006

The article praised his talents, hunger, and discipline. She read on; another popped up, captioned. "Liam is making his family proud," with a picture of his mom and little sister. She clicked on it. His mom, a fit woman who could pass for his sister, and her daughter Emily, no older than six, with a missing front tooth, smiled in unison.

She curiously ended up on his Inst**ram page; his first post read. "Hey guys, meet Lukie, my buddy I rescued today, hashtag rescue a dog." A pic of Liam wearing a baseball jersey and grey shorts, lying on his couch, cuddling a golden retriever, stared right back at her.

She had to admit he was hot. She wasn't crushing on him or anything, only stating the obvious. The comment section was full of "Aww, so cute with the heart eyes emoji," or "This makes me want to go to the shelter now!" replies.

In his next post, she watched him packaging meals, supplies, and toys for those left homeless by hurricane Kelly in two northwest states, or in his third post, where he asked his fans which classical books they could recommend. Popular classics like Shakespeare's Hamlet, Charles Dickens' Great Expectations, and Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame flooded the comments.

Okay, someone was desperate to please. It was hard to stop the smile slowly spreading across her lips. Why he was doing this was beyond her; she wasn't a slub, but she wasn't the smokin' influencer type either. It was widely established knowledge that he could have anyone he wanted, so why her?

"...That will be all," McAdams announced. She quickly got on her feet, sliding her laptop into her embroidered black tote bag. She found it hard to believe she sat through a whole class, her favorite class, and had not absorbed a single thing, because of the stupid pair of green eyes living rent-free in her head. The same pair belonging to someone she couldn't stand.

To be fair, he hadn't done anything to her. It was more of his mentality that he could have any pussy he batted his eyelashes at because he threw a brown leather ball that pissed her off. That's why her body's sudden craving for his touch confused the hell out of her. Jesus, she was a mess.

"Carter-, sorry, April," McAdams called, correcting himself, "got a minute?"

"Sure," she walked closer to the podium, where a bald, round-bellied man stood holding his laptop and a stack of folders in his hands. He adjusted the thick rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose and then spoke.

"April, I wanted to discuss your law school preparations. How is it going?"

"It's been stressful. I'm thinking of applying to Harvard Law after graduation or maybe Johns Hopkins. Honestly, Harvard's rejection rate is terrifying. I'm freaking out just thinking about competing with thousands of people who probably have much more impressive credentials than I do. I have a 3.8 GPA and some charity work on my resume. That's about it. Nothing gives me an edge."

"There is something that could enhance your application. A friend of mine at Walter Partners has informed me they are launching an internship program in about ten days. It's a hush affair. They will be reviewing applications strictly on recommendations to avoid sorting through loads of letters. Only three people will make it past the interview round. It's on weekends, so it won't interfere with classes. I know this adds pressure to your already busy schedule; however, it's a great opportunity, and I was hoping you would apply."

"Professor, I'm honoured you thought of me, but I have to ask, why me? Other guys need this break more than I do."

"Is that a question? Your paper?" he smiled warmly, pulling out a paper from his folder, her paper. "Your analysis of how the US government's reluctance to reform mass incarceration across its states sustains private sector employment is the best writing I have ever read and graded in my academic career."

"You delved into how this sector makes billions in profits off overcharging incarcerated families. You explained the money trail starting from how companies that supply food and hygiene products make $2.1 billion annually from poor communities that have no choice but to fund their loved one's account in prison for them to purchase basic necessities; to the healthcare companies that benefit from inmates consuming heavily processed snacks and beverages instead of healthy food portions by providing these sick inmates with chronic medical conditions over the counter vitamins which they have to pay for; and then to the Telecoms raking in $1.2 billion for inmates to make phone calls and video calls."