Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (14 page)

I
set the soda down with a sharp crack. Then I put my hands on my hips and glared
at Ford. "You want to know what happened with that plagiarism case?"

Ford
sighed and slumped down on his sagging sofa.

The
screeching of the sofa springs distracted me. "Can't you afford a better
place?" I asked.

Ford
crinkled his nose and looked around. "I didn't think it was that bad. I've
got everything I need. I spend my money in other ways."

"Like
burying stories?" I asked.

It
was the wrong question. I knew it as soon as the words left my lips and it hung
over the room.

"Tell
me what you think happened," Ford bit out. He took a long swig of his beer
and fixed his stormy eyes on me.

"I
think Michael Tailor had it planned all along. He knew his nephew, Brian, was
smart. Much smarter than his own son. So, when it was time to start considering
colleges for Junior, Michael Tailor brought him for a visit here. While he was
here, he switched Brian's paper. Brian didn't notice until the plagiarism case,
but his football coach warned him to stay quiet or he wouldn't play. My father
noticed the discrepancy between Brian's other papers, his abilities, and the
essay in question. He dismissed the case in favor of the student." I
finished and pinned my gaze on Ford, though it hurt to look at him.

In
his apartment, in jeans and a tee-shirt, slumped on a saggy sofa, Ford looked
like any other man. Gone was the stigma of professorship, and I felt closer to
him than I had ever been before. Except for the solid wall of distrust between
us.

I
wanted to scream at him about my broken heart. Bruised, I revised in my own
head. Ford had bruised my heart, but, then again, that was my fault too. This
was all my fault.

"I'm
sorry, Clarity," Ford said. "None of it can be proved."

"What?"
It took a moment to bring my head back around to the story. "But, you
interviewed Brian Tailor. You know he didn't plagiarize a paper. He's too
smart. And he admitted to me that he admitted to you about how the paper must
have been switched during football practice. Maybe if we talk to his coach—"

"We?"
Ford asked. He sat up and shot me a dangerous look. "There is no we unless
you want to make this whole thing worse."

I
fought the urge to stamp my foot. "But, it's the truth, I know it!"

Ford
stood up and walked to his apartment door. There he turned around and fixed me
with a sorrowful look. "Sorry, Clarity, but it's not going to help. All of
that is circumstantial at best, hearsay at worst."

I
tossed my hair. "Hearsay, rumor, gossip. Apparently public opinion is the
only thing that matters at all at Landsman College."

"Public
opinion makes a difference everywhere, Clarity. It's one of the hard lessons of
the real world that they haven't figured out how to teach in college. Congrats
on learning it before you graduate."

He
turned to open the door and I stopped him cold. "When was I supposed to
learn it? At my internship? Is that how you learned? I know Wire Communications
fired you. You were discredited. Is that public opinion or the truth?" I
asked.

Ford
shook his head and his voice was hard, though his shoulders slumped. "You
wanted real world experience all wrapped up in a prestigious internship and you
got it. Don't let your father's mistake be in vain. You take that internship. Just
keep your eyes open at Wire."

His
hand was on the door handle again. I longed to tell him that I had already
decided to turn down the internship. I decided as soon as I discovered that working
at Wire had cost him his career. I didn't know the details, but, more
importantly, Ford's silent opinion was enough for me.

It
hurt but I couldn't let him open the door, so I used the only leverage I had
left. "You're going to help me write an article that exposes Michael
Tailor's corrupt workings at Landsman or I will tell the Honor Council all
about your affair with Libby Blackwell."

Ford
shut the door but, but when he turned to face me, his expression surprised me. Relief.
It was written all over his face, from the relaxed furrow in his brow to the
loosened pinch at the corners of his mouth. He took a deep breath and let it
out, as if he'd been holding it for ages.

"I'm
sorry, Ford," I whispered, "but sometimes leverage is all journalists
can use to get at the truth."

