Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (16 page)

"Alright,
I can see the appeal," Jackson said.

I
hung on to the thin support bar as Jackson whipped down a wide fairway. "Golf?
Seems like a waste of time to me."

"Look
around, this is beautiful."

I
had to agree with Jackson. The golf course was lush, the grass a deep kelly
green and perfectly manicured. High trees kept the course private and even the
sand traps were groomed.

"No
wonder all these rich and shady types love golf," I said. "Plenty of
room to talk in private."

"I
hope all you want to do is talk," Jackson muttered.

"Come
on, I'm not going to punch Barton," I said. "At least not right
away." Then I saw him and jumped out of the golf cart before Jackson
stopped.

"Ah,
Ford Bauer, perfect timing. I was just telling my friends that some reporters
are like lightning rods. Good stories just seem to find them," Wesley
Barton said with a smile.

I
strode up so close that the smile slipped on his face. Barton refused to take a
step back but a faint expression of discomfort flickered in his eyes. "A
word in private, please?" I ground out.

Barton
yanked his arm out of my grip and adjusted the collar of the polo shirt
underneath his plaid sweater. "You're missing an opportunity here, Bauer. Like
you always do. Those men there happen to be very influential with Reuters. You
should let me introduce you."

"Why
would I trust you to do that for me?" I narrowed my eyes as I studied his
face.

The
wealthy businessman smiled. "You've been so good keeping quiet these past
few years. The least I can do to the return the favor is introduce you. Maybe
someone can get over your reputation and hire you. You never know. I might put
in a good word for you."

I
stepped forward again and dropped my voice to a low threat. "And what are
you going to do if I decide I'm done being quiet?" I snarled.

"Is
career suicide addictive?" Barton asked. "I mean, that's the only
explanation for all this that makes sense."

"No,"
I said. "The only thing that makes sense is I'm done keeping your dirty
secrets. I'm done keeping my head down. You can't touch me anymore."

Barton's
cheek twitched. I could see him running over all the possibilities in his head.
I had a job that I didn't love and was getting edged out of anyway. My sister
was established in her medical school and her reputation was beyond reproach. We
had no other family and no fortune.

Then
Barton glanced at Jackson. A red lens dropped over my eyes and I stepped in
front of him. My hands clenched in to fists as I fought to control myself. "You're
not going after anyone else just to scare me into staying quiet."

He
leaned back then shuffled one foot back very slowly so his friends wouldn't
notice. Barton looked in my eyes one last time, but couldn't find a trace of
fear. He cleared his throat. "Well, then I guess congratulations are in
order. You finally grew a set."

Every
muscle fiber in my body tensed with the desire to deck him. I took a deep
breath and kept Clarity foremost in my mind. She was the reason I was here and
because of that, I could let Barton's jabs bounce off.

"I
tell you what," I said as I advanced on Barton. "I'll take you up on
the offer of an introduction."

"Great
idea, glad to see you're ready to get back into journalism. Let's go join them—"

"Not
them," I snapped. "How about you introduce me to your friend at
Landsman, the football coach."

"The
football coach?" Barton asked. "What would I have to do with
him?"

"Oh,
only the fact that you donated new video equipment to him this fall. Bet he
loves being able to play back games, zoom in, and coach his players with all
the cutting edge technology."

"How
do you know that?" Barton cut himself off. "So, you did your
research. Why do you need me to talk to the football coach for you?"

I
grinned like a wolf. "Because you are going to convince him to tell me all
about how another donor forced him to pressure a player into handing in a
plagiarized paper."

Barton
frowned. He knew exactly who I was talking about and he had to weigh his
friend's agenda against his own. "Fine. Give me your phone. If I get him
to talk, you're not going to let this trace back to me."

