Beauty and the Billionaire

by Claire Adams

  I rubbed my neck. "I'm trying to help you, Clarity. Can't we work on this together? Why are you treating me like the enemy?"

  "Because you are," she cried. Clarity remembered the quiet of the library and dropped her voice to a rough whisper. "I don't want your help. I don't want anything from a man like you."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Clarity

  Half a dozen classmates stopped me on my way across campus. I apologized and dodged around them. Thomas tried to tell me the college president was looking for me, but I pretended I didn't hear him. By the time I made it to my front steps, I was terrified I had been followed.

  Ford was right: my father's scandal was all over campus. If he had not chased me into the library in order to tell me, I would have found out in the middle of the commons with everyone watching.

  "Clarity, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," my father rushed to meet me at the door.

  The house was shuttered and dark and it was hard to see my father's face through my tears. "I'm sorry. You only got involved with Michael Tailor because you thought his connections could help me."

  "They still can," my father said. He led the way to the sofa and we sat down. "I'm not going to give in to Tailor's demands, but Wire Communications should take you on your own merit alone."

  "I don't want the internship, Dad. I'm going to help you fight this," I promised.

  My father shook his head. "No, Clarity, I'm asking you to please stay out of it."

  "You sound as if you've been talking to Ford. Oh, wait, you told him before you told me!" The accusation sounded petulant, but my emotions were causing a storm of thoughts that I couldn't quite control.

  "Ford is right about this, honey. He's trying to help. If we try to expose Michael Tailor, then everyone loses. The college loses a major donor, I still lose my job, and you lose your internship and future career connections," he said.

  He reached out to hold my hands, but I yanked them back. "No. I'm not just going to sit back while you suffer through this alone. How can you think that's right? Let me dig into the story, get all the details, and I can be the one to publish it in the Landsman student newspaper. Corruption can't be allowed. It'll only get worse," I pleaded with him.

  "Clarity, sweetheart, I can't let you be involved. This was my mistake—"

  "You didn't make a mistake," I cried, "you trusted the wrong person. You always think the best of people. That's not your fault; that ability to believe in people is one of the things I love most about you."

  My father's eyes were washed with unshed tears, but he shook his head. "I should have gone directly to the college president when I was given gifts by Michael Tailor. Instead, I hoped to leverage his friendship into something good for you. It was all my mistake."

  I jumped up from the sofa, too irate to sit still. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this from you! What about the truth? What about the honor code that you helped to forge? I can't just stand aside while you are attacked."

  The conversation went ten more rounds of the same words. My father asked me in every imaginable way to leave the story alone. He even threatened me as if I were child he could still send to her room. I told him in no uncertain terms that I would not stay quiet and that I intended to uncover everything I could about the plagiarism case.

  "Please, Clarity, the Tailors are all cut from the same cloth. They know all the advantages, and when they are cornered, they simply put the pressure on someone else. Leave Brian Tailor alone," my father begged.

  It hurt but I ignored his words. I jumped into my car and called Lexi before the garage door opened. "Hey, I was wondering if you could introduce me to one of the football players." I asked.

  "About time," Lexi giggled. "Which one has finally tickled your fancy?"

  "Brian Tailor," I told her.

  There was a long pause, then Lexi sighed. "Clarity, I'm not stupid. Please tell me this has nothing to do with your father's, um, news."

  "Just meet me at the coffee shop, okay?" I begged.

  Lexi was there with her hands on her hips and a stubborn expression on her pixie-like face. "I'm going to do this for you. You know I'm going to do it. But, first, I want to know the truth from you."

  "Why ask like that? Since when have I ever lied to you?" I asked, insulted.

  "Thanksgiving. You have feelings for Professor Bauer, don't you?" Lexi asked.

  My mouth opened and closed but I could not get the words to come out. Finally, I forced out, "What? Why are you asking about Ford?"

  Lexi's smile was sad. "You called him Ford. Look, Clarity, we all knew you weren't into college guys and that's great, but I don't think you need any more scandals right now. And you certainly don't need the heart ache."

  Hurt strangled my voice but I whispered. "I already know about Libby Blackwell. She rubbed it in my face."

  "And have you talked to Ford?" Lexi asked.

  I threw my hands up in the air. "How am I supposed to process that when my father's career has just been ruined?!"

  "Alright, fine. But we're coming back to this conversation," Lexi said. "Now, there's Carl with Brian. Come on, I'll introduce you."

  Brian Tailor was the all-American boy complete with white-blond hair, chiseled chin, and dark blue eyes. He smiled as we shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Clarity. Actually we had class together freshman year. Chemistry 101, remember?"

  "Was that a line?" Lexi asked with a laugh.

  "No," I smiled at Brian. "I remember you helped me memorize the periodic table of elements. Isn't Chemistry your major?" I asked.

  "Bio-Chem," Brian said. "I'm hoping to go to work as a research and development scientist at one of the big pharmaceutical companies. Great pay, and the added benefit of helping the human race."

  "Good looks and good intentions. I like him." I stepped forward so Brian could get a good look down the loose neck of my shirt. Then I traced a finger down his forearm. "Bio-Chem can't be an easy major; lots of pressure?" I asked.

  Brian's dark blue eyes hardened and a muscle tensed in his square jaw. "The only pressure I feel is outdoing my own test scores."

  "Brian's top of his class," Carl said.

