get the hots for Professor Bauer. The
first time he and I kissed, it was behind the cafeteria."

"Gross,"
I said and spun away.

Libby
caught my arm. "No, it wasn't gross at all. I had lost my ID and Ford came
to help me. I could feel his eyes on me as I bent over and checked the lost and
found basket. Then all I had to do was get close enough and he couldn't
resist."

I
threw my hands in front of me and back up two steps. "You are making all
of that up. You just want the attention, so you tell these stories that no one
can prove are true."

"Oh,
it's true," Libby laughed. "I once took a selfie of us in one of our
favorite dark corners. You know the little alcove near the campus radio
station? No one goes back there and there's a decent sofa there."

"Please,
you've probably been there with half a dozen guys. According to the stories you
tell about yourself, half the campus is drooling over you and just waiting for
their chance to come again," I said, though the words made me feel sick.

Libby
tossed her blonde ponytail. "I'm not going to deny I enjoy the reputation
I've got. Why not? It's the modern era and women are allowed to have sex too,
you know."

"That
doesn't mean that every girl wants to or should," I said. I took a deep,
calming breath. "Some women want more. More intimacy, more connection,
more satisfactions than a series of one-night stands."

"Oh,
who says it was just one night with the fantastic Mr. Ford?" Libby asked. "He
wanted me so badly he kept running into me. Before class, after class, in the
cafeteria, all over campus."

"Yeah,
it sounds like you had a really deep connection." I stepped around Libby
again.

Now
Libby looked disgusted. "We dated. It was much more than just a silly kiss
under a tree."

"Then
why are you so jealous of one kiss?" I countered.

"Who
says I'm jealous?" Libby narrowed her eyes. "I got everything I
wanted from Ford."

"Obviously
not," I said. "He just used you and now you walk around mad that you
didn't come out on top."

"Oh,
I came on top," Libby snarled. "Besides, princess, hasn't it ever
occurred to you that Ford is using you?"

"The
difference is I'm not going to let him."

She
shook her head with a mean smile. "He already has used you. Do you think
he took you under his wing because he loves you? He wanted to befriend your
father and gain the influence of the dean."

I
faltered. "Why would he need my father's influence?"

"To
save his job." Libby sauntered away with a dainty wave over her shoulder.

The
conversation rattled around in my head until I was sure the unnecessary jabs
and jealousies were gone. It came down to two claims: that Ford had slept with
a student two years ago, and that he was only interested in me to ingratiate
himself to my father.

I
dragged my feet on the way to his class. How could I stand to verify either
claim? Libby's bragging wasn't evidence but she had planted a seed of doubt in
my head.

"Hello,
class," Ford said.

My
stomach buzzed with the same happy excitement, despite the turmoil in my head. Just
being near him ignited me like a handful of fireworks and my body wouldn't
listen to reason.