#

"
Oh
, man, I am never going to get over the look in
Barton's eyes. He really thought you were going to clock him and he got all
smug, like he could already see you losing a personal injury trial. Then, you
told him and everything just changed. Ding! Like a light finally turned on in
his lizard brain. That's what happens when you don't let a bully bully
you," Jackson crowed. He pulled into the Landsman parking lot and turned
to grin at me. "You've got to be feeling like a million bucks."

"That's
probably what all this is going to cost me in libel suits if I can't pull it
off," I said.

"Buzz
kill. Get out of my car." Jackson laughed. "Oh, and good luck with
that next windmill. She's a doozy."

I
thanked Jackson, got out of the car, and then saw Florence Macken strolling
down the sidewalk. She pretended to be on the phone so she could stall long
enough for me to have to pass her on my way onto campus.

Sure
enough, I was four feet away from her when her phone call magically ended. She
beamed at me and said, "Professor Bauer, I'm glad I caught you."

"Sorry,
ma'am, I've got to get to class," I said. I refused to slow down even when
she moved her formidable figure into the center of the sidewalk.

"Now,
just a minute, professor," Macken said.

I
dodged around her. "Don't worry about calling me that anymore. It never
sounded good the way you said it anyway."

I
left her flabbergasted, and as much as I wanted to look back and savor it, I kept
marching across campus. It wasn't until I reached Thompson Hall that I realized
my department head was close on my heels.

Any
hope I had that she was just returning to her office was dispelled when she
cleared her throat.

"Professor
Bauer, I must insist you stop right now," Macken barked as we stepped into
the echoing lobby.

"Not
now, Macken. I've got to get to class," I snapped over my shoulder.

"Class?
You don't have a class at this time. Have you lost your mind? Do I need to call
security?" The volume of her voice elicited the attention she was hoping
to garner. "You do realize that insubordination is grounds for
termination, Professor Bauer."

I
spun on my heel and braced for impact. She stopped herself just in time and her
chunky heels squeaked on the tile floor.

"Just
go ahead and start the paperwork. I'm sure you've got it all queued up and
ready to go. Go ahead and do it now if you've got the time, but I'm not
stopping."

I
pulled open the lecture hall door and strode over the desk. My colleague looked
confused but nodded when I asked to speak with a student.

"Clarity?
A minute, please?" I asked the crowded hall.

She
stood up, her eyes wide. Then she scrambled to gather her things and join me on
the main floor. Every student watched with interest, even as the professor
continued with his lecture.

"Are
you crazy?" Clarity hissed as she led the way to the door. "Your
department head is standing right there."

"Notice
she has nothing to say," I pointed out.

Clarity
waited until we were in the stairwell heading up to my office, then she spun
around and pinned me with her wide-eyed look. "I can tell you've already
started on the whole expose."

"What
tipped you off?" I grinned.

She
frowned at my obvious joy. "I just hope you aren't making a huge mistake. I
don't want to a bad decision."

"What
decision?" I said. It was as simple as that. When it came to Clarity there
was no decision for me to make. She was it. She was everything. As she stood
two steps above me, we were eye to eye, and I took a breath to tell her.

Her
rosy smile stole my breath. "Well, if that's how you feel, then you should
probably take a look at this." Clarity handed me a folded piece of paper.

She
turned and started up the stairs again. I couldn't wait and opened the paper as
we walked, then I stumbled on the first landing. "Wait, how did you get
this?" I asked.

Clarity
caught my arm to steady me and laughed. "That's not the important
part," she said. "The important part is that the plagiarized essay is
part of an official file that many other witnesses have seen. This exact paper
cannot be switched out or faked at this point."

I
took her hand from my arm and gripped it tight. "You mean you found a
connection between this essay and Michael Tailor? How is that even
possible?"

"Ego,"
Clarity smiled. "Michael Tailor never for second thought that anyone would
investigate a case the Dean of Students bungled. So, he took whole sections of
the essay directly from the nearest source."

I
looked at the paper again though, it faded when she leaned close to point at
it.

