CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE) (4 page)

With my level of literacy, that was a loaded question. “Well, summarize it for me, Cynthia.”

The woman sighed and stood up from the floor we just had wild sex on. “It said that there would be a review of each performer’s academic proficiency to ensure that they’ve fulfilled their education requirements. You don’t have a GCSE which means you’re in their sights. You won’t be able to sign up with a competing label. There would even be legal action if you so much as released free music on Youtube.”

“Bloody hell, those bastards want me castrated!” I spat. “I can’t live without producing and sharing my music.”

Cynthia recoiled in fear. “This GCSE might be your last chance at staying in their good graces.”

“When will those damn suits stop treating me like a child,” I grumbled. “I’m the breadwinner for this damn company. Who gives a fuck that I never went to school? All that matters to them is that I open this mouth of mine to sing and money flows from the wallets of my fans into their bank accounts.”

“It’s tension between management and your personal manager,” she answered sheepishly. “They want the record to be more of a family company. They think your… antics and lack of family values are tarnishing the record’s reputation. Their words, not mine.”

“Family values?” I groaned. “This is a fucking rock label! If they wanted family values then start a Church Gospel group or a Teenage Boy Band! Don’t neuter my perfectly good music.”

As if things couldn’t get any worse, someone knocked on the door. “Heath, you better not be banging another groupie in there!”

It was my personal manager and he was understandably pissed. I yelled back. “It’s not a groupie this time. I swear!”

Cynthia scrambled to dress herself my manager swung the door open. He cursed under his breath when he saw the revelry before him. “Bloody hell, Heath! There wasn’t even a bed here and you still fucked her. Right in the middle of our American offices!”

I kept up appearances and smirked at him. “We found a flat surface, Jared.”

“As for you,” he said, pointing to Cynthia. “Get dressed and leave this room if you want to keep your job. Do not mention what happened to anyone!”

The blonde politely nodded at Jared before hurrying out of the room.

She had left her bra behind. I picked it up and read her cup size. These American girls were big in all the right places. “Don’t blame her for using what her mother gave her.”

My manger shook his head. “Jesus, Heath. Can you tell me what the hell you were doing right here in my boss’s office with his secretary? We have to get this show on the road, literally! The tour starts in a week!”

“Jared, you’re the one who should be answering questions,” I growled, not bothering to even dress. “I’ve been working with you for over five years and you pull this shit behind my back, you fucking twat!”

Jared gritted his teeth. “It was in the contract you signed.”

“You know I can’t read those damn things,” I hissed. “Hell, even half the other musicians here can’t make heads or tails of those tomes. Why didn’t you tell me that I was signing my life away with this new one? Why did I have to fuck a secretary to find out the truth?”

“It’s not me, Heath,” he sighed, raising his hands in defense. “It’s the new management. They want you on a tight leash or they’ll cut you loose. It’s out of my hands.”

“What is this crap about passing Grammar school?” I asked bitterly. “Did the Prime Minister decide to extend standardized testing to rock stars?”

“Look Heath, you’ve been walking on thin ice lately,” he said, trying to calm me down. “Hell, it’s a miracle they didn’t fire you already. You’ve skipped interviews, gotten into fights, and management has-”

“Fuck management!”

“Yes, you already did fuck some of the management which is why we brought you over to the States,” he sighed. I had walked right into that one. “Look, this GCSE thing was my idea to prove that you can show discipline. You’ll have to study for a series of tests in order to earn your certification. It’s your last chance to stay with the label or they’ll terminate your employment.”

“Half of this company’s endorsement deals revolve around me,” I retorted. “You’ll lose a mint in sponsorship money. Not to mention that I’ll lawyer up. If you think I’m difficult to deal with? Try dealing with my lawyers for the next five years!”

“All of the company’s scandals revolve around you!” he fired back. Well, I couldn’t deny that. “Every pound you make, we spend two trying to clean up your mess. Remember, you signed a new contract and the new terms are binding. No lawyer worth his weight can argue that their client was too lazy to understand their contract.”

“I didn’t know I was signing a contract with the devil!”

Jared groaned. “Heath, if you could read above a primary school level, then you’d realize what you signed up for!”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. He was right about it. It was my fault for walking into a trap. I just wished this brain of mine didn’t keep jumbling up the letters when I tried to read. “So what’s this about a tutor?”

“She’s going to help you prepare for the GSCE exams,” he explained. “The woman will be on the road with you as you travel. Whenever you’re not practicing, promoting, or performing for the tour, you’ll sit down and make time for her. Her job is to make sure you show a basic level of competency when taking those exams.”

“What is she supposed to teach me?” I asked. “Nursery rhymes?”

“Long division, life sciences, and reading at a fifth grade level,” Jared said, counting off his fingers. He was enjoying this more than any manager needed to. “Trust me, most Grammar school students have more rigorous coursework than you. You just have to show that you’re merely competent instead of being the next valedictorian. I pulled as many strings as I could to give you this deal. You pass this and upper management will call off the hounds.”

I slapped my forehead. “How many years of torture will she put me through before I get my damn certification?”

“It’ll be a series of tests taken over the next three years,” he answered. By now, I was numb to the bad news. “If you behave and study, then you’ll be back in management’s good graces. The marketing team always loves a good redemption story. You’ll still be able to perform as long as your grades are good.”

“Three years of getting baby sat?” I groaned. “Just who did you saddle me with? Some old spinster that met Winston Churchill?”

“No, she’s a young American,” Jared replied. “She’ll keep the whole affair a secret. The media outlets know you’re not the best student from how you dropped out of primary school. They don’t need to know you can barely read better than a third-grader.”

I folded my arms. “If anything, that makes me even more of a success story.”

“Just don’t fuck this one,” he sighed. “That’s all I ask of you. This is my neck on the line as well.”

I chuckled. “The deal or the teacher?”

“Both!”

“Just don’t blame if she’s the one who takes the initiative,” I smirked. “These charms of mine are truly a curse.”

“Just try to keep your relationship professional for this one,” Jared said, exiting the office. “And put on some damn pants!”

They said I had been given an opportunity of a life time.

They said I’d be working with someone who had been voted the sexiest man alive for three years running by People Magazine.

They said it would be a milk run to tutor a hot rock star. I’d be paid big bucks to hang out with a complete stud. Women would’ve done my job for free.

For all my life, I’ve been tutoring people who were too full of themselves to do any actual studying on their own. In college, I worked with student-athletes who cared more about the ‘athlete’ part of the name rather than the ‘student’ aspect of it. I couldn’t blame them since their coaches were the exact same way.

They got to play a game for four years. When they weren’t doing that, they were sleeping with cheerleaders or drinking at parties. Teaching them was like pulling teeth. They had no interest in actually earning a degree.

They got free rides from their sports scholarships to study throwaway degrees before entering the big leagues. In return, I got minimum wage so I could pay to attend college. I actually wanted to make something of myself.

My parents weren’t rich people. My dad worked the graveyard shift at a blue collar manufacturing plant. My mother was a nurse at the local clinic. Whatever little money they possessed had gone towards paying for my education. We still had to take out loans to pay for college.

I worked so hard to make up for those sacrifices. I took every opportunity I could find. I worked as an understudy for a professor. I served as a substitute teacher for way too many classes with wild children.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy my work as a teacher. I worked with kids who were too sick to attend public school. I volunteered to teach impoverished children in South East Asia. It was good for the soul but bad for my wallet.

Now, I had to teach a rock star how to read better than a ten year old. I have seen lost causes before but this was something else. Worst of all, this man knew he could underachieve academically. The man was gifted with a sexy voice and sexier looks.

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?”