Bad Professor (An Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance)

by Claire Adams

  "You're right. More right than you know," Ford said. "Fine. I'll tell you the truth here, no matter who comes in."

  "Like this?" I swiped a hand over my eyes. "We look like we're having a lovers' spat."

  Ford's eyes turned a stormy blue. "Who cares what other people think. Just for a moment, Clarity, let me talk to you as if Landsman College doesn't exist. Let me tell you my side of the story before you condemn me."

  I crossed my arms and refused to sit in the desk chair he offered. The prep space had four desks in two pairs and he perched on the corner of the farthest one. I hovered near the door and fought the urge to bolt before he could say a word.

  "You were right about having to earn credit," Ford said. He scrubbed his cheek hard and sighed. "When I was discharged from the Army, I was excited to write any story. The idea that I was free of the strict parameters and editing of the Army was like a shot of pure adrenaline. I chased any story I could."

  "Way to bury the lead and try to make me empathize with you," I snapped, "but remember, I'm taking your class and I know all your journalist tricks. Just tell me what I need to know."

  Ford slapped an open hand against the top of the desk. "It is important, Clarity. I haven't told more than a few people what I'm trying to tell you."

  I squeezed my arms tighter together and wished his words hadn't sparked a flame of hope. "Why you're here?" I guessed.

  "Yes." Ford got up and paced to me and then back to the far wall. "I chased a really big story despite everyone's warnings. I went after the wrong people and it cost me everything. My story wasn't enough, the truth wasn't enough, and not only did I lose my job, but I lost my reputation and my credit. No one else would hire me after the subjects of my expose were through with me."

  Out of the hundreds of questions overflowing in my thoughts, I asked, "So you found a job here at Landsman College?"

  "I didn't want a professorship, but I needed a job. I needed the paycheck and it was the only way I could feel like I hadn't completely turned my back on my career," Ford said.

  I brushed my hair out of my eyes. "So you celebrated your good fortune by breaking all the rules you could?"

  Ford's eyes were a painful storm. "I was angry. Despite the truth of what I had uncovered, people with influence had chased me out and left me with nothing. Then I came here and was surrounded by the same style of power, money, and influence. I was bitter, self-destructive, and I drank too much. All the time. I even had a flask I poured into my coffee."

  "Your reputation was ruined so you decided to ruin the image of professors everywhere?"

  His shoulders slumped. "I dropped my flask in the cafeteria. When I went out back to look for it, there was Libby. I was drunk. She threw herself at me. I wanted the consequences more than her."

  My voice wavered but I said, "Libby brags about it being a full-blown affair. There's a big difference between one, drunken mistake and having a relationship."

  Ford's eyes slid to his shoes and stayed there. "I repeated the mistake. I tried to fool myself into thinking it was more, into making it more than just a stupid, ridiculous mistake."

  "Libby calls you her ex-boyfriend. How long did it go on?" I hated myself for asking and it hurt that I cared.

  "It didn't. Not more than a week, and I never gave her any indication that it was anything more than a bad idea."

  My heart ached. I was torn between believing the pain I saw in his eyes and the heavy waves of disappointment that pushed me back.

  "It doesn't matter," I decided. "I don't care what happened between you and Libby. That was your mistake and I don't think I should have to pay the price for it."

  Ford grabbed both my hands. "Clarity, I promise you, I won't let it affect you. You're right, you're totally innocent. What we have—"

  "We don't have anything." My voice was hollow.

  He shook his head and tried again. "What I meant was what we shared—"

  "Nothing happened," I said.

  "Clarity, please. You have to believe a person can change in two years. Don't you believe people can redeem themselves?"

  The anguished question pierced me to the core. I wanted to believe that people could redeem themselves more than anything in the world. Then I could believe my father could someday be the man I had loved and trusted.

  My father, the dean. I took a deep breath and kept my voice steady. "It doesn't matter what I believe. All I know is that it seems like you got close to me, complimented me, and mentored me, just so you could get closer to my father."

