Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (15 page)

"What
good is that?" I held still as each brush of his fingertips sent tingles
up my arms.

He
didn't lift his eyes. "You should be studying, going to parties, making
plans for winter vacation, and flirting with boys," Ford said.

"The
last thing I need right now is some 'boy' trying to take me out to dinner, as
if this isn't way more important," I said.

Ford
tugged my hand and brought me closer. "You deserve to have a normal and
easy life. Especially when you're in college."

I
leaned back an inch, overwhelmed by the magnetic pull of Ford's body. "I
like this. I mean, my life. I like my life, complications and all."

"I
just hope you know that you don't have to face this alone," Ford said. "I
know you have your father too, but, if you need someone else ... I'm here for
you."

Our
faces were inches apart. My hand was still captive between in his fingers. My
whole body cried out to nestle into the spot against his chest where I had
hugged him before. My shoulder fit just underneath his arm, my head cradled
between his taut chest and strong shoulder. One step and I could slip back
against him and feel our bodies align.

"Thank
you," my voice came out breathless. "Thanks for being here for me. Even
if your advice is condescending and full of male ego. I appreciate that you're
trying to protect me, and my father."

Ford
shifted towards me and my heart leapt with joy. Relief, I told myself, it was
just relief. Clearly Ford felt the same magnetism that I did. I wasn't just a
foolish schoolgirl flirting and floundering her way through a difficult
situation. I wasn't just imagining things.

He
brought my hand up and pressed it to his chest. I slid it over to feel his
heartbeat, and Ford jerked back. He shook his head and looked around as if
snapping out of a dream.

"Alright."
Ford dropped my hand. "No more trying to stop you. It's time I start
helping." He paced a semi-circle around his small living room. "We
should start by cornering the football coach."

"He's
not going to tell us anything," I said. I shivered in the cool vacuum his
absent body had created. "But I'm sure we wouldn't have to look very far
to find more of his team members that have cheated on tests and plagiarized
papers."

"Already
planning to put the screws to someone else to get at the truth?" Ford
asked. "I like it, but, I think you're right. The football coach won't
talk easily. Maybe we should start with the professor that filed the
complaint."

"Wait,"
I said. "Does this mean that you are planning to go after the story? I
know it seems ridiculous for me to flip roles so soon, but don't you think the
worst thing you could do right now is get involved in a story like this?"

"Maybe
I should take up painting so I can join your father," Ford joked.

"I'm
serious! If you're attached to this story at all, then Michael Tailor is going
to come after you too. You might lose your job. I don't want you to lose your
professorship because I needed help," I cried.

"I'm
not along to help," Ford said with a wide smile. "I've seen your
killer instinct and heard your plans. I'm just along for the ride."

I
smothered my smile with a serious look. "This isn't like that train you've
always wanted to catch," I said. I held my breath and wondered if he would
remember.

Ford's
eyes twinkled and he stepped forward to capture my hand again. "That's
right. We talked about just wanting to pack a bag and get a change of
scenery."

My
eyes misted. "Only this change of scenery isn't so fun."

"That's
okay," Ford said. "There's only one view I'm really attached
to."

His
eyes swept over my face and made me dizzy. I wanted to ask him thousands of
questions, questions I would never dare voice, but that looked seemed to answer
them all. I slipped my hand free and looked around the room for anything that could
ground me again.

"So,
we've already decided to leave the football coach out of it, right?" I
asked. "Brian's not talking and we can't really blame him about that
because it's family. That leaves the professor. He's gotta be innocent, don't
you think?"

Ford
watched me with a cryptic smile then his brow cleared. "The professor that
turned in the paper? Why do you think he's innocent?"

I
paced to the kitchen and back, hoping the air flow would cool my cheeks and
clear my thoughts. It was hard to keep my mind on the details of our
complicated story when Ford smiled at me like that. My heart wouldn't stick to
a regular rhythm and my thoughts spun out of order.

"The
professor's innocent because ..." I avoided looking at Ford, but felt his
smile instead. "The professor's innocent because he wouldn't need to be
pressured to turn in a plagiarized paper," I said.

Ford's
eyebrows flew up in surprise. "True. I didn't think of that. But, that
means we're stuck."

"No,
there's one more piece of evidence we haven't looked at from every angle,"
I said. I retrieved my purse from the floor by the sagging sofa, and tossed the
long strap over my shoulder. "I'm going to make sure we get it. Maybe
there's a way to trace it back to Michael Tailor."

"What
are you talking about?" Ford asked. He followed me to the door and put the
flat of his hand against it to stop me from leaving.