  I blinked, surprised. Carl didn't often speak up, but his tone was adamant. "Oh, so, he's one of those super-brainy football players?" I asked.

  Carl nodded.

  Brian punched his friend in the shoulder. "I suppose Carl never tells anyone that his professor just asked him to publish his last paper. Seems like I'm not the only smart guy that knows how run a play."

  "Speaking of plays ..." Lexi pulled Carl aside with nothing more than a heated glance.

  "That's some play you just tried to pull on me," Brian said when we were alone.

  "I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

  He narrowed his eyes. "I get it. Your father is in trouble for a plagiarism case and I'm the defendant. It makes sense that you'd come after me to get at the truth. I just didn't think you'd drag Carl into this or try to flirt the truth out of me."

  I swallowed hard then jutted my chin up at the tall man. "It seems to me like you would want to defend the man that defended you. Unless there's more to the story than anyone else has heard."

  Brian ground his teeth but gave in. "The whole story is completely boring. I wrote a paper for the assignment. The paper was switched while I was at football practice. When Dean Dunkirk confronted me with the plagiarized paper, I didn't recognize any of it. It wasn't mine; I didn't write it."

  "Then who did? Where did it come from?" I asked. I blinked away a hot wash of tears.

  "Come on, Clarity, you're trying to protect your family. You know how it is," Brian said.

  "No," I snapped. "I don't know how it is. I'm not just trying to protect my father, I am trying to find out the truth. Wait," his words sunk in. "Are you trying to protect your family?"

  Brian scowled. "I'm not saying anything more. I already told that nosy professor everything. Though I wish you had gotten to me first. Maybe my uncle would understand if I confessed everythi
ng to a pretty girl."

  "Which professor?" I asked. My heart slammed against my ribs.

  "You know, you're professor. The reporter all the girls drool over. What's his name? Like a car or something."

  "Ford," I ground out. "Ford Bauer."

  "That's the guy you need to talk to."

  #

  The frustration almost stopped my fingertips and I struggled with my phone all the way across campus. Not only had Ford beat me to the first interview, but he had gotten more information. Once Brian realized I flirted with him just for information, he clammed up.

  It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Brian was too smart to need to plagiarize his paper. Clearly, the paper had been switched, and the only motive for doing so seemed to be my father's undoing.

  Finally, I punched the right information into my phone and found Ford's home address. The tires squealed on my car as I pulled out of the student parking lot and headed off Landsman campus. I tore through the idyllic neighborhoods that surrounded our prestigious college and whipped into the parking lot of the apartment building where Ford's address was listed.

  When I reached the door and hammered on it, a thought surfaced that made me catch my breath. What if someone saw me at Ford's place? What would campus gossip do with the knowledge that I had come to Ford's apartment alone?

  Footsteps approached the door, then Ford let out a string of expletives. Obviously, he had had the same thought as me.

  "You shouldn't be here, Clarity," Ford said as he opened the door to his apartment.

  "Yeah, well, propriety or not, I'm here," I snapped. I elbowed my way past him and inside.

  Ford turned around and shut the door behind us. Then I noticed he was still damp from the shower, with nothing on but a faded pair of blue jeans. The tee-shirt he held was knotted in his fist and he forgot about it as he glared at me.

  "Your father told me he wanted you to stay out of it," Ford said. "Don't you think this might make everything worse? What if someone saw you come here."

  "You're the one that answered the door half-naked," I said. It was hard to look away from the chiseled muscles of his chest or the dark dusting of hair that lead down past the loose waistband of his jeans. "I think you owe me an apology."

  Ford raised a dark eyebrow. Then he yanked his tee-shirt on and his expression changed. Gone was the angry glare and the bemused sparkle. Instead, he looked relieved. "I've been trying to apologize to you ever since ..."

  "Ever since you and my father treated me like a child?" I asked.

  His lips quirked but his expression remained the same. "Ever since we kissed. I should have told you immediately. My head was all turned around. I tried to tell you at Thanksgiving," he said.

  My stomach did excited flip-flops but I waved his topic away. "No, I'm not letting you distract me from the matter at hand," I said. "You have information that can prove my father's innocence and I want to know exactly how you are going to use that information."

  Ford's eyes turned a stormy gray. "I know you're stuck on that, Clarity, but we need to straighten a few things out between us."

  "Later," I snapped. "You can prove my father didn't help Brian Tailor cheat. That will save his career. And, we have a chance to tie it to Michael Tailor and be done with his corrupt interference at Landsman College for good."

  A dark blue washed into Ford's eyes as he studied my face. "I admire your optimism, Clarity. I really do. The belief that the truth will solve everything is a very powerful way to lead your life."

  My chest ached. "Except?"

  "Except the truth always comes with a price and I'm not sure you understand that yet. I hate to sound cliché, but it's a lot like pulling the thread on a sweater. Everything can come unraveled," Ford said. "So, let's just slow down for a moment."

  He turned and went into his small, galley kitchen, and I had a moment to take in my surroundings. Ford's apartment was a lot like his office. Spartan furnishings were simple and undecorated. The shelves held very little except a few odd knick-knacks and a framed photograph of him and a similarly dark-haired young woman.

  "That's my sister," Ford said. He came back to the living room and offered me a soda. In his other hand he held a beer.

  "What if I wanted the beer?" I asked.

  Ford shook his head. "Clarity, I don't know what information you think I gleaned from Brian Tailor, but it isn't enough to clear your father."

  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 h
im 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.