"Don't
apologize, Clarity. Never apologize to me." Ford strode across the room
and caught both my hands in his fingers. He lifted my knuckles to his lips,
then caught himself and dropped our contact. "What do you think I've been
trying to tell you since we kissed?" he asked. His voice was rough with
unreadable emotion.

 
I fought as hard as I could but tears blurred
my vision and a few slipped over and down my cheeks. "You slept with a
student, Ford. You broke the rules. She was a freshman." My voice wavered
when I spoke, then gained traction as my anger came through. "And, of all
the freshman women at Landsman, you chose Libby Blackwell? You, you're not who
I thought you were."

"Who
did you think I was?" Ford's voice broke over the question.

I
couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The desperate longing I saw mirrored in his
eyes wrapped us tightly in a bond I didn't know how to break. And I didn't know
if I wanted it to break.

I
wasn't a silly, naive schoolgirl. I knew how desirable Libby was; anyone with
eyes could see the reasons why men loved her. Ford was young, he was younger
then, so why did the past affair make such a difference to me?

"You
were going to use me, just like you used her," I said. "It was just a
casual kiss, no big deal, wasn't it?"

Ford
grabbed me by the shoulders and his eyes were fierce. "That's not how it
was, Clarity. Please tell me you don't believe that."

"How
am I supposed to know what to believe?" I asked.

His
grip lessened but did not let go. "I'll tell you the truth," he said.
"And I want you to report everything to the Honor Council. I want to be
held accountable for all of it. I'm not going to hide from it anymore."

I
closed my eyes because I felt myself drowning in his intense gaze. "Tell
me the truth."

"I
was a different person when I started working here." I felt Ford lead me
to the sofa and we both sat down. He moved his grip down my arm and held my
fingers fast again. "I had been discredited as a journalist and my career
was over. I never wanted to be a professor, but Landsman College made me an
offer and I had no other course of action."

"I
don't understand, lots of people apply to work here. It's a dream job for
most," I said.

Ford
brushed my hair back from my shoulder and silenced me with a shake of his head.
"I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to be a journalist again, but
that career door had been slammed shut in my face. So, I started work here and
hoped it would save me from self-destructing."

I
looked up from our intertwined hands. "Self-destructing? How?"

"I
drank. A lot. All the way down to the cliché of the professor who tips a little
whiskey from a flask into his coffee when the students aren't looking,"
Ford said. He tried to smile but it slipped away. "I tried to drink it all
away but it didn't budge. So, I started making other bad decisions."

"Were
you trying to get fired?" I asked.

He
squeezed my fingers and nodded. "I think I was. I wanted a reason to fight
for my old career, to face what happened at my old job, and I just couldn't do
it myself. I needed the money."

I
blinked hard. "I wish you had known my father then."

A
real smile burned through the haze of Ford's torment. "Me too. He's too
nice to kick my ass, but a few well-chosen words from a man of respect can cut
through a lot of bullshit."

My
heart warmed as he referred to my father as a man of respect. Ford was keeping
me and my father at arm's length and I didn't know why, but those words had me
hoping he would help us when it came down to it.

Ford
cleared his throat and let go of my hands. "Libby expressed interest. She
flirted. A few other students flirted too, but I never thought about it. I
never intended to anything about it."

"What
happened?" I asked. Hope fluttered again in my chest.

"The
first alumni/donor dinner was a huge success for Landsman College. I was
invited, but only stayed for a few minutes. I was blind drunk and lucky that no
one noticed. Then there was Libby. She saw me, the state I was in, and she took
her chance."

Ford
hung his head and took a few deep breaths. "I could have written it off as
a drunk mistake, but that only made the connotations worse. So, so I tried. I
tried to make something out of it. We saw each other a few more times, but
Libby was not who I thought she was. When she saw how I lived, that I didn't
own a car, or have a fancy condo, she demanded that I change. I pointed out we
meant nothing to each other. I guess she rewrote it in her head since
then."