"It's
an article written by Michael Tailor's lawyer. I used the online search engines
to match it, then looked up the name in connection with Tailor. He cut and
paste from his own lawyer's article," Clarity beamed.

Before
I could process anything past the press of her warm body, Clarity ran up the
next flight of stairs. We were out of breath when we finally made it to my
office and she collapsed on the narrow sofa. I sat down next to her and handed
her back the key piece of evidence.

"So,
I guess this is it," she said.

"No,"
I said. I reached for a folder on my desk and handed it to Clarity. "This
is it. I want you to read it and make your additions."

Her
eyes flew over the first few lines. "This is the expose? You started it before
we knew anything for sure."

"I
know a few things for certain, and one is that that's a good-looking
byline," I tapped the draft of the article where Clarity's name shared the
byline with me.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

Clarity

"
You
realize that once we publish this, everyone is going to
be looking for us," Ford said.

I
smiled as my stomach skittered with excitement. "Isn't your apartment the
first place they are going to look for you?" I asked.

Ford
nodded as he turned his key in the lock. "Yes, but there's no rule that
says I have to open the door. You sure you want to come in?"

I
stepped inside his apartment. "I'm not sure how many people would look for
me here," I said. Besides my father, and Lexi, and ... I tried not to
think about what Lexi would say. "I don't mind laying low for a while if
you don't mind the company."

"Company?"
Ford snorted. "I didn't cleanup for company. You're my co-author."

A
pleasant chill raced over my body. "I don't think you actually have enough
stuff in here to make a mess." I wandered from the short entryway hallway
into his living room.

"I've
got the essentials," Ford said. "Sofa, chair, lamps, television,
stereo, and, most importantly, my computer." He sat down and pulled up our
expose article.

While
he made a few of my suggested changes, I tried to take a tour of his apartment.
From every angle, all I wanted to look at was him. We had realized that
publishing the article from Landsman College was a bad idea, so when Ford
invited me to his apartment, it had felt natural. Now my stomach wouldn't stop
fluttering. I tried to tell myself it was only the excitement of exposing
Michael Tailor's misdeeds, but that was a lie. There was more to it, and the
full extent hit me every time I glanced at Ford.

His
white dress shirt was rumpled and he had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows.
The top buttons were undone and exposed the deep V-neck of his white undershirt
and a fringe of dark chest hair. I remembered being pressed to his chest when
he comforted me and missed the question he asked me.

"Sorry,
what?" I asked.

Ford
smiled. "I asked if you wanted me to turn music on. The radio's right
there, but I also have a decent record collection. Do you even know how to turn
on a record player?"

I
stuck out my tongue at him. "I'm not that young."

He
laughed and turned back to the computer screen. I started to peruse the records
he had stacked tightly on a bookshelf, then I ran across another framed
photograph of his sister.

"Are
you sure you want to do this?" I asked. "I feel like I pushed you
into it but you're the only one that really has anything to lose."

"That's
not true," Ford said. He pressed saved and stood up to join me at the
mostly bare bookshelves. "This could change your life."

"Not
as much as yours. You're going to lose a steady paycheck. I'm not some
sheltered college girl that doesn't get what it's like to work for a
living," I said. His proximity brought a bright warmth to my cheeks.

Ford's
brow furrowed then he saw the picture of Liz and smiled. He picked up the
frame. "This was taken about ten minutes after she fell off her bike. Her
entire leg was scrapped up. Somehow, she managed to fall on part of a broken
glass bottle. She's smiling that big because she just helped the doctor stitch
up her knee," Ford told me.

"She
always wanted to be a doctor," I said.

"I
was a mess. All the blood and the big gash across her knee. It was awful, and
yet look at her smile," Ford sighed proudly. "Liz could always take
care of herself. She just let me help."

"So
she'll be okay, but what about you?" I asked. Ford was inches away, his
fond smile drawing me in. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He
put the photograph back and caught both my hands. He tugged me closer and
looked deep into my eyes. "I am sure." He brushed a kiss across the
back of my knuckles. "In fact, I'm ecstatic."

