by Claire Adams
I held my breath and looked up, expecting tears. Instead I was met with a sharp, jewel-hard glint in her eyes. Clarity batted back a few loose tendrils of her dark red hair and straightened her shoulders.
"I'm not a girl, and I'm not immature, Professor Bauer. I was simply playing the good hostess for my father and did not want to make you feel ill at ease," she snapped.
My whole body leapt to engage in a good argument. I had a feeling Clarity, whose stance was anything but meek, would make a great sparring partner. Before I could think better of it, I walked around the desk and stepped close to her.
Clarity tipped her chin up to keep her hard glare on my eyes. She was about 5'7", judging from where her the top of her head reached my chin. She didn't step back, and her slender, athletic body was rigid with defiance.
"Ms. Dunkirk, I understand being the daughter of the Dean of Students could give you a disproportioned sense of entitlement, but in this classroom, there are strict boundaries. I am the professor, and you are a student. And, in no possible scenario, am I interested in my students outside of Multimedia Production & Storytelling."
She stepped back, but only to give me a scathing glance from head to toe. "I'm sorry you got the wrong idea about me, Professor Bauer. It must be embarrassing to have a student discover how rusty your journalistic inquiry skills have become."
Clarity marched around me and headed for the door. I admired her sharp tongue even as the insult stung. She was fearless, and for a minute, I remembered her father urging her to break out of her shell. That would be a sight to see. The idea of helping Clarity find her passion was a hot match against the fuse of my already smoldering attraction. I couldn't help myself and called out.
"Clarity." She turned with a dagger-throwing glare. "Next time, don't bury the lead."
Her sudden smile checked my heart, and it stumbled off balance as I gathered the rest of my things. I knew I needed to do something right away, or that smile was going to stick with me all afternoon.
I grabbed my phone. "Jackson? It's me. Remember that blind date you mentioned? How fast can you and Alice set it up?"
"Yes! I knew you'd come around," Jackson crowed. "I'll text Alice right away."
Before I reached the end of the hallway, my phone buzzed. The message read, "Date set for tomorrow night. Campus art opening."
I took a deep breath and congratulated myself on avoiding another disaster. Clarity pulled at me like a dangerous undertow, but this time I'd keep my head above water.
"Professor Bauer, please look where you are going."
I raised my head and narrowly missed running into my department head, Florence Macken. In her chunky heels, the older woman was almost at eye level, and her expression was disdainful. She did not know the details of my first year slip up, but Florence still treated me like a rookie teacher. Her department was a feather in the Landsman College cap, and she had decided almost immediately that I did not fit her School of Journalism mold. No matter what I did, I felt her pale blue eyes watching and hoping I would slip up so she could hire someone more suitable.
"I'm sorry, Professor Macken. I'm on my way to the first meeting of the student newspaper. Would you like to come along and observe? I think you'll find I've come a long way, with your guidance, of course," I said.
Florence frowned. "I forgot you were editing the school paper."
I forced a smile over gritted teeth. "Readership is up 80% since we added the social media aspects. The Signpost is well on its way to being a full-fledged success."
"In my experience, bragging covers a lack of confidence, wouldn't you say, Professor Bauer?" Florence stepped around me and continued her heavy-heeled march down the hallway.
She knew I was the most effective editor-in-chief The Signpost had had in the last decade, and it bothered her considerably. Nothing could have cheered me up faster. I strode into the smaller classroom and greeted my newspaper staff.
Clarity looked up, her notebook at the ready, and I sighed. It was going to be a long year.
#
"Your assignment is two-fold," I told The Signpost staff as we stood outside the art department gallery. "Number one, I expect you to find a human interest story. Something that will get our readers interested in visiting the art gallery. And, number two, you will need to write a full and vivid description of one piece of art. You cannot depend on photographs to show the reader, and, more importantly, you want to inspire the readers to come see for themselves. Got it?"