I
edged away, uncomfortable with the mix of disgust and sympathy I felt for him. Ford
had made a terrible, immoral, and reprehensible mistake, but there he sat
telling me the whole truth of it. I felt like crying, but I also felt like
comforting him.

He
looked up and pinned me with a stormy-blue stare. "You mean a lot to me,
Clarity," he rasped. "It has nothing to do with who your father is or
that my job is on the chopping block. It has nothing to do with your age, our
situation, or anything else but this."

He
reached out and brushed a hand across my cheek. The searing undercurrents of
his caress struck hotter than lightning. He felt it too.

"I
should have thrown it all away to be with you," Ford said. "But, now
it's too late. The least I can do now is help your father and save you."

"Save
me?" I asked. I snapped out of the spell his confession had woven and
stood up. "I don't need saving. I don't need protecting. As far as I can
tell, between you, my father, and me, I'm the only one that can be trusted to
seek the truth."

"The
truth is not so simple," Ford warned.

"That's
it," I cried and headed for the door. I had to escape before I gave into
the urge to collapse in his arms. "I know you think I'm silly and naive
but I can't help it. I prize honesty, I want the truth, and if you're not going
to help me get it, then I will uncover it myself."

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Clarity

I
collapsed on
Ford's saggy sofa. From there, I realized the only real things of substance
that Ford had in his apartment were all media. Two newspapers were stacked
under his coffee table. Bestselling nonfiction books were in random stacks. Magazines
were all dog-eared or folded open. His tablet was charging on the edge of the
table next to me.

"I
wonder how many of these things tell the real truth," I sighed.

Ford
raised an eyebrow and sat down slowly on the opposite arm on the sofa. "What
do you mean?"

"Online
media, print media, it's all just the same. The story is slanted no matter
what. The only difference is some people make it go their way," I said.

"Come
on, you can't think like that. You're too young," Ford joked.

I
sat up and tossed the magazine next to me onto the coffee table. "So,
what? That's it? The difference between being a child and being an adult is a
working tolerance for dishonesty?"

"Things
just get complicated. The older you get, the more demands there are on your
time and money and ability to believe," Ford said. He scrubbed a hand over
his chin and frowned at his own statement. "What you lose in believing in
honesty, maybe you gain in insight to other people's motives."

I
groaned and flopped back again. "I don't want messy motives. They're never
easy to understand. I just want the facts to work, to tell the truth, and for
the people who are wrong to be punished instead of the ones who are trying to
do good."

Ford
slid onto the sofa and nudged me with his elbow. "The best articles always
reveal or hint at the subject's motives. People are interesting but mostly
static, motives shift and move. Motives are action."

I
leaned away from his elbow, but the sag in the couch brought us closer
together. I fought off the gravity that pulled me towards Ford and said,
"I'm glad I have a reason to turn down that internship at Wire
Communications."

"What
reason is that? You're not going to actually list this sideline private college
corruption as a reason to decline one of the most prestigious internships in
media arts, are you?" Ford leaned in to study my face.

"Why
not?" I asked, "Then they won't have to guess my motives. Maybe it'll
make a great subject for whomever takes my place."

Ford
scrubbed his stubbled chin again in a sign of exasperation. He was so close I
could smell the faded traces of his cologne. "Don't give up the
internship," he said. "I'm not saying that success is better than
honesty, but don't you imagine that sticking with this internship is the only
kind of revenge your father really wants?"

In
order to push my shoulder away from his, I had to press my knee against Ford's
thigh. Immediate heat flooded from where our legs touched all the way up to my
cheeks. "I don't want to be there," I said. "No matter how far
the internship lets me go in my career, I'll always know where and how it
started."

"No."
Ford turned to me, our legs pressed tighter together. "You're a great
journalist. You can make it there without letting it taint you. Just let things
like this slide right off of you. They won't be able to touch your integrity
unless you let them, and I don't think you will."

