Bad Judgment (5 page)

The dean looks ill as he swallows the remainder of his water and steps away from the lectern. The man just handed down a judgment that’s going to spell the end of more than one legal career before it starts.

Including mine. All the appointments with financial aid in the world won’t help me secure a conventional student loan. Why? Because I’m the daughter of two con artists who used my social security number for dozens of loans before I turned eighteen. My credit was trashed before I even had a chance to use it myself. My only way through school has been scholarships, and I’ve worked my ass off to get them.

How can this happen?

My eyes burn with the threat of tears, but there’s no way I’m going to cry in public.

“I need to make an appointment with financial aid before I go beg my stepdad for a loan, just so I have a backup plan. And then after that, we’re getting shitfaced.” Merica’s tone sounds a lot more like she’s telling me someone was murdered.

Just our dreams. Hopes. Future plans.

Without an extra sixty grand sitting around to cover my tuition, I’m screwed. Two years of my life, wasted. Any loan I could get would have credit-card-level interest rates, and with my ambition to get a job at Legal Aid . . . there’s no way I could afford to live and pay a fraction of the monthly payment.

From behind me comes a hushed conversation. “My old roommate stripped her way through all three years of school. She graduated with no debt.”

I peek surreptitiously over my shoulder to see a pretty blonde I remember from classes first year. She wasn’t a standout student, just average. She’s whispering to a brunette seated beside her.

“At the Vu?”

The blonde nods. “It’s better than going into debt for this. I’ve already got half the tuition my scholarship wasn’t going to cover. How bad can it really be? Wearing a wig and a ton of makeup with a stage name, who would ever know? I’ve still got my job at the library to put on my résumé.”

As much as I hate to admit it, what she’s saying makes a ton of sense.

The brunette’s features take on a determined cast. “Let’s go talk to her. Maybe she can get us in?”

When they stand and leave the room without waiting for the financial aid representative, I’m actually disappointed I can’t eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation.

The financial aid rep stops next to Merica with her schedule.

“So, how long do we have to make the first payment without a student loan?” Merica asks.

“Thirty days. Each payment will be due thirty days thereafter for the remainder of the year. The final payment must be made at least seven days prior to graduation in order to walk and receive a diploma.”

I do the math in my head and cover my mouth when I choke on a cough at the size of the payments.

“Sign me up for the appointment. I’ll cancel if I don’t need it.”

The rep nods and pencils it into the schedule. When Merica is finished putting the appointment time in her phone, she turns to me. “Ready?”

I’m still not up for forming actual words, so I nod.

I don’t have a rich stepdad. Or a pile of cash. Or decent credit. Or a fairy godmother.

As we follow the irate crowd out of the room, Justice Grant lifts a hand toward me. I wish I’d been looking the other direction, because the last thing I want to do is talk to him right now. But I also can’t pretend I didn’t see him when we just made eye contact.

“Can you give me a second? I’ll meet you outside and we can figure out where we’re going.”

Merica hugs her giant purse closer to her side. “Okay, but hurry. I need tequila, stat. I need to be drunk before I call the stepfather.”

“I’ll be quick; I promise.”

I veer toward Justice Grant and stop a few feet away from him.

“I’m so sorry that was dropped on you without warning. Your scholarship was a full ride, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. It was.”

“Have you made an appointment with financial aid?”

I open my mouth to lie because he doesn’t need to know the details of my dismal financial circumstances, but the words are caught in my throat and the truth comes out instead.

“I can’t get a loan through financial aid. They won’t even consider me. My parents screwed up my credit before I turned eighteen, and it hasn’t recovered. I have to figure something else out.”

“I’m sure if you have someone to cosign for you . . .” He trails off when I shake my head.

“I don’t. It’s just me. My grandfather passed away at the end of first year. My parents . . . I don’t even know where they are, but I guarantee their credit is worse than mine.”

His eyebrows arch toward his hairline. “Well hell, Justine. What are you going to do?”

I force a smile onto my face and tell him the truth. “Get drunk. Probably cry. And then either figure something out, or drop out and get a full-time job with my undergrad degree and hope I can save enough to come back and finish in a couple years.”

His face falls at my honesty. “I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t fair. When they were discussing our options, we knew it was going to cause some students to leave the program, but I never would have expected you to be one of them. You’re one of the brightest clerks I’ve ever had in my chambers, and it would be such a waste of a brilliant mind.”

I inject more positivity than I feel into my tone. “I might not have any other options, but I’ve already got my books and I’ve got thirty days to come up with the first payment. Hopefully I can figure out something by then.”

“Come talk to me before you make any final decisions. If there’s anything I can do to help, even if it’s write you a letter of recommendation for another job, I’ll do it.”

His offer is sincere, and those tears I told him I’d cry later are welling to the surface.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be in touch.” I spin and head for the door before they can fall.

What a disaster.

I hope Merica already has a bar picked out because I’m going to spend every last dollar in my wallet on getting drunk. It might not be prudent, but being prudent isn’t going to come close to paying my tuition.

