Beauty and the Billionaire

by Claire Adams

  "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.

  "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.

  "Ar
e 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.