Ford's
bright grin surprised me after the gentle caress. I took a step back and gave
him a wary look. "Ecstatic? Have you lost your mind?"

He
dropped my hands only to bring one hand to my cheek. "Clarity, you have no
idea. You inspired me. You gave me a way to get my integrity back and do
something good. I feel renewed, excited. The anticipation is
intoxicating."

My
body thumped as if a large door had just swung open inside me. I knew he meant
the anticipation of breaking the news story, but the heat where his hand
touched me suggested otherwise. We were off campus, Ford was off the clock, and
we were finally just two consenting adults alone in an apartment.

"So
let's do it," a voice said and a heartbeat later I realized it was my own.

Blue
blazed through Ford's eyes and his gaze dropped to my lips. There he fought for
a moment, then dropped his hand, and turned to his computer. "You're
right, let's get the truth out there and see what happens."

Ford
sat down at his computer and I looked over his shoulder. With a few swift
keystrokes, he signed in to the School of Journalism and used his faculty
password to access the department web page. He uploaded our article, and it
became the cover copy within seconds.

"Your
phone's ringing," I said.

"They'll
take that down right away, but I couldn't resist." Ford then opened our
student newspaper page and published the expose as the main headline. "This
is password protected and should take them longer to shut down."

I
leaned over him and reached for the keyboard. "Then let me link it to
social media. If students don't read it, they'll at least get outraged when the
article is removed."

Ford
scooted his chair back. I was so intent on getting the message out there that I
perched on his knee so I could type easier. When I was done, we sat together
and watched the article circulate through the student population and beyond in
a matter of minutes.

A
strand of my hair caught in Ford's stubble and he gently brushed it away. The
faint caress sent a bolt of lightning through my body. Ford felt my reaction
and the muscles of his thighs tightened underneath me.

There
was no one way to stand up without giving him an intimate view of my backside
but I did it as quickly as I could. I hated the nervous giggle that escaped my
lips. "My stomach's growling," I lied. "Too bad we can't really
order a pizza now, or people will know you're home."

He
stood up and took my breath away with the first step he took towards me. The
rumpled white shirt, his charcoal dress pants, the sheen of his black leather
belt. Ford's dark hair was tussled and his five o'clock shadow was dark. He
looked so delicious, it was no wonder my brain had jumped on hunger as an
excuse.

Ford
took my hand and guided me into the kitchen. He opened up his freezer and
grinned. "My apartment might be bare, but the kitchen is fully stocked. What
are you in the mood for?"

The
thought of what I was in the mood for covered me in a wave of heat the freezer
could not combat. I had only had two serious boyfriends since high school, and
one silly fling last summer. They had given me good ideas, but none of them had
elicited such a deep-seated craving.

"I've
got frozen scallops and sirloin steaks. We could do a little surf and turf. Maybe
a salad on the side? I think there's even frozen breadsticks in here
somewhere," Ford said.

"You
know how to make all that?" I asked.

He
laughed. "You thought I survived on cafeteria food and take-out, didn't
you? There's more to me than you know, Clarity."

As
he rummaged around in the freezer, my eyes dropped to the firm outline of his
backside, and I shocked myself. There was no way Ford's mind was anywhere near
my thoughts and I was horrified at how out of control I was getting.

"You
don't need to go to any trouble." I retreated across the kitchen to lean
on the opposite counter.

Ford
gathered the ingredients and put them down next to me. Then he leaned in close
and smiled down at me. "What if I'm excited to cook for you? Will you let
me?"

Words
deserted me and my traitorous body lifted a hand to finger his open collar. All
I could do was nod.

Ford's
breath came faster, but he reached up and opened the cabinet behind me. "Then
since we're stuck in this self-imposed quarantine, we might as well relax. Would
you like a glass of wine?"

