Bad Judgment Page 5

  My eyes dart from him to Marvin’s office door. It won’t take Ryker long to guess why, if he hasn’t figured it out already.

  “None of your damn business.” And it’s not. Nothing about me is any of Ryker’s business.

  “That’s where we disagree.”

  Screw him. I don’t owe him any explanation. Striding forward, I intend to sidestep him, but he wraps a hand around my wrist. Before I can yank it free, he spins us both and pins me against the wall.

  Memories of the back hallway at the bar bombard me, but I shut them down. I need to get out of here.

  “Let me go.” I shove both hands against his chest.

  “No. Because someone needs to have a come-to-Jesus talk with you. See, I know for a fact that you lost your scholarship, and I also know you’re too fucking smart to think stripping for your tuition is a good idea.”

  “It’s none of your business what I do for my tuition.”

  “You get up on that stage and I’ll carry you out of here myself.”

  I have to grit my teeth to stop from telling him I couldn’t even get a job as a stripper. Before I can think of a suitable reply, Marvin’s office door flies open.

  “What the hell? You better get the fuck off her, man.”

  Ryker drops his hold on me instantly and steps back.

  Marvin storms closer, looking from me to Ryker and back to me. “You okay? I’ll get security to haul his ass out of here.”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. It’s . . . a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

  Marvin glares at Ryker. “You lay a hand on any woman in this place, and I’ll take you apart myself.”

  “He’s fine, Marvin. It’s all good. I’m gone.”

  I don’t wait for his response. Call me a coward, but I need this night to be over. Now. So I bolt.

  Merica’s never going to believe any of this . . .

  Justine

  Professional Responsibility isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time, but it’s a required class. For some crap reason, it’s only offered on Friday afternoons, which means any chance at a three-day weekend is eliminated if you also happen to have a Monday class, which I do. For now.

  I don’t know why I’m holding on to hope and continuing to go to class, but I can’t give up. This is where I belong, and I’m not ready to let go. Not yet. I’ll keep coming until they throw me out.

  I study the seating chart on the PowerPoint slide until I find my assigned seat. This professor is old school and goes strictly alphabetical. I can’t stop myself from checking the G’s.

  Grant, R. Two rows ahead of me on the opposite side of the room.

  Of course he’s in this class. Why would I expect anything else? I tell myself I’m not going to look in that direction, but obviously I fail. He’s leaning back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head in a casual I don’t give a shit pose.

  King of the Douche Bags, I remind myself.

  Professor Babcock waits until the time ticks over to one o’clock. She assigned reading in advance, and she wastes no time diving into the first case. With my two-year-old laptop at the ready, a gift with my defunct scholarship, I take verbatim notes as she discusses the general rules of professional responsibility.

  She rattles on for twenty minutes before looking down at her copy of the seating chart and calling on a student for the first case.

  “Mr. Grant, go ahead with the facts.”

  My attention, like everyone else’s seated behind him, goes to the back of his head, which is now lowered over his closed laptop. I’ve been in enough classes over the last two years to realize this isn’t normal Ryker behavior.

  “Sorry, Professor Babcock, I’m going to have to pass today.”

  Spoiler alert: There is no passing in law school. At least, not in this one.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Grant?”

  “I said I have to pass. I haven’t read the case, so I don’t have the facts.”

  Professor Babcock’s tone borders on incredulous. “You haven’t read the case.” It’s not a question.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “And do you have some excuse for why you failed to be prepared for this lecture?”

  “Not one that’s going to get me any sympathy.”

  I think every mouth in the class drops open in shock. What the hell is he doing? Trying to piss her off?

  Babcock bristles behind the lectern. “Feel free to exit the room right now if you’re not interested in participating. You can always take this required class again next semester when you’re feeling more engaged.”

  Wow. Just. Wow.

  I don’t know what the hell has gotten into him, but this is a completely new development.

  Ryker wraps a hand around his unopened laptop and grabs his backpack with the other. “Thanks for the tip.” He walks out of the silent room, the door slamming behind him.

  “Holy shit,” Leslie Pope, the girl beside me, whispers. “Did that just happen?”

  Holy shit is right. Ryker might not be a 4.0 student, but he’s far from stupid, and what he just did qualifies as idiotic.

  He was at the strip club last night. Maybe he’s still drunk?

  The rest of the class passes without any more fireworks, but in the back of our minds, we’re all wondering what the hell happened to transform Ryker from regular cocky law student to idiot asshole.

  As soon as class is dismissed, gossip runs rampant as most of the students, including Merica and me, head downstairs to the café. Did you hear about Ryker Grant walking out of Professional Responsibility? Did he do that in any other classes? Is he smoking something? If so, where can I get some?

  The questions run the gamut and it seems no gossip is off-limits. For some strange reason, people keep coming to me for answers, like I have some.

  “He’s always asking you out,” Merica says when I complain about the third person to ask me if I know what’s going on with him.

  “He was. Past tense and over with.”

  Merica eyes me sharply. “You don’t think he was working up to asking you out again when you made a break for it last night?”