The small group of students nodded, and Clarity was the first one through the doors. I followed more slowly, hoping it would be a while before I found my blind date. I ambled into the maze of well-lit white walls and watched my students fan out.
Clarity was already embroiled in a conversation with a very pleased first-year art student. The young man's glasses practically steamed up every time she smiled at him. I couldn't blame the poor kid; she was a vision. A long, bright scarf wrapped tight around her tiny waist saved the black dress from being boring. Not that the plunging V-neck or exposed curves could be called boring.
I checked myself by biting my tongue. Clarity was a student and strictly off-limits.
Instead of watching her circulate in bright-red heels, I forced myself to look for my blind date. Jackson had informed me his wife's work colleague, Tara, would meet me there, and I was supposed to recognize her by a black flower pin.
Anticipation is exciting, I reminded myself. It would be fun circulating through the busy gallery looking for a mystery woman. And the black flower pin was intriguing. I imagined it pinned to the sharp V-neck of a curve-hugging, red dress. I was always a sucker for black patent leather shoes, and I was hopeful as I scanned the crowd.
A voice in the back of my head noted I had reversed the colors of Clarity's outfit, but I dismissed it. Yes, she was twenty-one-years-old, and it wasn't a sin to notice how attractive she was, but I wasn't about to let myself slip. Flying under the radar at Landsman College meant both my professional and personal images had to be mature, settled, and appropriate. No more drinking at bars until close to get local gossip, no more skipping haircuts or showers in order to fact check, and no more flirting with attractive, insider women who might want to share their insights with me.
"Nice to see you again, Professor Bauer. I hope you enjoyed the little party we threw the other night," Dean Dunkirk slapped me on the shoulder. "I believe you had my daughter in class today."
The dean's choice of words kicked my mind right into the gutter. I turned and felt my insides churn with volcanic heat. Clarity stood next to her father. My eyes dropped to her red high heels then climbed up the clinging black dress to the bright scarf cinched around her tight waist before I got myself under control.
"Thanks so much for the hospitality, Dean Dunkirk. I love your Craftsman house. It must be really nice to be that close to campus," I said, tearing my eyes off his daughter.
"We like it, don't we, darling?" the dean asked Clarity. "Helps me keep an eye on her."
"What about all that rhetoric about me breaking out and finding my passion? Now you want to keep a close eye on me?" Clarity gave her father a challenging glance.
"Right, you're right. I'll leave you to the close, watchful eyes of your professors," Dean Dunkirk grinned at me.
I straightened my shoulders and kept my focus on him. Clarity's father seemed to have missed my glances, and he turned me towards his other companion. "Professor Bauer, I'd like you to meet one of Landsman College's biggest supporters, Michael Tailor."
Michael Tailor gave my hand a hard shake. "Dunkirk tells me you worked for Wired Communications. Wesley Barton is an old friend of mine."
The name was a shot of poison, and I was glad to tug my hand free of Michael Tailor's handshake. The tall businessman had the dark-blond hair and denim-blue eyes of an All-American legacy. I knew just by looking at him that he had old money—too much of it—and he wielded it over others like a whip. The fact that he knew Barton was no surprise as they w
ere cut from the same, ultra-rich cloth.
Wesley Barton was the reason I was trapped like a lab rat in maze of academia. He'd fired me personally, with a guarantee that I would never again work for a credible news source.
"You worked for Wired Communications?" Clarity asked.
Michael Tailor offered her an arm, pleased by the dark glance I gave him. "My dear, if you're interested in pursuing journalism, you should let me introduce you."
She glanced over the shoulder of his expensive suit and caught my stormy look. The question was bright in her, and she mouthed, "Talk later?"
I shook my head and gave my excuses to the dean. "I'm sorry, but I'm supposed to be meeting a friend. Actually, a friend of a friend."
Dean Dunkirk laughed. "A blind date, you poor soul. And here I thought a handsome man like yourself would be inundated with offers."
"Never from the right women," I confided in the older man, and he chuckled.
