Bad Judgment Read online

  What a shit day. I reach for the Pez dispenser beside me on the sidewalk and flip up Cinderella’s head to tug out a lemon candy. Pez is my little obsession. Gramps started surprising me with them when I was six or seven, and my collection grew.

  Now I pick them out according to my mood. Cinderella should probably remind me that dreams do come true, but today she’s only reminding me that Ryker is no Prince Charming.

  How could I have fallen for his lines after all this time?

  Disgusted with myself, I stand and brush off my butt, ending this little pity party. It’s certainly not going to help me move.

  And you thought Ryker Grant would really lower himself to help?

  The blow to my pride stings more than it should.

  The apartment complex’s lawn guy parks his beat-up Chevy pickup at the curb in front of my building before hopping out to lower the ramp and roll a lawn mower down it.

  An idea strikes. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m nothing if not resourceful.

  “Hey! How would you like to make twenty bucks?” I call out as I head toward him.

  Ryker

  I fucked up, and I know it. I’m not a day late and a dollar short. Nope, I’m six hours late and shit out of luck. I pound on the door, but the piece of notebook paper taped to it tells me everything I need to know.

  THANKS FOR NOTHING.

  She’s not inside, and I’d bet the pickup truck out front that Justine Porter doesn’t believe in second chances.

  The words are written in all caps in black permanent marker. There’s no mistaking the angry slashes of the letters. She was pissed when she wrote it, and now she’s gone.

  Why the hell didn’t I get her number at the bar last night? Fucking moron. If I had, I could have called this morning to tell her I was running late.

  There was no way in hell I could tell her why, but I guarantee it’s not for the reason she thinks. Even if she were here, my vague excuses wouldn’t matter to her.

  I’ve never had to work to get a girl, but Justine has turned me down at every opportunity. I won’t lie—I like a challenge—but it’s not just the chase I’m after with her. At least, not now.

  There was a time when she only fascinated me because of her sexy-as-hell wild dark hair, rockin’ body, and her continued shutdowns. But that lasted through orientation and maybe the first week of school—just until I figured out that she was probably the smartest girl I’ve ever met. It also didn’t take long for me to realize that her brains were even sexier than the rest of the package.

  And apparently she’s too smart to wait for an asshole like me. I deserve it, and yet I’m still disappointed. I shove the Yoda Pez dispenser package back in my pocket. She might think I don’t notice anything but her tits and ass, but she’s wrong.

  I turn away from the apartment and head back to the truck. I’ve got three and a half months to come up with a new game plan. There’s no way in hell I’m giving up on her this easily.

  Justine

  Three and a half months later

  One more year. One more year and I’ll have the diploma I’ve been working toward for a decade. I just wish Gramps could be here to watch me walk across that stage. He’ll be there in spirit, though—I know it.

  The summer went by ridiculously fast, but I learned more working at Legal Aid than I did in all the time I’ve spent in class. I also worked my ass off as a server at the local pub, saving up to help cover my expenses this year, and managed to have a little fun.

  Being back on campus just makes me realize how badly I want to be finished with school so I can get back to the real world and start making a difference. I can’t save people from eviction sitting in a classroom. I can’t help fight for custody of someone’s kid while I’m studying in my apartment. So basically, I’m here keeping my grades up while I mark time until graduation.

  But I won’t take it for granted, because at least I get the privilege to finish school. Chad not only lost his standing offer at the criminal defense firm, but the school revoked his scholarship. After a month of me texting and calling with no answer, and scouring the Internet for news, he finally e-mailed me to let me know he’d officially dropped out.

  Why even bother to finish and rack up the debt when I know I won’t be able to get a job to pay it off? Katie was offered a job at a good physical therapy clinic in Arizona, so I’m going with her. Good luck, kid. Go kick law school’s ass for both of us.

  All my replies after this message went unanswered.

  My phone dings with a text from Merica, dragging me out of the depressing thoughts.

  MERICA: Get your ass to the board room. Scholarship meeting starts in 20.

  I’m late getting back in the swing of things because I wanted to work for as long as possible before coming back to campus. Not only because I needed to save the money, but because I felt like I had a purpose. Unfortunately, the Legal Aid office couldn’t support another full-time lawyer due to budget cuts, which puts me back to square one in the job hunt.

  Hefting my backpack, I head for my car, catching a glimpse of myself in the storefront window. The hour a day I carved out at the gym made a difference. My ass has never looked better, and there’s no way Ryker Grant is getting another shot at it.

  Nope. Stop. Not thinking about him because he doesn’t merit the brain space. Especially because embarrassment still creeps into my veins when I remember that night and how he left me waiting on the curb the next morning. Asshole.

  I sneak through yellow lights and dodge students on bikes to get to the school on time. Last year’s scholarship meeting was a stern lecture about how we had to keep our GPAs at a certain level depending on which scholarship we received.