  When I’d called her on my drive home from the Vu, she’d practically deafened me with how loudly she’d laughed. There had been no sympathy, only relief that I wasn’t taking up stripping as a part-time job.

  “I have no idea, but I sure wasn’t sticking around to find out. Besides, let’s not pretend I’m upset about this change of pace.”

  I pretend that last bit isn’t a lie. My pride still stings from being stood up last summer after he kissed me. All I want is an apology, and then I can move on.

  “Riiight,” Merica drawls, sipping on her can of Diet Coke. “I would call bullshit, but you’re so far in denial it won’t do any good.”

  I don’t dignify her words with a response. We both know she’s right.

  “But seriously, do you have any idea what the hell that stunt was? His dad is going to be pissed when he finds out. Didn’t you say that he’s got grand plans of Ryker going on to clerk for the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals? Or even the US Supreme Court? I don’t think all the favors in the world are going to help if Ryker decides he’s had enough of ‘playing at law school.’”

  It was common knowledge in Justice Grant’s chambers that he had lofty aspirations for his son, and up until today, I would have said that Ryker was falling in line with what his father wanted.

  Leslie Pope sidles up between Merica and me. “So you know how Ryker walked out of PR?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I mumble. Given that I was sitting beside her when it happened, the question is ridiculous.

  “I heard from Kristy Horner that he hasn’t taken any notes all week. She’s got some history with him, so she notices these things.”

  We’re all aware of Kristy’s “history” with Ryker. She’s made no secret of the fact that she considers him to be her property. She also doesn’t like me a whole lot, because apparently she considers me competition. She should thank me, in my opinion, because I’ve purposely gone out of my way not to be competition. And I’m definitely no competition now.

  “Really?” Merica prompts her, giving me the side-eye me like no other. “What else did Kristy say?”

  Leslie lowers her voice as if someone is going to overhear her. “Apparently he hasn’t even opened his laptop in a class yet. It’s like he’s deliberately trying to fail this semester. Kristy said she’s worried about him.”

  “If Kristy’s so worried, maybe she shouldn’t be spreading gossip around,” Merica says, letting her trademark snarkiness bleed over into her words.

  Leslie shrugs. “I’m just telling you what she told me.”

  “That’s pretty big speculation considering we’re only a week in. Maybe he’s just bored with this first-week-of-class song and dance.” Why am I putting out some kind of explanation for this? It’s not like I care either way what Ryker is doing or what the gossips are saying, as long as it doesn’t include me.

  “I heard from Heath Whitehouse, who clerked with him all summer in Justice Bryant’s chambers, that he was totally apathetic from day one. It’s like someone flipped a switch. He went from being normal Ryker without a care in the world to a real prick.”

  “Aren’t you just full of gossip today?” Merica sips her Diet Coke again and meets my gaze.

  “Didn’t you have an externship with Ryker’s dad last semester?” Leslie asks me.

  I nod.

  “Did you find out anything about him that could explain this?”

  “He didn’t come up as a topic of conversation.” My tone is dry, and I hope she picks up on the fact that I’m over this conversation.

  “Then I guess this remains an unsolved mystery,” Leslie says with another shrug. “Anyway, I gotta get going. I’m heading up north with a couple of my undergrad sorority sisters for one last weekend of fun. Talk to you Monday!”

  We watch Leslie bounce away, apparently thrilled that she has shared all the gossip in her arsenal, and Merica pushes aside her now empty can of Diet Coke.

  “I’m ready to get the hell out of here. You?”

  “More than ready.” We both gather up our backpacks, and Merica tosses her can in the recycling bin as we walk out of the café.

  “Are you coming over tonight for the New Girl marathon?”

  I debate my options. Sitting at home and thinking about all the things I can’t change, or hanging out with my best friend pretending my problems don’t exist. Choice number two is the clear winner.

  “Absolutely. See you at seven?”

  “Perfect. I’m ordering pizza, so come hungry.”

  “You know I will.”

  Justine

  An unknown number shows up on my phone, and out of instinct and caution, I let it go to voice mail. Yes, I screen all my calls.

  As soon as the voice mail pops up on my notifications, I check it.

  Part of me hopes to hear Ryker’s familiar deep voice, but I slap that part upside the head. But shockingly, I’m not that far off.

  “Justine, I’ve been thinking a lot about your predicament, and I want to make sure you’ve found a suitable solution. Feel free to come by my chambers before six tonight if you’d like to discuss it.”

  He doesn’t even say his name, and he doesn’t need to. I’d recognize Justice Grant’s voice anywhere.

  I wonder if he’s already heard through the grapevine that Ryker walked out of class. As a member of the board of trustees, I imagine that word travels pretty quickly to his ears when something happens concerning his son.

  For a second I feel a flash of pity for Ryker, but it evaporates just as quickly. Because his dad is a trustee, he doesn’t have to worry about paying for tuition. And yet he still walked out of class today like the entitled jerk I’ve called him more than once. Who does that?