The
position left me between the door and Ford's leaning body. My ordered thoughts
scattered again. While I tried to piece them back together, my eyes traced up
Ford's body. My hands itched to test out the contours I saw. He was fit and
muscled for a journalist that had been languishing in academia for years.

"What
piece of evidence are you after, Clarity?" Ford asked.

My
eyes flew to his and I laughed when I managed to remember. "The
plagiarized essay, of course!"

His
brow furrowed. "You think the writing can somehow tie Michael Tailor to
this?"

"Sure,
why not? If we're right, then Michael Tailor himself created the plagiarized
essay. Do you think he actually sat down and wrote it?" I asked. "I'm
guessing he just cut and pasted from the internet."

"Fine,
alright, it's a long shot but it makes sense," Ford said. He tugged me
away from the door and stood in between me and the exit. "You can stay
here while I go and get a copy of it."

"You?"
I snapped. "How do you suppose you're going to get into my father's files?
As his daughter, I've gone into his office to pick something up for him dozens
of times."

Ford
crossed his arms. "How do you think you're going to when your father's
files are under review?"

"I'll
figure it out." I tried dragging Ford away from the door but he was too
solid.

"No,"
he said. "You haven't thought this all the way through. People are going
to stop you all over campus to ask about what happened with your father. The
president of Landsman is still looking for you too. Let me go for you."

It
was too much. I couldn't leave it alone and pretend it meant nothing. "Why
do you care so much?" I cried.

"You
don't need to be bombarded with questions or good wishes or whatever. You
should call your father and tell him that everything's alright. At least tell
him we've been talking it out. He's probably worried sick about where you
are," Ford said.

"So
you're doing all of this because you like my father? I know you chatted and he
invited you over for Thanksgiving, but now you're willing to risk your job and
run all over campus just so I can call him and he won't have to worry."

Ford
leaned back against the door and let his hands fall loose at his sides. "I
like your father. It's been awhile since I've had anyone like him to talk to. He's
a good man and he doesn't deserve to be routed for a mistake. Especially when
he only made the mistake in order to help you."

"Are
you sure that's it?" I asked.

I
couldn't believe I was so bold. The heat and the connection had been surging
between us since he answered the door, but I had no idea if I was reading any
of the signs right. Ford wasn't just a college boy with underdeveloped
conversation and over-eager hands. Just one glance from him could tumble my
heart while I couldn't be sure what I read in his fathomless eyes.

Ford
stood up and rolled his shoulders back. "No. There's more to it than
that," he said.

I
crossed my arms and eyed the door. I couldn't back down because behind him was
the only exit to his apartment.

He
saw my nervous glance and took a deep breath. "There's more to my feelings
for this, for you, than the honor code allows. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad
thing if I got a new job. One less complication to something that seems so
obvious."

I
readjusted my purse on my shoulder and then dug through the contents to find my
keys even though my car was blocks away.

"Clarity,
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Ford said. He stepped
aside and open his front door.

"No,
it's not that," I said. My cheeks flared but I raised my eyes to meet his.
"This is just a little detour. They don't have those on trains, you
know."

"Who
knows," Ford smiled, "maybe I like road trips better."

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Ford

By
the third inspirational
quote, I lost my patience. Jackson's students took a long time to leave his
classroom. The smaller, more intimate room featured two rectangular tables of
dark wood pushed together and ringed with chairs. Jackson sat at the head of
the immense table and the students filtered by and asked for feedback. I
prowled the far wall of the classroom and ground my teeth, but it didn't hurry
them along.

I
paced back and forth at the foot of the tables as the last student asked if she
should change the tense of her story. "Readers are most comfortable in
past tense, but if you feel the need to highlight urgency, go ahead and try
present tense," Jackson said.

"Oh,
yeah, I hadn't thought of the readers," the student blinked a few times,
then she walked into the hallway in a daze.

Jackson
shuffled the papers in front of him into one large, neat stack. Then he began
perusing the first one, his hand reaching for a red pen.

"How
can you stand looking at these quotes every day?" I asked.

Jackson
didn't even look up. "The students like them," he said.

I
paced to the narrow, lancet window and back. My students were taught to
research the full motivational quip and read the quote in context. I wondered
what would happen if my students did that with Jackson's literary gems.

"You
know, you could put all that nervous energy to good use," Jackson said.

Clarity's
image jumped to mind, her long arms bare in the formal dress. "What? What
do you mean?"

He
looked up and gave a dry laugh. "Obviously not what you were thinking
about. I just thought you could run down the hall and get us some coffee. Make
yours a decaf."

"Very
funny," I said. Then I whirled around and hammered both hands onto the end
of the tables. "How can this not bother you?"