His
words set fire to my mind as his proximity was heating every inch of my body. I
forced myself to inch away and shook my head. "I'd make a terrible
journalist. I'm not willing to play games or spin the truth. Let's be honest, I
should quit pretending," I said.

The
thought of quitting was an ice cold bath over my senses. I jumped up from the
sofa and squeezed my eyes shut. My whole carefully planned life had a fatal
flaw. One little thread got pulled and the whole thing came apart. Without a
career in journalism, I didn't have a writing career based in current events,
facts, and concrete styles. Suddenly I was completely at a loss and the feeling
overwhelmed me.

A
gentle hand reached out. "Clarity?"

I
pried one eye open to look at him. Ford was hesitant, leaning over the coffee
table, but he brushed his hand up from my arm to my shoulder. This time I did
not flinch or pull away. I felt like any movement might cause me to fall over
into a deep abyss.

Ford
must have felt it too because he cleared his throat. "Clarity, you don't
have to rethink your whole life. Everything will work out the way it's supposed
to," he said. He came around the table and cupped my cheek in his hand. "You're
taking too much of this on yourself. Your father didn't want you burdened with
any of this and everyone would understand if you took a step back from it. Your
life is allowed to go on."

He
dropped his hand as I met his gaze. Ford's movements were jerky, as if he were
unsure of every millimeter he moved. Then I saw his eyes. Ford's stormy-blue
eyes were deep with concern, but his face was rounded in an expression of
restraint. He wanted to comfort me but knew I might think his physical touch
inappropriate.

I
glanced around the empty, Spartan apartment, then threw myself into his arms. "I
just feel like everything has changed," my voice wavered as I pressed my
cheek to his strong chest.

Ford's
arms closed around me. One hand trailed up from my waist to smooth down my hair
and the repetitive motion lulled me to peace. "I know how you feel,"
Ford confessed. "When I had to leave Wire Communications, I felt like my
whole life had been stopped and rerouted."

I
nestled closer in his arms but couldn't help my question, "why did you
have to leave?"

"I
found out a truth that no one wanted revealed. When I threatened to publish it
anyway, I was discredited." Ford gave a self-deprecating laugh. "By
the time they were done making their point, it was a definite rout."

I
leaned back and look up at Ford. "That's what I don't understand. You keep
talking about retreating and playing it safe, but nothing about you personally
tells me you would do that? Why? Why did you give up in your fight?"

He
traced a finger down my arm and then clasped his arms around my waist again,
not ready to release me from the hug. "I tried at first, but there was no
way around it."

"Couldn't
you have pushed the story to light some other way? Did you consider taking it
to a rival media outlet?" I asked. My ideas made me step back, anxious to
see if there was a way out of the situation that Ford had not noticed.

He
hesitated to squash my hope. "The competitors weren't interested; it showed
I would bite the hand that feeds me. My only choices were to bow out or get
sued for more than I will ever have in eight lifetimes."

"Then
a good attorney would have noticed the discrepancies and looked for another
motive," I said.

Ford
stood back and laughed. He chuckled all the way across his small living room to
lean against the kitchen island.

"What's
so funny? I'm trying to help," I snapped.

"I
know, I know," Ford held up both hands. "It's just I wish you would
realize the complete about-face you've had in the last few minutes."

My
mind ran in a panic over why I had let Ford hold me. "I, I don't know what
you're talking about," I said.

"A
minute ago you were saying how you hate messy motives and you just wished
people would stick to the facts. And now you're telling me a lawyer could have
built a case for me based solely on motives." Ford chuckled again. "See?
You are going to make a great journalist yet."

He
meant it as a compliment, I could tell by his easy smile, but my shoulders were
stiff with indignation. Ford was laughing at me again like I was some kind of
entertaining child. I wondered if he laughed about his students with his other
professor friends.

"You
keep saying I'd make a great journalist," I said. "Why don't we test
out your theory?" I started to circle Ford's apartment. "There might
not be a lot of stuff here, but I think that means there's a story here
instead."