  "What? Why would I be more interested in your father than you?" Ford asked.

  "You're hoping he'll save your job, but now he can't even save himself."

  The look of shock and dismay on Ford's face was the final push I needed to walk away. The glimmer of hope his horrified expression gave me was more than I could take.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ford

  I ran up the stairs two at a time and wished I could outrun the look in Clarity's eyes. She was upset and there was something more than her father's mistake. A bad feeling chased me. Libby would not stay quiet for long. The thing that slowed me down, dragged me down with every step, was the guilt over what I had done.

  I charged up the steps and did not pause for breath on the landing. A sharp turn and another flight of stairs, and the sound of student laughter faded away. I was almost to my office floor when I heard heavy footsteps above me.

  Florence Macken rounded the corner on her way down and I skidded to a stop. I stumbled backward on the next landing and grabbed the railing for support.

  "Professor Bauer, just the man I was hoping to catch," she said.

  My department head stood over me, three steps up, and made no move to join me on the landing. She settled her hands on her hips and smirked at me from above.

  "I imagine you've heard that rumors have come to light around Landsman campus," Macken said. "That means changes that have been stymied for some time will be going ahead soon."

  I braced myself against the railing. "Rumors. Let me guess, there was a student report made this morning," I said.

  I couldn't blame Libby for beating me to it. She knew her leverage was not going to last long. Though I was surprised she went ahead before even making a specific demand of me.

  Then my stomach sank. If Libby had lodged a complaint against me, it meant she had confronted Clarity. When Clarity did not believe her or bend to her blackmail threats, Libby had no choice but to go ahead and make the complaint against me.

  "Student complaint?" Macken asked. "This morning?" Her faced smoothed into a superior mask. "Of course, I'm surprised that it what you want to discuss first."

  I paused and listened for a moment. Macken prided herself on knowing everything first, so it was not hard to believe she would bluff. "I'm assuming nothing can happen until it comes before the Honor Council," I hedged. "So, really, there is nothing to discuss until that happens. You wouldn't step outside of protocol, would you?"

  "Honor Council," she muttered. Macken let her fists slip off her hips and crossed them over her formidable stomach. "You're just trying to distract me with some student drivel, Professor Bauer. Not everyone on campus is as interested in the personal lives of the students as you are."

  She didn't know. Libby had not yet filed a complaint against me for our inappropriate relationship. When the weight did not lift from my shoulders, I knew it was time for me to declare the mistake myself. Luckily, I did not have to discuss it with Florence Macken.

  "Sorry, I won't waste your time anymore," I said. I climbed a step upwards, but my department head refused to move.

  A reptilian smile curved the corners of her mouth. "You can't tell me you don't already know. You haven't heard?"

  "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. I was teaching this morning," I said. When her smile did not fade but stretched farther, the knots in my stomach returned.

  "Your friend, Dean Dunkirk, got some bad news while you were rambling on
to your students in class," Macken said. She unclenched one arm to toss a hand around in the air. "The Dean of Students has been suspended as of ten o'clock this morning."

  My confusion was genuine. It was impossible to imagine Clarity got up this morning, turned her father in to the college administrators and then calmly attended my class. No one else knew about the doctored application unless the dean had confessed to his other friends at Thanksgiving.

  I thought over the day, forced myself to ignore the bright spots of Clarity's smiles, and assured myself Dean Dunkirk had not had time to tell anyone else about his mistake.

  "Why would Dean Dunkirk be suspended?" I asked. "Please tell me Landsman College is not going on a witch hunt."

  Mackey shook her head, her smile still in place. "Turns out we don't need a witch hunt," she said. "With your friend the dean out of the way, our department budget will go to review. Landsman College is anxious to conduct business better than usual, so it seems department cuts will be made sooner rather than later. Separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. Seems the Dean has managed to kick start that process instead of save you from it."