"I
don't know. I think it's disgusting, but people of privilege have always
secured the education of their offspring no matter if they are deserving or
not," Jackson said.

I
growled. "It's obvious corruption. It drags down the student population. What
if you have Junior in your class and the only thing he can contribute is
juvenile heckling?"

"Then
I follow protocol," Jackson leaned back in his chair. "Once this kid
is at Landsman his father won't be able to save him from academic
probation."

I
stalked around the long tables but stopped before I left the classroom. "Dean
Dunkirk isn't totally innocent, but he doesn't deserve to be used just to get
some unmotivated student into a good school," I said.

Jackson
hooked his hands behind his head and leaned back farther. "Can you imagine
what it must be like to be Junior? Being an unmotivated student is the least of
his worries. Living the rest of your adult life knowing that daddy had to buy
your place in college is going to leave some damage. Ugh, and imagine if his
peer group found out."

"Are
you done feeling sorry for this over-privileged, spoiled, and most likely
uncaring kid?" I snapped.

"You
want me to worry about Dean Dunkirk," Jackson said. He loosened his hands
and sat up. "I do feel bad for the guy. He's between the figurative rock
and hard place."

"I
am literally going to punch you," I said.

"That's
not the right usage," Jackson said. He faked a flinch before I even moved.
"So, when are you going to tell me what's really bothering you about all
of this?" he asked.

I
unclenched my fists and let my hands drop to my sides. "What do you mean? You
know exactly why casual corruption like this bothers me." I yanked out a
chair and threw myself in it.

"You
don't have to get involved," Jackson advised.

I
glowered at him. "Macken's got my termination letter all ready to go, so
what's the point of playing it safe?" I asked.

"You
could keep your job. She can't just fire you without her decision getting
reviewed. I, for one, would be willing to stand up and admit you're a good
professor."

The
air rushed out of me. "Thanks." I slumped in my chair and drummed my
fingers on the dark polished table. "I just think this is a story that's
worth pursuing. And what kind of newspaper editor and example would I be if I
didn't pursue it? I am trying to inspire future journalists, right?"

"Future
journalists or just one?" Jackson asked.

His
question was like the shadow of a shark in the waters of our conversation. I
froze and willed my heart rate to slow back down. "What do you mean?"
I asked.

Jackson
laughed and gathered up his papers. "Nothing, I don't mean anything. I
mean, what could I, one of your best and only friends, know about your
behavior?" Jackson stood up and swung his leather messenger bag onto his
shoulder. "What could I, as a newly married and madly in love man,
possible know about the way you are acting?"

I
stood up and shoved my chair back into place. "I'm just trying to
help," I snapped.

"Couldn't
you just be a confidential source? Isn't it enough that you're helping Clarity
connect the dots? Let her get all the glory and keep your job. I'd call that a
win-win," Jackson said.

I
followed him to the door and slapped the lights off. "That doesn't feel
good enough. I want to do more; I feel like I should."

Jackson
paused in the hallway, trapping me in the classroom door. "The dean's a
nice man and he cooks a tasty turkey. I guess those count as good
reasons."

I
rubbed the back of my neck and groaned. "Fine. I feel like I'm already
involved and I want to help because of that. And I'm not doing it for the dean.
His turkey wasn't that good."

Jackson
grinned. "Alice is going to be so happy. All she could talk about on the
way home from Thanksgiving was how happy you looked in love."

"Whoa,
slow down; who said anything about love?" I asked.

"Alice.
She said that you and Clarity make a great couple." Jackson strode down
the hallway with a jaunty smile.

"Shhh,
what are you nuts? You can't say things like that."

"Oh,
come on, Ford. We both know we're not talking about some tawdry fantasy or some
cheap affair. As consenting adults, you two are a great match," Jackson
said. "Are you coming?"

I
was rooted to the hallway floor far behind him. My heart beat slowly under an
onslaught of feelings. The way Jackson dismissed our student-professor problem
gave me wild surges of hope. He also approved and I suddenly realized that
meant a lot to me.

When
I caught up with Jackson, I tried to tell him thank you. He watched me unable
to form words, then he slapped me on the shoulder. "So you're going full
bore on the corruption story. I like it, you're a knight tilting at
windmills."

I
rolled my eyes. "I thought it didn't end so well for the knight in your
stories."

Jackson
sighed. "Yeah, well, this just seems like something you have to do." We
walked out onto Landsman campus and braced ourselves against the chill. Jackson
wrapped a scarf around his neck.

I
popped my collar up and pulled it tighter around me. "I've felt sick for
years about not standing up to Barton."

"Yeah,
I know. I seem to recall stopping you from lunging at the man more than
once," Jackson said into his scarf. "You gotta stop beating yourself
up for that. You didn't pursue the story then because you didn't want it to
affect Liz. You backed down for your sister's sake."

