"Better a football player than the Dean of Students' daughter. No wonder you're not into the flow of the semester yet. It has to be hard thinking the dean is getting the lowdown on your class every day."
"Clarity's not like that." I put my beer down too sharply. "She's hard-working and ultra-focused. Too focused, actually. Dean Dunkirk keeps hinting that he wants her to break out of her career track and try a few other things before graduating."
"Hmm," Jackson said, considering me. "Maybe she should try out my creative writing elective. I'll let you suggest it if you want to score points with the dean."
"Somebody's got to do something about this music," I stood up. "Order me another beer, will ya? I'm going to go stock the jukebox with something good."
"Sure. Two beers and shots for a bad date sounds about right."
I left Jackson chatting with the bartender and made my way across the bar to the jukebox. It stood just outside the hallway to the restrooms and I was relieved to see the pop playlist was almost over. I selected a few blues pieces and slipped something a little harder in between. My mood was definitely darker than the upbeat chorus that was currently repeating.
"Ford Bauer, what a surprise! Wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. "Barton," I bit out.
Wesley Barton sauntered down the hallway from the restroom and held out a hand for me to shake. I crossed my arms and looked the disgustingly wealthy entrepreneur over. The suit was Italian, custom-made, and his shoes flashed with a high polish. Despite his husky build and his salt and pepper hair, Barton was attractive. His jovial smile had the women that passed us to the bathroom fluttering their eyelashes.
I imagined punching him in the face and almost returned his smile. "Slumming it?" I asked.
"Meeting a friend. He's got connections up at Landsman College. Maybe you know him? Michael Tailor?" Barton nodded towards one of the tables in the front window. "How about you join us and I buy you a drink?"
"Back off, Barton." I stepped forward and made him rock back on his heels. "We both know you deserve to be in jail, and you would be if you didn't have my editor in your pocket."
"Former editor," he reminded me. "And I don't think it counts as 'in my pocket' when I own the entire media outlet."
"If you're going to censor stories and only present the facts that you approve, then it should be called entertainment, not media."
Barton slapped me on the shoulder. "Don't be so sore just because we killed your story. I gave you a chance to stay. You could have found other stories to cover and kept your career. Who knew you'd tuck tail right away and run for a cushy academic job?"
I knocked Barton's hand away. "You forced me out. You used all your money and connections to make the facts disappear and then you sent that shark of a lawyer to warn me about libel."
"To warn you, yes." Barton tried to step around me. "It was your decision to leave Wire Communications."
"What choice did I have?" The volume of my voice was edging up past the jukebox music. "I'm a journalist. I can't work at a place that kills the facts to protect its own."
"You were a journalist. From what I hear, you're now a professor. That can't be all bad. In fact, I met a Landsman College student the other day. Patrick Dunkirk's daughter."
"Clarity?" My throat closed around her name.
Barton nodded with a reptilian smile. "She's interested in journalism internships. Quite ambitious, oh, and beautiful. I can't feel bad about where you ended up when the students at Landsman look like her." Barton kissed his fingertips.
I grabbed his hand and crushed it in my palm. "I know you think you're untouchable, but I'm ready to get my hands dirty."
"Whoa, hey, sorry for the misunderstanding. We were just leaving." Jackson grabbed me by both shoulders and yanked me away from the rich man.
I jerked free of my friend and tried to get back into Barton's smug face. Jackson dodged in front of me. "Move, we're not done."
"We're leaving," Jackson said.
For a lanky English professor, my friend was deceptively strong. I could have taken him out with one, well-placed punch, but he knew I wouldn't, so he shoved me towards the door with impunity.
"Nice to see you, professor," Barton called.
The bar door swung shut behind us and Jackson let out a tight breath. "What in the hell was all that about?"
I paced up and down the sidewalk. "That? That slimy worm of a man is Wesley Barton, owner of Wire Communications."
"The man you tried to take down?" Jackson asked.
"The man that discredited me and forced me to leave journalism." Something snapped and I lunged for the door.
"Whoa, not tonight," Jackson groaned as he pushed me back. "That conversation is over."
"My whole career is over because of him. Right now, he should be rotting in jail while I polish a journalism award. The only reason it all turned out like this is because he's rich." I stalked up and down the sidewalk again and wished Barton would try to leave the bar.
Jackson held out his skinny arms and tried to corral me towards my apartment. "I'm not sure you can regain your professional or personal integrity by caving his face in."
The burst of laughter surprised us both. "You're right, but, god, it would feel good." My shoulders slumped. Slowly, all the reasons I needed to keep my job came flooding back into my conscience.
Jackson slapped me on the back as we walked away. "Remember, I've seen you fight before. You're lethal. My wife's a great lawyer, but even she couldn't get you out of assault with a deadly weapon. And I really like sleeping in my bed."
"Alice would make you sleep on the couch for getting into a bar fight?" I asked with a chuckle. "Fine, then for your sake, I won't go back and put my fist through his nose."
"See? What are friends for?" Jackson grinned and stopped next to his car. "Need a lift?"
"Nah, I gotta walk this off. My place isn't that far if I cut across campus," I said.
"As long as you keep walking." Jackson gave me a mock salute and drove home to his new wife.
The steep walk uphill to Landsman College cleared my head, and by the time I looked up, I was far off course. Music pumped from the row of old Victorians along the last side street before campus. The sorority and fraternity houses were always lively on the weekend, but my stomach sank as I saw which house was overflowing with a party.
The majority of Landsman jocks were Kappa Sig and I remembered overhearing that Clarity had a date with the quarterback that night. I was still confused over why she would accept a date with a jock. Sure, he was good-looking and popular, but neither of those were important factors to Clarity. I thought she was more interested in debating current events and discussing world news. It was hard to imagine her having fun at a keg party.
I walked closer just in case she realized her mistake and was trying to leave the party.
"Psst, Bauer. Over here."
The whispered voice was hidden in the deep shadows of an oak tree. "Dean Dunkirk?" I asked, shuffling through the dry leaves to join him.