  I scowled up at her and climbed the steps that separated us. "Why do you think I would ask Dean Dunkirk to help me?"

  "You need it," Macken said flatly. "Why else would you go out of your way to befriend the dean? I know you were invited to his house for Thanksgiving. Must have been quite a cozy little celebration with him and your star student."

  I swallowed hard. The only other explanation that Macken would think of was my interest in Clarity. I had to steer her in the other direction. "So what if I made friends with an administrator? I would think that would be encouraged."

  "Not if he turns out to be a disgrace," Macken crowed.

  "Is he okay? What was he accused of? Is Dean Dunkirk still on campus?"

  My department head raised an eyebrow. "Concerned for your friend? I wouldn't be. If I were you, I wouldn't go near Patrick Dunkirk with a ten foot pole."

  "What has he been accused of?" I asked again. "Clearly the evidence is not all in if he was only suspended."

  Mackey snorted. "They've got evidence against him. Speaking of evidence, turns out your buddy falsified evidence himself. He did a big favor for the football team by letting the star running back off lightly."

  I spun on my heel and charged down the stairs to find Clarity's father. If something had happened, I wanted to hear it from a reliable source. I walked to Dean Dunkirk's office so fast that I was out of breath by the time I made it to his door.

  A sign was taped over his name plate stating that the Dean of Students was temporarily unavailable and that all inquiries needed to be made through the office of the president.

  I checked my watch and jogged off campus to the house he shared with Clarity. Luckily she was still in her second class of the day and there was no other evidence of visitors. I peeked in the garage window and noted the dean's car inside. He normally walked everywhere, but I doubted he was still on campus.

  "Dean Dunkirk, Patrick, open up!" I rapped hard on the front door.

  A curtain shifted in the living room but there was silence.

  "Patrick, it's Ford; we need to talk," I called and knocked again.

  It was no surprise that he did not want to see anyone. I could imagine him pacing up and down the length of the living room, trying to prepare a way to tell his daughter what happened.

  "Ford?" a cautious voice at the door called.

  "I just heard,” I said. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. Clarity is still in class. She didn't know anything about it when I talked to her earlier today."

  The door opened a small fraction and the dean waved me inside. I stepped into the foyer and was surprised by the transformation. The Thanksgiving decorations had been meticulously packed away in a plastic bin that now stood next to the front staircase. The curtains had been drawn over the door's stained glass, but also along the entire front of the house.

  We stood in shadows and the dean said nothing. He plodded over to the decorations and shut the lid.

  "They must have blindsided you in your office. Thank god you live nearby. I can't imagine weathering something like this while being stuck on campus," I said.

  "It doesn't matter where I am," Clarity's father said, "I'm disgraced. No one is going to hire a Dean of Students that was caught falsifying evidence and brushing plagiarism under the rug."

  "Is that really what happened? Did you really make a ruling based on what was best for the football team?" I asked.

  Patrick backed away and shook a hand at me. "No, no. I can't talk to you about this. You're the editor of the school newspaper and, clearly, I don't know who I should trust, otherwise this wouldn't have happened."

  I shook my head. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't made an enemy. Now, let me see if I can guess what happened. You thought you recently made a friend. Then that friend asked you for a favor."

  "Ford, stop," Patrick said. "As much as I want to believe you are trying to help me, you are probably the last person I should be talking to about this."

  "You refused to do the favor because it was against your moral judgment," I said.

  Patrick shook his head, walked to his leather sofa, and collapsed. "How am I supposed to tell Clarity any of this?" he asked.

  "You didn't do anything," I said.

  Patrick ran both hands through his red hair and looked up at me. "Please don't sound so sure. I've made a mistake."

  "It's not a mistake when you were set up. Am I right? Someone is using leverage to force a favor from you." I sat down on the chair across from him.