  The room is already packed when I manage to squeeze in the door, but Merica waves from an end seat. Her giant purse takes up the chair next to her, and I’m sure her don’t you even think about asking if you can sit there look kept plenty of people from trying to take it. I smile and squeeze by a few of the students leaning against the walls.

  The dean takes the lectern moments after I sit. The entire board of trustees flanks him on either side—including my former boss and the father of he who shall not take up any space in my head. Justice Grant meets my eyes for the briefest moment but doesn’t smile before looking away.

  What is that about? Justice Grant is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met—always ready with an easy smile and a kind word. Uneasiness twists my stomach. Does he know what happened between his son and me? The judge was an amazing boss and I thought we parted on great terms, so I don’t have any other explanation for his odd behavior.

  Actually, the presence of the board of trustees at this meeting is completely different from last year. But the beginning of the dean’s speech is exactly the same—a boring rendition of the long proud history of this law school as one of the finest legal academic institutions in the country, and remarks about how grateful he has been to be at the helm through its rise through the ranks. That’s where the similarities end.

  “And despite our continued rise in the world of academia, we’re facing an altogether too common problem shared by many institutions. We are not immune to the downturn in the economy and the financial hardships that have plagued so many schools. This is probably the most disheartening speech I’ve ever had to deliver during my tenure, but I don’t believe in sugarcoating the facts.”

  He reaches for a glass of water and makes eye contact with Justice Grant. Grant nods in return as if giving the dean a push to deliver the rest of his speech.

  What the hell is going on? Because something is definitely wrong.

  The dean replaces his water glass on the table next to Grant and stares out into the audience of students and faculty with an apologetic expression.

  “What the hell is he dragging his feet for?” Merica mumbles under her breath.

  “We faced a difficult choice this summer, and after reviewing all of our options, it has been determined that the merit scholarship pro
gram will be suspended indefinitely and immediately.”

  A collective gasp sweeps through the room, followed by the rising murmur of voices. I overhear dozens of what in the fucks and no fucking ways while my stomach drops to my feet. Merica slaps a hand over her mouth to cover her sharp inhale.

  I blink repeatedly as if trying to wake myself up from a bad dream. Because this has to be a dream. A really awful, fucking horrible dream. What the dean is saying can’t happen. Desperate, I pinch my arm to wake myself up, but all I feel is the sting of my nails digging into my skin.

  This isn’t a dream. Holy shit. And that’s why Justice Grant wasn’t smiling. He knew what the dean was going to say. And what’s more, he knows I’m here on a full ride.

  Merica grabs my arm with her free hand and squeezes.

  “We understand the hardship placed on many, but when the choice came down to keeping the law school open for all students and a small fraction losing their merit scholarships, the board of trustees has unanimously voted in favor of the financial health of this institution and the best interest of the greater good. All students with scholarships will receive appointments with the financial aid office to set up alternative financing, if it is required, and if no financial aid is received, you’ll be set up on a monthly payment plan for your tuition, which will hopefully make it less burdensome.”

  “You can’t do that!” The man beside me jumps to his feet, and I think every head in the room nods along with his statement. “We’ll sue. You’ve made us promises that we’ve relied on. You can’t do this!”

  And this is what happens when you deliver bad news to a room full of law students. The real question: is he right? Can we file a class action against the school to force them to reinstate the scholarships for everyone who has already been awarded them?

  The arguments are working through my head, but the dean’s next words kill the blooming hope.

  “Unfortunately, there is no such recourse available to you. The school has always maintained that it is able to cancel the program at any time and makes no promises. In addition, there are several other legal theories that would prevent the school from being compelled to continue to provide funding, especially for a program that would bankrupt it. We’ve reviewed the termination of this program with the brightest legal minds in the country, and they all agree. You won’t find a class action attorney to take the case because it’s going to be a loser.”

  More shouted comments come from around the room aimed at the dean, and none of them are complimentary. He holds his hand out.

  “Please refrain from shouting; it will not change the opinion of the board of trustees, who retains the ultimate say over this matter. Now, if you’ll stay seated, we’ll have someone come around with the schedule for the financial aid department, and get everyone who needs an appointment in as soon as possible.”

  Merica’s hand is still wrapped around my arm, and my gut twists into knot after knot. Did the board of trustees decide unanimously? Did Justice Grant agree with this? It doesn’t jibe with the man I thought he was.

  The dean looks ill as he swallows the remainder of his water and steps away from the lectern. The man just handed down a judgment that’s going to spell the end of more than one legal career before it starts.

  Including mine. All the appointments with financial aid in the world won’t help me secure a conventional student loan. Why? Because I’m the daughter of two con artists who used my social security number for dozens of loans before I turned eighteen. My credit was trashed before I even had a chance to use it myself. My only way through school has been scholarships, and I’ve worked my ass off to get them.

  How can this happen?

  My eyes burn with the threat of tears, but there’s no way I’m going to cry in public.