"Sorry to interrupt," Clarity reappeared, and I felt her presence like an electrical storm. "Professor Bauer, there's a woman looking for you. She said to mention that she's wearing a black flower pin?"
"His blind date," her father explained.
"Oh," Clarity's eyes jolted to mine. "I thought maybe you were married or something."
"No, I tend to tell people defining details like that right away. It saves a lot of awkwardness," I said.
She shrugged and shot me a provocative smile. "Some people can handle awkwardness better than others. Good luck with your blind date."
I watched Clarity walk away with her father and felt my attraction to her like burning magma in my bones. For twenty-two, Clarity was self-assured, sharply intelligent, and far more mature than I wanted to give her credit for.
Nine years was an impossible stretch, even if Clarity acted much older than her age. I reminded myself it was right to be meeting a woman only one year younger than me.
Jackson told me Tara was career-driven and rising fast through the ranks of his wife's law firm. He didn't say anything about her being nearly six feet tall with shocking red-dyed hair cut close to her head in tight curls.
My blind date was indeed in a red dress that matched her hair, and the black flower pin stood out in sharp relief. After those details, she departed drastically from the fantasy I had tried to focus on. Tara was rail thin with sharp angles instead of curves. Instead of a sultry walk in black high heels, she smacked her way across the gallery floor in black, leather, flip-flop sandals.
"You must be Ford; so nice to meet you. My name is Tara, but I think that Alice's husband already told you that. She told me that you are a professor but that I shouldn't expect a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches," she chattered with a wide smile.
"No, I prefer just plain leather," I said, indicating my worn, black-leather jacket.
"It's a good look; it matches your shiny, black hair. Oh! We're twins! We both match our clothes to our hair." Tara let loose a loud, jittery giggle that had people gawking.
I spent the rest of the art opening fending off Tara's future date plans that included karaoke-themed house parties and feral cat rescues.
"Thinking about that train?" Clarity asked in passing.
I grabbed her wrist and dragged her back into a conversation about Tara's bathroom grout. "I'm so sorry, Tara, but the Dean of Students has offered to do a one-on-one interview for the student paper. Now is the only time he has."
"Oh, that's sounds exciting," Tara said.
"Actually, no, it's a pretty straight-forward piece. Right, Clarity? I have to help the students prepare their questions." I caught Clarity's eyes with a desperate glance.
She puckered her lips but finally smiled. "Yes, I'm sorry, but we need Professor Bauer right away."
"Sure, okay, call me!" Tara called as I pretended Clarity was leading me away.
The other students had already gathered their notes and headed home. We slipped out the exit and around to the back parking lot as the campus art gallery closed.
"Thanks, I owe you."
Clarity raised an eyebrow at me. "Not very mature, Professor Bauer."
"How about I give you money for ice cream and you keep quiet, kid?" I teased her right back.
She crossed her arms and smiled. "How about you give me a ride home instead?"
I bristled, worried that she planned to get me in trouble. Then I looked at her and relaxed. Everything about Clarity was open and honest. She was tired and wanted to ditch the campus gathering before her father was done shaking everyone's hand twice.
"Sure." I opened the car door for her. "Climb in."
Chapter Three
Clarity
"This isn't happening; it's not possible." I stood up and circled the pink trunk used as a coffee table.
Jasmine lounged on the compact, white sofa in her dorm room and tried not to smile. "Just because it's never happened before doesn't mean it's not possible," she said.
I scratched at my throat and couldn't catch a deep breath. "Is this how people feel? Really? It's terrible. Like an avalanche and volcanic eruption all at the same time."
"You know, your father thinks you're so straight and narrow because he's never seen you like this," Jasmine said.
"I've never seen her like this," Lexi called from the minute bathroom. "All hot and bothered. I think that Professor Bauer has got her number."
"Don't change the subject," I groaned and flopped down on the sofa next to Jasmine.
Lexi marched into the middle of the dorm room and planted her hands on her hips. "Relax, Clarity, it's just a D+."