  Patrick leaned back and slumped into the sofa. He heaved an unsteady sigh, then said, "I thought I had made a good impression on one of our largest donors. Everything was fine and I didn't think anything of it, not even when he gave me some ridiculously expensive gifts. It's the holiday season, I was hopeful. Turns out that was very naive."

  "That happens to good people," I said.

  "Well, I'm not sure a good person would do what I did next," Patrick said. "He asked me to look over an application, give his son some pointers. I didn't think anything of it, until he became very specific about the feedback he wanted. In the end, I was basically rewriting the applicant's essay. Then he asked me to overlook his test scores."

  "But you refused." I knew it had to be true. "That's what you should be focused on now. You did the right thing, didn't you?"

  "I refused to finish a second draft of the essay. I advised him there was nothing to be done with the test scores, they had to be included. Next thing I know, the president of the college is in my desk chair when I arrive this morning. I am suspended without pay as they review the evidence against me."

  I leaned forward and balanced my forearms on my knees. "That's what I don't understand. How did this donor know about this plagiarism case? It's like he had it lined up to be used as leverage whenever he needed."

  Patrick covered his face with his hands and groaned. "I should have seen it coming. God, why did I think everything was fine? Now I've screwed everything up."

  "Whatever it is, you didn't do it. Did you?" I asked.

  "That's not going to matter. It looks like I did," Patrick said.

  I slapped the coffee table. "Come on, we can fight this. Just tell me what kind of leverage this donor thinks he has and we'll figure out a way to take it apart. If we expose what he was trying to do, then you'll be proven innocent."

  Patrick sat up a few inches. "It's an old plagiarism case. It was higher priority just because it had to do with a football player during the season last year."

  "Who was the student?" I asked.

  "Brian Tailor."

  It was my turn to slump back in my chair. The name set off too many alarm bells in my head, but somehow Clarity's father had revived his hope.

  He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his chin. "You think that we could expose what Michael Tailor is trying to do and save my job?"

&nbs
p; The words were sluggish in my mouth. It was too late to tell the dean anything but the truth. I didn't want him or his daughter to get hurt any farther. "No. There's no way. He obviously had this planned and he wouldn't have gone ahead if he thought you could get free of it."

  Patrick's face fell. He dropped his head to his hands and tangled his fingers in his red hair again. "I don't understand how I got caught up in this in the first place. There were no signs of plagiarism, Brian Tailor is a good student. I didn't even think about him being on the football team. Everyone thinks the coach and the administration might have pressured me, but there wasn't anything wrong. From what I thought I saw, Brian Tailor was innocent."

  I stood up. "I'm sorry, Patrick," I said. "There's nothing you can do at this point. There's nothing I can do to help you."

  "But you, you said—"

  "I didn't know who we were up against. Trust me. I've come up against people like Michael Tailor before and it ruined my career." My arms felt heavy as I reached down to pat Clarity's father on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, but anything you do now is only going to make things worse."

  He buried his head in his hands again. "And not just for me. If I speak out or try to fight this, then they'll ruin things for Clarity too. Oh, god, what have I done?"

  I looked at the ceiling but the tug in my chest did not loosen. "You did this for Clarity, didn't you?" I asked.

  "Of course I did. When I met Michael Tailor at the donors' dinner, it turned out his friend is the owner of Wire Communications," Patrick explained.

  I sat back down as if pushed. "Yeah, I know him."

  "So, I mentioned to Michael how interested Clarity was in the Wire Communications internship and he promised to put in a good word for her."

  Clarity's father bolted to his feet and stomped around the coffee table. "I was trying to help her and now I can't even help myself. Damn it!" He kicked the coffee table leg and continued to pace. "All I can do is sit here and suffocate while I wait for Clarity to come home. Oh, god, I hope she doesn't hear about it from someone on campus."

  "I know exactly how you feel," I said. "Like a fish caught in a net. Let me guess, if you go ahead and fix that application, then this will all just go away."