CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE) Page 2

  Heath Lawrence was the lead singer for a band called Double Damage. He had started it in his teens with his late friend, Howard Lane. Unusually for a rock group, it was a singing duo that worked with multiple musicians than a group of four regulars. Double Damage had a meteoric rise through the indie scene before signing up with a major label. Now, Heath was the biggest rock star across two continents.

  I walked through the serene hallways of Double Damage’s record label, Sterling Records. The rooms were so clean and well-furnished that I came to expect the same from Heath Lawrence. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

  I found him half asleep away in some meeting room. He smelt of sex and liquor. A woman’s lipstick stain could be found around his collar. It reminded me of the years I spent tutoring jocks. The more things change, the less they changed.

  “Excuse, Mr. Lawrence-”

  “No one calls me Mr. Lawrence,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Call me Heath because otherwise I’ll think my old man had risen from the grave. Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Charlotte Rosen,” I answered, ignoring his crudeness. “I am your new tutor.”

  God, this man was everything I loved and hated. He was a disrespectful slacker. Yet, he was also a sexy singer with an unbuttoned shirt that revealed his muscular chest. That British accent didn’t hurt matters. I would’ve fallen in love with him if I was still a teenager who hadn’t realized what type of man he was.

  Yet, the older, more mature me couldn’t help but find him attractive as well. His body was lean yet all the more well-muscled for it. I could see his toned muscles through his tight shirt. His exposed skin exposed both his tattoos and British pride. His tattoos ran the gamut from swirls to demons to the Union Jack itself. Much to pleasure of his female fans and his record’s marketing department, his sexy body was a constant fixture on glossy magazines and thick coffee table photobooks.

  His half-awake eyes mesmerized me. They were a piercing blue that reminded me of those lightsabers in Star Wars. It was a silly comparison but nothing else captured their intensity. I had sworn to never compromise my professional relationship with my student.

  Heath Lawrence had made me question that vow.

  It wasn’t like I didn’t know what kind of man he was. The man couldn’t keep himself off the news. I knew everything from his affairs to his drunken brawls. Sterling Records had given me every photo they had of that man and his chiseled good looks.

  “Are you done ogling my abs or not?”

  I snapped awake and blushed. “It’s good to finally meet you, Heath.”

  The man smirked at me knowing that his charms were working. “Likewise.”

  Heath Lawrence and the late Howard Lane were some of the sexiest men in the British music industry. While Howard had been more of a gentleman, Heath was known for his sexual prowess. Women from all over the world came to hear his singing and hope for a bedroom encounter afterwards.

  No one from runway models to pop musicians from rival labels were safe from him. A recent scandal had occurred when Heath encountered an American pop group named Soul Birds during a charity concert. All five women were members of a gospel group that had taken vows of celibacy. After the charity event, Heath had slept with all five members of the pop group.

  At the same time.

  This wasn’t to say his antics were appreciated by everyone. The man had broken the hearts of countless women by promising them the world one day and leaving them the next. That was just one of his many romantic scandals.

  If the man wasn’t such a skilled, money making performer, no one would work with him. The man constantly clashed creatively with his management. He skipped meetings and commitments to chase yet another thrill. Heath was perfectly fine being a slacker who could succeed off his God given talents.

  And my job was to change this ungrateful spoiled brat into some semblance of an accomplished student.

  It was all hush-hush but I knew Sterling Records were at the end of their rope with him. He had to pass a British certification exam or get kicked out of the company. It was really a way to keep him on a short leash. He would either rise up to the challenge or Sterling Records would knock this loose cannon off their deck.

  It was much easier said than done.

  Heath wasn’t the first bad boy I had tutored. I had taught countless jocks who were more into partying and cheap thrills than in actual studying. However, Heath had perfected it. The man lived for the moment with his countless sexual adventures, drunken fights, and explosive outbursts attesting to his reputation.

  That was all well and good when his antics brought fame and money to Sterling Records. Now, it lost them money. It was medical payments to the people he injured. It was legal service fees for the civil suits filed against him. It was the lost revenue when he pissed off the crew and delayed the concert.

  It was time for Heath to grow up or get out.

  After spending my college years tutoring ungrateful jocks, I wasn’t interested in teaching a premature rock star for the next year or so of my life. Then again, I didn’t have much of a choice.

