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.”
“Good. Ryker doesn’t ever need to know we’re having this conversation, regardless of what you decide.”
Now my interest is well and truly piqued. What I decide?
“The details aren’t important, but he isn’t sure he wants to be a lawyer anymore and has considered withdrawing from school.”
So the rumors aren’t so far off. “But why? He’s already two years in, and it’s not like someone yanked his financial support.” As soon as I shut my mouth, it occurs to me that my response is a little too candid. But Grant doesn’t reprimand me, or do anything but nod.
“That’s exactly what I told him. He’s lucky enough to have his tuition covered, and after explaining to him what happened to students like you, I believe he realizes just how foolish, shortsighted, and self-indulgent such a choice would be. He’s since agreed to finish out the year.”
“I’m glad he realized throwing an opportunity like this away would be stupid.”
Grant lowers his head for a moment before meeting my eyes. “That’s the problem. I think he’s still going to throw this opportunity away, but not by dropping out.” He leans back in his chair again and crosses his arms as I wait impatiently for what he has to say next. “According to my colleagues at the law school, Ryker is choosing not to do his reading or put forth any effort when it comes to class. He’s going to fail out, or at least damage his GPA to the point where he won’t be able to get a decent job, and certainly not a high-level clerkship like I had hoped.”
So that explains why Ryker’s been acting like he doesn’t give a shit in class—because apparently he doesn’t anymore. But what it doesn’t explain is how this has any connection to my situation.
“I don’t understand what this has to do with me,” I say, my irritation at Ryker’s stupid behavior rising.
How could he throw away a free law school degree? I’d kill not to have to worry about tuition right now, and he’s acting like an ass instead of appreciating his opportunity. All because he’s having some kind of late-stage rage-against-authority issue?
Justice Grant uncrosses his arms and rests them on the desk. “I want you to make sure he keeps his grades up and doesn’t ruin his future over this temporary display of rebelliousness.”
Wait. What?
Is he serious? He wants me to help keep Ryker from failing out?
“I don’t really understand what you’re asking me to do, sir.” If Ryker wants to fail, there’s nothing I can do to change his mind.
“You have three of the four same classes on your schedule, right?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “How do you know that?”
Justice Grant inclines his head with a small smile. “I have my sources.” The ease in his expression fades away just as quickly. “What I want you to do is be Ryker’s new study buddy. Make sure he’s doing his reading, taking notes in class, and prepping outlines for any midterms and his finals.”
But how? I want to ask. If the guy doesn’t want to study, it’s not like I can force him to do it. Besides, being Ryker’s best new study buddy would mean that we’d be spending time together, and that’s the last thing I want right now. The bruises to my pride haven’t healed sufficiently for me to speak to him in a civil manner.
Grant isn’t finished. “In exchange for you getting Ryker back to studying and engaging in class, I’ll pay your tuition every month. After grades for finals come out, we can talk about second semester.”
His words bounce around in my brain, ricocheting off synapses until the meaning truly hits me.
Justice Grant wants to pay me to get Ryker to study. I have to say the words out loud so I know that I’m not misunderstanding what Grant is saying.
Sitting straighter in my chair, I gather myself. “Let me make sure I have this right. You’ll pay my tuition every month in exchange for me making sure Ryker does all the reading and is prepared for class, and if he does well on his finals, you’re going to cover my entire second semester.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I said, but I’ll work with you. If you can help him sustain his current GPA and not let it drop, then I will pay for your entire second semester’s tuition. But I’ll take it on good faith that you’re not going to bail on him if he needs proper motivation to keep up the good work.”
“But what if he doesn’t keep his grades up? You know your son is . . .” I search my vocabulary for an adjective I can use in front of Justice Grant. “Stubborn. If he doesn’t want to study, there’s nothing I can do to change his mind.”
“I don’t believe that. You can challenge him, study with him, work on your outlines together. Whatever it takes to get him engaged in school again and through to graduation with his grades intact.”
“What if I can’t? What if he won’t cooperate? Then I’m in the same boat I was before, except I’ve spent more time working toward a degree I won’t be able to finish.”
“You’ll think of something. I’m confident.”
Well, that makes one of us.