Ryker

“You’re going to finish school, and I’m not going to hear another goddamn word to the contrary.” My father’s voice echoes off the vaulted ceilings of his home office.

“Why is it so fucking important that I finish school? So I can become a judge like you and call in favors? Or so I can count on other people to deal with my mistakes?”

“You watch your mouth when you speak to me.”

“Are you in denial, Dad?”

My father’s expression turns harsh, and I know I’ve overstepped. Well, fuck it. I’ve had enough of the hypocrisy in this house.

“The only thing you need to worry about is graduating with honors and getting a prestigious clerkship.”

“What part of
I don’t want to be a fucking lawyer or judge
don’t you understand?”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, boy. If you don’t want to be a lawyer, fine, but at the very least you’ll get your degree and be a
fucking
politician like we decided two years ago.”

I cross my arms over my chest, adopting his thunderous expression. “No. I’m done. Dropping out.”

“Over my dead body.” My father enunciates each word clearly. With the vein bulging in his forehead, I’m a little worried he might keel over where he’s standing, making that a possibility.

When I don’t respond, he slams his hand on the desk. “You know why you’re not going to fucking drop out? Because today a bunch of students got their scholarships yanked, and you’re still getting a free ride because I’m on the board of trustees and your free education is a benefit of that position. You can’t walk away from that unless you’re truly an ungrateful little prick, and I know I didn’t raise my son like that.”

His words stop me cold.
What the fuck?
I know more than one student getting through law school on a scholarship.

“They pulled everyone’s scholarships?”

“Every student in the merit scholarship program.”

One particular student comes to mind. The most stubborn girl I’ve ever met—and the hardest working and smartest.

“Fuck. Really? Can they do that?”

My father inclines his head. “I advised against it, told them to suspend the program for all new applicants and meet the obligations of the current ones by making alternative budget cuts or taking on additional debt, but it wasn’t a possibility. There was no way around it.”

“That’s bullshit.”
Justine must be devastated.

“Yes, and if you’re going to walk away from a free law school education when a bunch of your classmates just had the scholarships they earned suspended, then you’re not the son I thought I raised.”

I scrub a hand over my face.
Nothing like a fucking guilt trip to make me fall in line, Dad.

“Fine. I’ll graduate. But that’s all I’m agreeing to.”

Justine

“You can’t do it. Seriously. This is insane. I won’t let you.” Merica is yelling through the phone as I hold it away from my ear. “Stop right there, Justine. You need to think about this.”

What she doesn’t realize is that I’ve thought about this over and over again, and it’s the only viable alternative I can come up with. Out of desperation, I had a meeting with financial aid this morning, and it revealed exactly what I expected.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Porter, but you’re not a candidate for any of our conventional loans unless you have someone who can cosign for you. But here are a few other options you might consider.”

Those other options were each more unattractive than the last, and exactly the kind of crippling debt and interest rates I expected.

Cash is king. There’s a reason for that saying, and sitting in the parking lot of the Déjà Vu, I see plenty of people coming and going, likely with their wallets stuffed full of it.

I feel like the world’s biggest cliché.
What brings a good girl like you here? Oh, I just need to strip my way through law school.
I can almost see the
oh sure
nods I would get. Obviously it’s a cliché for a reason, and I’m sure more than one aspiring lawyer has taken this path. The grad from last year’s class the girls had been talking about during the meeting obviously had.

So, what’s worth more? My sense of modesty or my financial future? It’s not like I’m signing up to be a prostitute. I can just strip and take the tips. I don’t have to do any . . . extras.

“I’m already here, Mer. I’m just going to go inside and ask for details. I’m not committing to anything.”

She’s silent for a solid ten seconds before replying. “If you don’t call me in half an hour to tell me you’re okay, I’m driving over there myself. I don’t care if I have to bust down doors and break you out.”

I can’t help but laugh. “It’s a strip club, not a harem. You won’t have to break me out. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I’m out.”

“You better. I swear, if I find a gray hair in the next month, it’s all your fault.”

“I love you, Mer.”

“Love you too, Jus. Be careful.”

We hang up, and I survey my surroundings to get my bearings.

The fence around the parking lot provides a certain measure of anonymity to the Deja Vu’s clientele, and for that I should probably be grateful. I climb out of my car, and a horrific thought enters my head as I step onto the uneven pavement with shaky legs.
What if I see someone I know
?

No, not possible.
Don’t put thoughts like that out into the universe, Jus. You know better. Positive thoughts only.

I straighten the short black skirt I never returned to Merica after that night at the bar.
The night Ryker Grant kissed the hell out of me and I used his bulge to get myself off in the back hallway of a bar.

We all know how that story ended.

Digging deep, I find the self-confidence I need to own what I’m doing. It’s honest work for honest pay.

I reach the black door and push it open to find a large man in a black shirt standing behind a tall counter just inside the doorway. His expression doesn’t change when he sees me.

See? No big deal. I got this
.

“Cover for ladies is five dollars tonight,” he tells me, stamp held aloft, ready to mark the back of my hand.