I
ground my teeth. "That's just an excuse. I could have pushed hard enough
that he couldn't touch Liz without the whole world knowing, but I backed down. I
let him take away my career without a fight."

"So
maybe this little detour to Landsman College has turned out to be the right
route to getting your career back," Jackson said. He dug out his keys and
unlocked his car. "You want a lift?"

"Detour?"
The conversation with Clarity came back to me. The thought of driving with her
off into the sunset made everything worth it. "Nah, I gotta call Liz and
tell her what I'm about to do."

"Good.
You know, she's tougher and smarter than you. I bet she'll be glad to get off
your dime and prove what she can do," Jackson said. He ducked into his
car, then called out the window. "I don't mind waiting to give you a lift.
Tell her I say 'hi.'"

"Ford!
I'm so glad you called," Liz answered her phone on the second ring.

I
could hear laughter and clinking glasses in the background. "Are you at a
party? Is this a bad time? No, scratch that, if you're at a party, get outside,
we need to talk."

"Whoa,
big brother, slow down." Liz laughed. "I'm a bar but it's a study
group." She creaked open a door and the bar sounds faded. "Alright,
I'm outside. Are you alright? What do we need to talk about?"

I
took a deep breath. "I'm going after a big story and it's not going to be
pretty. Most likely I'll be jobless by Christmas," I said.

"A
big story? This sounds just like what happened at Wire Communications. I swear
to god, you were better off in the Army," Liz talked fast when she was
excited. "I'm glad you're going for it, though. Enough playing it safe for
my sake."

The
bubble of anxiety burst out in a chuckle. "So, you're fine with me tanking
my respectable career for a story? I won't be able to cover your rent
anymore."

"For
god's sake, Ford, you do know how old I am, right?" Liz snapped. "I've
been working two jobs anyway and I've probably saved as much as your yearly
salary. You did it, big brother, you got me on my way. Now let me take care of
the rest."

"But
I don't want you to work two jobs—"

"Everyone
is. It's what the really motivated doctors all did. I'd feel like a cheat if I
didn't put in my time too," Liz said.

I
grabbed the phone closer. "But, what if this reflects badly on you, Lizzy?
I don't want to smudge your record or reputation."

"Please,"
Liz groaned. "You don't think my skills speak for me? I haven't just been
sitting around over here."

"I'm
still going to send you money," I snapped. "I still need to know that
you have everything you need. Sorry, but it's still just you and me, so that's
still the deal."

"You
need to find someone, Ford," Liz chided. "But first, spend some of
your money on a better sofa. There's no way you're going to romance anyone on
that thing."

"I
am not taking romantic advice from my younger sister. Though, now that you're
all ready to take care of yourself, I might go buy myself a car," I said.

Liz's
voice was tinged with curiosity. "A car? You got somewhere you want to be?
Or someone you want to take for a ride?"

I
groaned. "I'm hanging up now, Liz. Be safe. I love you."

"Love
you too, big bro."

I
hung up my phone and climbed into Jackson's car. I couldn't sit still and the
cold vinyl seat cover creaked and I shifted. Liz had happily released me and
now I was free to do what I wanted. My first thought was Clarity. I wanted to
show Clarity that I could be what she believed in.

"Liz
told you to go for it, didn't she?" Jackson asked.

I
chuckled. "In no uncertain terms."

"So,
where to?" Jackson asked.

"The
nearest windmill," I joked.

Jackson
grinned and turned his car towards the city. "I know you think I'm just
going to drop you off at your apartment, but you're wrong. If you're going to
see Barton now, then I'm coming with you."

"What?"
I yelped. "Why would I be going to see Barton right now? And, why would I
need you to chaperone?"

"Let's
see," Jackson said. "You just heard from Liz that she'll be alright. You're
free. The first thing I would want to do is confront the man that ruined my
career."

I
drummed my fingers on my knee. "Yeah, well, it just so happens I'm not a
rash as you. I'm going to see Barton because I think he can help with Dunkirk's
problem. Barton and Michael Tailor are buddies, remember?"

"Ugh,
there's a pair I do not want to meet out at the bar."

I
called Barton's line at Wire Communications and flirted with his secretary. She
still remembered me, and within five minutes, I hung up and told Jackson our
destination. "He's at his country club."

Jackson
stopped at a red light and rolled his eyes. "Of course he is. See? It's a
good thing I'm with or you'd never make it past valet parking."

It
turned out to be much easier to get past the front doors and out onto the
course than either Jackson and I had imagined. We found ourselves cruising
along in a golf cart.