  I had amassed quite a bit of debt over the years. Whatever didn’t come from college loans were for my parents’ medical debt. A teacher’s salary alone could just barely pay off the interest. I had to live like a hermit for years just to make the minimum payments.

  Like anyone else, I needed to keep a roof over my head. Sterling Records had come to me with a very interesting job offer. I would privately tutor Heath Lawrence for the next three years and prepare him to take a version of the GCSE intended for adults. If Heath proved to be too much trouble for me and the company, Sterling Records would pay me a sizeable severance fee.

  Either way, I would’ve made quite a bit of money from this arrangement. It was a cynical thought. I always did my best as a teacher. No matter how ungrateful they were, I always gave it my all in getting them to learn something.

  “Now that the introductions are over,” I said, sitting across from him. It took all of my willpower not to stare slack-jawed at the handsome man. “Let us get to business. Your manager, Jared Douglas, contacted me about this job offer to prepare you for the basic GCSE exams over the next three years. We will focus mostly on writing and reading-”

  “Don’t I already look like an accomplished wordsmith?” he teased, flashing a boyish smile at me. “I write and compose my own music. I’ve even won a number of Grammys for my work. Surely, that counts for something.”

  I kept my face as still as a stone. By now, I was experienced enough to deal with his type. He may have been Heath Lawrence the playboy rock star to the masses but he just another student to me. “Your company hired me to teach you to read and write well enough to pass a standardized test. You see, these tests don’t care how many Grammys you’ve won.”

  Or how many women you bedded for that matter.

  I didn’t know how a man with his alleged lack of literacy wrote the lyrics to his works. Many of his collaborators had said Heath was a skilled craftsman when it came to composing music. Perhaps, he got someone else to do the physical writing while he came up with the words for the lyrics.

  Heath sat up straight in his chair. “I’m sure we could work out an alternative arrangement. Whatever Sterling Records is offering, I’ll double it if you make this whole test thing go away.”

  What I hated more than slackers were cheaters who tried to take the easy way out. It wasn’t like I could break my contract with Sterling Records and expect to find honest work afterwards. “I don’t administer these tests. I just teach people how to approach the test and how to do their best.”

  The man leaned forward. Whether or not it was a conscious decision, the gesture revealed more of his bare chest. “Perhaps, your desires are of a more intimate nature…”

  I almost wanted to laugh. “The only thing that’s going to get intimate here is my pen on your workbook when I’m grading your homework.”

  Heath scoffed. “Homework? What is this? Pr
imary school?”

  “Technically, it is,” I said plainly, shrugging off his annoyance. “You’re now my student, Heath. I will treat you with attention, understanding, and respect. I ask nothing less in return.”

  His piercing blue eyes stared at me. The man wasn’t used to a woman shrugging off his charms. “Did my record make you play hard ball with me?”

  He might as well have called me a cold-hearted bitch.

  “They’re just paying me to do my job,” I replied. “I won’t treat you any different than I would any of my previous students.”

  “Just how long are we going to have to do this each week?” he inquired. “One hour each week? It can’t be more since I have practice sessions, recording sessions, and obligations to our sponsors. Oh, and we’re in the middle of a damn tour!”

  He left out mating sessions.

  “Try one hour each day… minimum,” I said with a small smile. Heath didn’t return it. “Some people your age balance two jobs and night classes at their local college. I’m sure you can manage the workload.”

  “Those people aren’t anything like me,” he grumbled. “My music comes first. Don’t make me study for some pop quiz when I have to-”

  “I will accompany you just about everywhere,” I interrupted. “This means I will be with you during tours, concerts, press events, and just about anything else. Your record company will get monthly reports on your progress.”

  “Oh God, a nursemaid,” he groaned, covering his handsome face with both hands. “That was their plan all along! What did I do to deserve this?”

  Heath looked completely aghast.

  He wasn’t going to like the next part.

  I opened up a binder and said. “Before we begin, I need you to take a preliminary test.”

  “It gets better and better…” he sighed. “A pop quiz on the first day.”

  “It’ll help me understand what your exact level of education is.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m a dropout,” Heath said, suspicious of the test. “I’m equally sure the label has already told you how much of a fucking troglodyte I am. You don’t have to pour salt in the wound by making me take a test.”

  “I’ve had access to your old files,” I replied coolly. As a child, Heath was already falling behind by his second year at a British primary school. Eventually, he was forced to retake a grade before he finally quit school for good. There were attempts to educate him in his teenage years but he ditched his studies to work on his music. “However, they’re over a decade old. They’re not a valid representation of your current skills.”