I
slipped into the corner between the counter and the sink. Ford followed me and
reached behind me again, this time to find two wine glasses. He didn't move to
release me as he uncorked the wine on the counter next to me and poured us each
a glass of deep-red wine.

"Here's
to Ford Bauer, crusader against corruption," I raised my glass in the
small space between us.

He
tapped his glass against mine and it chimed softly. "What, no more
Professor Bauer?"

"You
might not be a professor anymore," I said.

Ford
took a slow sip of wine and then smiled as he looked at me. He leaned forward
again and his voice was as rough and soft as I imagined his stubbled cheek to
be. "Why does that suddenly make me so happy?"

"Well,
I'm hoping you're a chef instead because I have no idea what to do with any of
this," I quipped.

"Want
me to show you?" Ford smiled and stepped back. He found a bowl and started
thawing the scallops in the sink. Then he unwrapped the steaks and set them to
defrost in the microwave.

His
kitchen was small but well-equipped. The counters weren't Spartan, but they
were meticulously clean, and soon he opened drawers and cupboards and covered
the counters with ingredients. There were cutting boards with fresh vegetables
and apothecary jars full of spices. In between his whirlwind prep, Ford rushed
out to the living room and put on a record.

All
I could do was stand back and enjoy the view. Ford was relaxed and his eyes
sparkled. It reminded me of when we met at my father's cocktail party, before
Ford knew me as a student. When he taught me how to mix up a rub for the steaks,
there was no awkwardness between us.

Ford
eyed the stovetop as everything sizzled. "Do you think it's enough?"
he asked.

I
took a long sip of wine. "I think it is an amazing last meal," I
joked.

"You're
right," Ford chuckled. "We might as well go all out. How about a fire
in the fireplace?"

"I
can do that. At least let me help with something." I marched over to his
fireplace and grinned. His bare apartment was deceiving, he had everything we
needed and more. The pine logs were dry, there was a neat stack of kindling,
and the matches were long-handled and easy to strike.

When
I turned around, Ford was smoothing a white sheet over the coffee table. "It's
brand new," he said, "just out of the package." He shoved the
rest of the sheet set underneath the sofa and then placed two sterling silver
candleholders on the coffee table.

I
helped set the table and my hands trembled as I set down our wine glasses. Ford
brought in our plates and my mouth watered as he sat down on the floor next to
me. Buttery scallops nestled next to spice-rubbed steaks and a crisp green
salad. The breadsticks were warm and toasty from the oven.

Ford
watched me take the first bite of perfectly grilled steak. My eyes rolled up to
the ceiling as I savored it and a small moan escaped my lips. His fingers
tightened on the stem of his wine glass. "So, what do you think? Can I be
a chef instead of a professor?"

I
murmured my agreement through a large bite of scallop. "How about you skip
the chef part and just be my personal kitchen slave," I said.

His
eyes darkened to midnight blue and Ford reached out to brush his finger over my
lower lip. "I know I'm not supposed to say it, but I think I'd be happy
being your personal anything," he said.

I
laid my fork down before I dropped it. "You would?"

Ford
brushed his thumb over my lower lip again. "You know, I pretty sure my
department head has already left a voicemail firing me. I'm not your professor
anymore."

I
dipped my chin and kissed his passing fingers. "I'm not your student
anymore either."

He
pulled back his hand with a sharp intake of breath. "You know, even if I
was still employed by Landsman College, I don't think I could let that stop
me." Ford took a swig of wine. "I'd have to go to the administration
and declare our relationship."

"Wait,
you can do that?" I asked.

Ford
cut a bite of steak and pretended like we were having a perfectly normal conversation.
"Your father mentioned it once. He was telling me about an economics
professor that fell in love with an art student. At the time, I thought he was
really talking about his crush on Polly."

"The
art professor? Oh my god, that makes so much sense," I said. I remembered
the way my father always talked about painting in a whole new way.