  Doesn’t he realize how good he has it? He drives around in his Camaro, has the latest and greatest MacBook and access to opportunities most students can only dream about, and now he’s spending week nights at the strip club, walking out of class, and apparently is willing to throw it away?

  I grow more and more pissed as I ride the bus to the commuter lot and finally climb into my car. My Honda Civic may only be five years younger than me, but she still gets me from A to B.

  I’m only partially aware of the turns I’m making until the majestic building housing the state supreme court comes into view.

  Apparently when this Grant calls, I come running. But how many other people have called me to inquire about my situation? Asked if I’ve found a solution? Besides Merica, no one else cares whether I drop out of school or not.

  My parents, who I assume are still running cons on unsuspecting marks, never gave a crap about me or my future. If Gramps hadn’t fought them tooth and nail for custody, they would have dragged me deeper into their mess, and I was too young to realize what was happening.

  The fact that Justice Grant cares more about my future than my own blood isn’t something I’m going to dwell on. Honestly, though, other than Gramps, Justice Grant is really the only positive male role model I’ve had.

  Despite the silver-spoon life he’s given his son, Grant didn’t grow up with everything. He started as a lowly law clerk and worked his way up the ranks through sheer force of will. Because of that, I feel like we have something in common.

  I wait in line at the metal detector, and once my purse has been scanned, I follow the path my feet know well and make my way to the third floor of the building where Justice Grant’s chambers are located. The halls are quiet at five thirty, and the door to Grant’s chambers is closed. I try the knob rather than knocking.

  As I step into his chambers, I inhale the scent of old law books. There’s something comforting about it—like coming home after a long absence. I loved every minute I spent working here last semester, and that’s all due to the man standing near the interior door that leads to his office.

  His eyes light up when he sees me, and a ready smile stretches across his face. “Justine, so glad you got my message and could carve out some time for me.”

  I smile instinctively in return, but then falter when I remember I’m here to tell him that my legal career is over before it really started.

  The words are bitter on my tongue, and speaking them is so much harder than I could have imagined. Tears burn my eyes, but again, I won’t let them fall.

  “Of course. And you told me to talk to you before I made any big decisions, so here I am.” I square my shoulders and swallow, wishing I didn’t have to say what I’m about to say. “I’m going to be leaving school when the first tuition payment is due. I don’t have the money, and I’m not going to be able to get it.”

  His smile dies a quick death. “No. That’s not acceptable. You’re too bright to throw the last two years away over something like money.”

  I choke out a pained laugh. “Money’s pretty important in this situation. The school isn’t going to let me stay without it. I’m hoping I won’t be throwing the last two years away. My goal would be to graduate . . . someday.”

  “That’s not what I meant, but I spoke poorly.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Come in and shut the door. We’re going to talk. I have an idea I think will help both of us.”

  Justine

  I ease the thick wooden door of Justice Grant’s chambers closed behind me and follow him into his office. He takes a seat behind the wide wooden desk that looks like it should be in a museum rather than in actual use.

  “Sit.” He gestures to the dark leather high-backed chairs that are slightly smaller and less ornate versions of his.

  I lower myself into the seat, and memories of all the times that I’ve sat in it before swirl through my mind. The first afternoon of my externship, when most student clerks don’t actually get to meet their judges right away, and instead are directed by a permanent law clerk. The times when Grant wanted to discuss particularly tricky points of law when I was researching cases to assist with writing his opinions. The last day of my externship, when he said the door was always open if I ever needed him for anything.

  I can’t imagine that most state supreme court justices would do the same, but I knew from that first day Grant was different, which explained why his externships were so highly sought after. I may have only spent eight hours a week here, but it was enough to make a lasting impression.

  He leans back in his chair and studies me for long moments before speaking. “Have you exhausted all your potential options? I hate to ask, because I know you’re a bright girl, and if there was a way for anyone to make this work, you would have already figured it out.”

  “Everything I can think of, and everything I can live with.”

  He narrows his eyes on me. “Do I want to know what options you considered that you couldn’t live with?”

  I shake my head. “No, sir.”

  “Fair enough.” He nods. “Well, I might have an option I think you could live with.”

  My mind has been turning over and trying to latch onto any possibilities, but I keep coming up empty. What could he possibly think of as a solution that I haven’t already considered?

  “I’m entertaining all options at this point. I don’t want to leave school, but I can’t stay and have them kick me out for nonpayment of tuition either.”

  Grant shifts forward and leans his elbows on the desk before lacing his fingers together. “You know my son, Ryker, correct?”

  I force myself to stay motionless when my instinctive reaction is to jerk back in my chair. What does Ryker have to do with this?

  When Grant raises an eyebrow, I realize he’s waiting for me to respond.

  “Yes, I know him.” That’s the simplest answer I can give.

  “I thought so. Well, he’s having a bit of a crisis of faith right now when it comes to law school.” His expression darkens and he adds, “This is between us and doesn’t leave this room.”

  I nod, interested in not only what the hell happened to Ryker over the summer to totally change his attitude, but what it could possibly have to do with me and my tuition. “I won’t say anything to anyone.”