  “Well, forgive me if I’m a little rusty at the whole test taking thing,” he mocked, raising his hand like a student. “Ms. Rosen, where is the pencil sharpener? Ms. Rosen, may I use the lavatory?”

  I ignored his attempts to get a rise out of me. By now, I was a battle hardened teacher who had faced countless delinquents. I handed him the test. “Please take this diagnostic test seriously. It’ll give me an idea of where you’re at academically and what we will need to work on.”

  “A diagnostic?” he scoffed, flipping through the pages of the test. “What am I? A fucking automobile?”

  “Let’s get started,” I said sternly, taking out a timer. “This test will be timed.”

  He glared at me. “Timed? What the fuck is this?”

  I set the timer and tapped it. “Tick-tock, Mr. Lawrence. Tick-tock.”

  Cursing under his breath, Heath put pencil to paper.

  Charlotte wasn’t a particularly attractive looking woman by my tastes. Most of the groupies I bedded were better looking. Yet, there was something striking about this buttoned down, prim and proper teacher.

  Which made it all the more difficult to hear her critique me.

  “Your mathematic skills are abysmal,” she said, going through the grading rubric. “Your ability to do calculus is nonexistent. The trigonometry portion was left blank-”

  “I don’t need the blow by blow,” I grumbled, drinking my coffee. We had retired to the company’s cafeteria for a break. A small booth in the corner provided us with some degree of privacy. “Just tell me how badly I did.”

  “Well, if it’s any comfort,” Charlotte said, sipping her herbal tea. “You’re not the worst performing student I’ve given this diagnostic test too.”

  Intrigued, I rose up from my seat. “Really?”

  She sucked in her lower lip before speaking. “I gave the lowest grade to a nine year old boy who slept through it.”

  I slumped back in my chair. The last thing I needed was some teacher critiquing my intelligence for the next three years. I got enough of that from the tabloids.

  I’ll admit I was a slacker and a jackass. Don’t blame for me acting this way with the level of shit I deal with on a daily basis. Hell, my management just lied to my fucking face.

  I was nothing more than a slot machine to them with money flowing out of my mouth. Management would just push the lever, make my life more difficult, and collect their bounty. They would cut me up and sell my organs to the black market if they thought it would fetch them a higher price.

  God, I missed the good old days. It would be just me and Harold going from one gig to the next. The times in between we would work odd jobs and try to save enough for the next gig. We had been poor as squirrels but we still had each other. It was so much simpler before the record label came with their money and their devil’s contracts

  “Well, are you done making a fool of me?” I asked rhetorically. “I can barely understand half of these questions. Unless you have a magic wand that can make me into Stephen Hawkins, I think this test settles matters.”

  “I never expect my work to be easy, Heath,” she replied. “I’m going to put in as much effort as I can in helping you succeed. You just have to meet me halfway by working with me. It’s the only way things can work out between us.”

  Gone were the days of playing on the streets of Liverpool or the pubs of Dublin like all the other starving artists. Now, Sterling Record micromanaged my entire life. They chose what hotels I stayed at and what venues I played at. Hell, they even decided what guitar and microphone I used so they could score another endorsement deal.

  To add insult to injury, they wanted to me go to school like a good little boy. Charlotte was just another tool for them to control and belittle me. No matter how much money I made or fame I gathered, I was just another employee on a spreadsheet program.

  I looked off to the side. I hadn’t even managed to finish the test. It was page after page of gibberish. So many questions were left blank. “I’m a lost cause, Charlotte. At least you’ll get paid for the privilege of tutoring an idiot.”

  She reached out across the table to hold my hand. I noticed that her hands were so small and soft. Mine were callused from years of playing the guitar and fist fighting. “You can never give up hope, Heath. I’ve worked people who’ve been written off before. It took sweat and tears but we manage to succeed.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Like who?”

  “College football stars that needed a way to salvage their academic careers,” Charlotte said. “By that, I mean American football.”

  I scoffed. “What was the problem? They finally realized they should play a sport where they can kick the ball more often?”

  “No, they couldn’t play at all,” she sighed, looking downcast. The woman seemed to genuinely care about her students. I’d give her that much. “I’ve met a lot of up and coming sports stars during my years of tutoring. But I’ve also met the not so lucky ones.”