  “I need to make an appointment with financial aid before I go beg my stepdad for a loan, just so I have a backup plan. And then after that, we’re getting shitfaced.” Merica’s tone sounds a lot more like she’s telling me someone was murdered.

  Just our dreams. Hopes. Future plans.

  Without an extra sixty grand sitting around to cover my tuition, I’m screwed. Two years of my life, wasted. Any loan I could get would have credit-card-level interest rates, and with my ambition to get a job at Legal Aid . . . there’s no way I could afford to live and pay a fraction of the monthly payment.

  From behind me comes a hushed conversation. “My old roommate stripped her way through all three years of school. She graduated with no debt.”

  I peek surreptitiously over my shoulder to see a pretty blonde I remember from classes first year. She wasn’t a standout student, just average. She’s whispering to a brunette seated beside her.

  “At the Vu?”

  The blonde nods. “It’s better than going into debt for this. I’ve already got half the tuition my scholarship wasn’t going to cover. How bad can it really be? Wearing a wig and a ton of makeup with a stage name, who would ever know? I’ve still got my job at the library to put on my résumé.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, what she’s saying makes a ton of sense.

  The brunette’s features take on a determined cast. “Let’s go talk to her. Maybe she can get us in?”

  When they stand and leave the room without waiting for the financial aid representative, I’m actually disappointed I can’t eavesdrop on the rest of their conversation.

  The financial aid rep stops next to Merica with her schedule.

  “So, how long do we have to make the first payment without a student loan?” Merica asks.

  “Thirty days. Each payment will be due thirty days thereafter for the remainder of the year. The final payment must be made at least seven days prior to graduation in order to walk and receive a diploma.”

  I do the math in my head and cover my mouth when I choke on a cough at the size of the payments.

  “Sign me up for the appointment. I’ll cancel if I don’t need it.”

  The rep nods and pencils it into the schedule. When Merica is finished putting the appointment time in her phone, she turns to me. “Ready?”

  I’m still not up for forming actual words, so I nod.

  I don’t have a rich stepdad. Or a pile of cash. Or decent credit. Or a fairy godmother.

  As we follow the irate crowd out of the room, Justice Grant lifts a hand toward me. I wish I’d been looking the other direction, because the last thing I want to do is talk to him right now. But I also can’t pretend I didn’t see him when we just made eye contact.

  “Can you give me a second? I’ll meet you outside and we can figure out where we’re going.”

  Merica hugs her giant purse closer to her side. “Okay, but hurry. I need tequila, stat. I need to be drunk before I call the stepfather.”

  “I’ll be quick; I promise.”

  I veer toward Justice Grant and stop a few feet away from him.

  “I’m so sorry that was dropped on you without warning. Your scholarship was a full ride, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. It was.”

  “Have you made an appointment with financial aid?”

  I open my mouth to lie because he doesn’t need to know the details of my dismal financial circumstances, but the words are caught in my throat and the truth comes out instead.

  “I can’t get a loan through financial aid. They won’t even consider me. My parents screwed up my credit before I turned eighteen, and it hasn’t recovered. I have to figure something else out.”

  “I’m sure if you have someone to cosign for you . . .” He trails off when I shake my head.

  “I don’t. It’s just me. My grandfather passed away at the end of first year. My parents . . . I don’t even know where they are, but I guarantee their credit is worse than mine.”

  His eyebrows arch toward his hairline. “Well hell, Justine. What are you going to do?”

  I force a smile onto my face and tell him the truth. “Get drunk. Probably cry. And then either figure something out, or drop out and get
a full-time job with my undergrad degree and hope I can save enough to come back and finish in a couple years.”

  His face falls at my honesty. “I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t fair. When they were discussing our options, we knew it was going to cause some students to leave the program, but I never would have expected you to be one of them. You’re one of the brightest clerks I’ve ever had in my chambers, and it would be such a waste of a brilliant mind.”

  I inject more positivity than I feel into my tone. “I might not have any other options, but I’ve already got my books and I’ve got thirty days to come up with the first payment. Hopefully I can figure out something by then.”

  “Come talk to me before you make any final decisions. If there’s anything I can do to help, even if it’s write you a letter of recommendation for another job, I’ll do it.”

  His offer is sincere, and those tears I told him I’d cry later are welling to the surface.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll be in touch.” I spin and head for the door before they can fall.

  What a disaster.

  I hope Merica already has a bar picked out because I’m going to spend every last dollar in my wallet on getting drunk. It might not be prudent, but being prudent isn’t going to come close to paying my tuition.

  Ryker

  “You’re going to finish school, and I’m not going to hear another goddamn word to the contrary.” My father’s voice echoes off the vaulted ceilings of his home office.

  “Why is it so fucking important that I finish school? So I can become a judge like you and call in favors? Or so I can count on other people to deal with my mistakes?”

  “You watch your mouth when you speak to me.”

  “Are you in denial, Dad?”

  My father’s expression turns harsh, and I know I’ve overstepped. Well, fuck it. I’ve had enough of the hypocrisy in this house.