Am I even considering this? I can’t study with Ryker. I can’t spend time sitting across a table from him after what happened between us. Not that he’s even interested anymore. I might not have a lot, but one thing I still have is pride. But if studying is the only thing I have to do to get my tuition paid . . .
I might not like this idea, but really, what are my other options?
I don’t have any; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.
I know I’m considering his proposition when the next words come out of my mouth. “What if there’s nothing I can do to convince him?”
“I don’t think that’s going to be the case.”
“But what if I put in my best efforts”—I throw in a term from Contracts class that I know Justice Grant will clearly understand—“and his grades still drop?”
“It’s not going to happen. And if it does, we’ll discuss it and come to some kind of fair arrangement.”
A fair arrangement. “What does that mean?”
Justice Grant fixes his gaze on me. “It means don’t borrow trouble, and don’t worry about it until we need to. Now, do we have a deal?”
You know the saying, if it sounds too good to be true? Well, it’s running through my head right now. But what do I have to lose?
I can cling to my hurt, embarrassment, and pride . . . or I can suck it up and walk away with a law degree and no debt. For the low, low price of helping Ryker Grant.
Who would I really be hurting? Myself, if I say no.
But how in the world am I ever going to get Ryker to study without raising red flags everywhere? And that’s when I know I’ve made my decision.
Justice Grant must sense it too. “What do you say, Justine? Do we have a deal?”
I nod. “I’ll do it.”
He stands and holds out a hand. I mimic his motion and we shake on it. A moment later, he releases my hand and returns to his desk. He slides open a drawer and removes two stapled documents before crossing back to the chairs and offering one to me.
“To make it official.”
“What is this?” I ask as I accept it. When I glance down, the title jumps out at me in bold letters.
INDEPENDENT CONTRACTOR AGREEMENT
I scan it for a moment before realizing that it’s a contract to tutor Ryker in exchange for my tuition.
“Always better to have it in writing,” he says.
What did I really expect? Of course he would want it in writing. “Do you mind if I read this over?”
“I’d expect no less.”
I settle back into the chair and read every single word. I’m definitely no contract expert, but I don’t see anything that stands out as alarming.
When I look back up at Justice Grant, he has a kind smile on his face. “Any questions? The terms are all in your favor, Justine.”
“No questions, sir. It’s fine.”
He holds out a pen. “Then all that’s left is the execution. Two copies. We each get one.”
Of course. Because lawyers love duplicates and triplicates. I reach out and take the heavy silver pen from him.
After we’ve both scrawled our signatures above our names on the last page of each copy, I look up at him, not quite sure what to say now. So I go with something bland.
“I guess we’re official now.”
He smiles at me. “We are. Have a good night, Justine. I’ll be in touch.”
I walk to the door, and my hand shakes when I reach for the knob.
What did I just do?
Justice Grant’s familiar voice interrupts my flicker of internal panic. “Now, just so we’re clear, neither Ryker nor anyone else ever knows about any of this, you understand?”
Discomfort slithers through me at the secrecy, even though I understand the need for it.
“You have my word, sir.”
It’s not just my hand shaking when I get back to my car, but the rest of me as well.
What the hell did I just agree to? How am I going to pull this off?
Ryker is used to getting the frigid side of my cold shoulder, and I can’t change that overnight. But I also don’t have a lot of time to put this into action. Any more stunts like the one he pulled in Professional Responsibility, and he’s going to have the professors looking for any reason to dock him when it comes time to grade final exams.
What I want to do is call Merica and beg for advice, but my vow of silence takes that option off the table. For over two years, I’ve told her basically everything, so I don’t know how I’m going to manage this.
On the way back to my apartment, I decide to aid my problem-solving by taking a detour through the Dairy Queen drive-through. The Oreo and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard helps me think better. No, really, it does.
To make room in my cupholder, I move the Chewbacca Pez dispenser. I steal spoonfuls at the red lights all the way home, but I’m not any closer to having a solution than I was when I left Justice Grant’s chambers. Unfortunately, no amount of ice cream is going to solve this one for me.
It’s Friday night and I’m not going to see Ryker again until Monday, which means I have the entire weekend to come up with something.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
My future is riding on it.
Now if I can just block out the memory of that stupid kiss . . .