Ford
straightened up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I already told you
more about my story than I should have said. It all boils down to the fact that
I am a boring college professor with very bad interior design instincts,"
he said.

It
was my turn to laugh, but a thought struck me. "You live like you don't
make any money, but you are a college professor. I know you have a decent
salary, so the money must all be going somewhere."

"Gambling,"
Ford muttered.

"I
don't believe that for a second," I said. I glanced at the secondhand
dresser Ford used as a combination entryway table and television console. "I'd
think you are saving all your money for something big, except you have no
motivation. No pictures of fancy sailboats or brochures for fancy
vacations."

"Guys
don't really make vision boards," he grumbled.

I
turned and crossed my arms in triumph. "I think you're sending all the
money to your family. The only family you mentioned at Thanksgiving was your
sister, so you must be helping to support her."

Ford's
stormy eyes flew to a framed photograph on an otherwise bare shelf. "So
what if I send a little money my sister's way? That doesn't really tell you
much about me. Lots of people feel beholden to the bonds of family," Ford
said. "Like you."

I
scowled at the reminder of my father's situation. It was much easier to focus
on Ford. "Oh," I said as I did the math in my head. "You were
forced out of Wire Communications right when your sister was considering
medical schools. That's why you didn't put up a big fight. That's why you
settled for the job at Landsman College. You wanted to make sure that your
sister got to go to the medical school of her choice without having to worry
about money."

Ford
paced into the kitchen and then back to the living room. "I get that
people like to figure me out like a puzzle, but it's really not all that
interesting," he snapped. "I did what any other person would do for a
family member. I did exactly what you are thinking about doing for your
father."

"What?
Lying low? Just taking the hit and crawling away?" I asked. "I'm
thinking about exposing the people that are trying to trick my father into
helping them. I'm thinking that no matter what the consequences are, I want the
truth to be known and I want to be the one to tell it." The volume of my
voice dropped away when I saw the angry set of Ford's jaw.

"I
took the hit so my sister wouldn't have to," Ford bit out. "For the
same reason that you are not already running all over campus raving about donor
corruption. You don't want to do more harm than good. You're hesitating because
you are just like me and, no matter what, you want to make sure you do what is
best for the people you love."

I
sank back down on the edge of the sofa. "I just don't want to make things
worse. I'm not going to give up, though."

Ford
sat down on the coffee table directly in front of me. "The best thing you
can do is continue on your life just like you were before. Don't give Michael
Tailor a reason to target you or squeeze your father anymore," he said.

 
I held my breath and looked at Ford. It was
amazing how in a few short months, he had become entangled in my small family. I
trusted him with thoughts I had not yet voiced even to myself.

"There's
nothing else they can do to my father," I said. "Actually, losing his
position at Landsman might be the best thing for him. You know how much he goes
on and on about painting. Surely Michael Tailor is not going to be able to stop
him from retiring and taking painting lessons."

Ford
frowned. "That's not your father's worry and you know it."

I
threw my hands up. "No. He's worried, like you, that I have enough room in
my life to stand up for the truth. My future, my career, everything is
flexible. If you think about it, and stop thinking about me as a child, then
you'd see that I'm the only one that can take down someone like Michael Tailor.
There's nothing he can do to me that I can throw back at him or recover
from."

One
corner of Ford's mouth quirked up. "Even if doing so is directly against
your father's wishes?" he asked.

I
sprang off the sofa again and marched over to poke him in the chest. "If
I'm the only one that can protect my father, I'm not going to let anyone talk
me out of it. Not him, not you!"

Ford
caught my accusing finger and held my hand. He chuckled again and then laughed
out loud when I tried to yank free of him. "I'm not laughing at you. I
just love how you are defying and protecting your father all in one
breath."

"Isn't
that what family does?" I snapped.

Ford
held my hand with both of his and a quiet sadness settled over him. "Yes,
but you shouldn't have to deal with any of this. Can we, just for a minute,
regret that you have to be involved?"