I tossed the offending article on the pink trunk and covered my face with both hands. "I can't believe he gave me a D+."
Jasmine hooked the article with one, long arm and flipped through the pages. "His comments are really insightful. Man, I wish my English professor wrote half as many encouraging things. Have you even read his edits?" Jasmine asked.
"Why? All they'll tell me is that I suck at the only career I've ever wanted," I said.
"That's not true." Lexi pried my hands off my face and smiled brightly, “You used to want to be a writer. Like the woman who wrote that series we all obsessed over in high school."
"Don't be silly." I sat up and looked over Jasmine's shoulder. "That was high school. This is the real world, and journalism is a more-respected profession."
"Come on," Lexi sighed. "You used to be such a great storyteller. I still have nightmares about that three eyes story you told us around the campfire."
"Ooh," Jasmine gave a delighted shiver. "He could watch you even when his back was turned. Creepy awesome."
"What does that say?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.
Jasmine held up Professor Bauer's comment and read, "Very poetic, but distracts from the point."
"See, I'm a total failure," I flopped back again.
Lexi snatched up the article. "He's complimenting you. Word choice, creative details, poetic images, and excellent storytelling. You just went over the word limit and buried the lead."
My groan turned into a growl. "So he thinks I'm flowery and frivolous. He doesn't even know me!"
"Is that what's bothering you?" Lexi asked. She sat down on the pink trunk directly across from me. "You're bothered because he got the wrong impression from your assignment?"
Jasmine sat up, her blue eyes sparkling. "What are you going to do, confront him during office hours? Step right up to that handsome face and tell him exactly how wrong he is about you?"
I stood up and paced around my friend's cluttered dorm room. "I'm not some dreamy poet or some fairytale writer. I want him to take me seriously." I snatched up my coat and book bag.
Jasmine clapped her hands. "Yeah, go to his office and make him take a good, long look at you. Here, I'll do your hair."
I swatted her away. "This doesn't have anything to do with how attractive Ford, I mean Professor Bauer, is. He needs to know that I take my work seriously, and I intend to be an excellent journalist
. He can't scare me off or steer me towards some other career."
"Maybe he's just trying to provoke you," Lexi said.
Jasmine clapped again. "And now he's waiting for you to come into his office breathing fire so he can tame you."
"That's it," I cried. "I'm confiscating your paperbacks. You have got romance on the brain." I scooped up an armful of novels with ripped-bodice heroines and bare-chested heroes.
"Might want to leave those here if you're going for a serious vibe," Lexi said.
I dumped the books on the pink trunk and left in a huff, despite my friend's good-natured laughter. They didn't understand the pressure I felt. I had carefully and practically selected my chosen career because journalism kept me firmly rooted in real life. To have anyone, including Professor Bauer, point out that I was more like my creative, free-spirited mother turned my core to ice. I didn't want to resemble her in any way.
Thinking of her wild, long curls, I carefully tamed my hair into a low ponytail. The journalism professor all had offices on the top floor of Thompson Hall, and I ran up the steps two at a time. I took a moment to smooth down my pink sweater and catch my breath. Then, I knocked on Professor Bauer's office door and tapped my foot quickly on the hallway floor.
"Clarity, I'm not surprised." Ford checked his watch. "Actually, I am. Office hours are almost over. I thought you'd be here right away, ready to tear into me for your D+. As it is now, I was just getting ready to leave."
I shoved him aside and marched into his office. "Office hours are set, school policy, and I still have time. This is your office?"
The narrow, attic room was dominated on one side by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Straight ahead, a lancet window let in sunlight dappled by the ivy still clinging to the outside of the limestone building.
"What's wrong with my office?" Ford asked. "It's got everything I need: a desk, a couple of chairs, and I even have a little couch."
I looked at the sagging couch and opted for an old, wooden chair. "You have like five things on your shelves," I said.
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm still moving in. I work at home a lot." His gray eyes turned from smoke to metal. "And it doesn't matter how much time we have to debate, I'm not changing your grade."