Chapter 10
TEN
Getting enough details to Illi about Joseph Beaumont so he can start looking into the billionaire sociopath on the down low, without incriminating either of us, is almost impossible, but he replies with a simple ‘I got it, kid’, and I hope for once it really will be that easy.
It’s definitely not dealt with yet, but I shift my focus back to my assignments and making it to graduation academically, not just physically.
Choir is still my least favorite class.
Miss Umber smiles as Blaise and I walk in together and take our seats.
She still insists we sit at the front so she can ‘monitor us’, which is her way of saying ‘giggle and blush at Blaise Morrison’.
It pisses me all the way off but I guess I’ve gotta get used to it sometime; this is my life now.
Such a steep price for the rock god in my bed, but, like the true Mounty girl I am, I’ll pay it.
In blood, more than likely.
Smirking to myself now that Avery has transferred out of choir to take on extra dance classes, I’m still sulking just a little about having no one to commiserate with.
God, the only good part of this class, other than hearing him sing, was the looks Avery and I would shoot each other whenever Blaise started singing and the room began to drip for him.
Okay, I was too so like, glass houses and all that, but he’s my boyfriend. Sue me.
“Okay, class! Time to start thinking about your performance for this year! You will already know from your syllabus that you’re going to be working on your own original material to sing, an exciting challenge for some of you and a regular occurrence for others,” Miss Umber says with a coy and completely inappropriate look at Blaise, who in return looks mildly uncomfortable.
Scoffing at him like the prize that I am, I nudge him gently in the ribs to call him out.
He’s always been a shameless flirt and I have no desire for him to stop; he wouldn’t be Blaise Morrison without it.
He glances down at me with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows at me like an idiot.
I don’t know whether he’s hamming it up because it’s just the two of us now or if he’s distracting me from how much I hate having to sing, but either way, my mood lifts instantly.
“You’ll be working in pairs, so choose wisely!” She turns to start writing on the board, detailing a list of requirements and resources for songwriting, and Blaise steals my pen from me when I start to take notes.
“I’ve already written our song,” he whispers into my ear, and grins cockily when I shiver.
“I can’t take credit for your work,” I mumble, trying to ignore the rasp in my voice, but he just shrugs, the grin dimming a little as his eyes get serious.
“It’s called collaborating, Star. Besides, I’m not being selfless by writing it, I want you to sing it with me and let me record it…
and then listen to it yourself. That’s way harder for you than the writing would be, so really, I’ll be the one slacking off here.
I just—I wrote the song for us. For you. ”
Fuck.
With all the time he’s spent in the music rooms, I’ve been hearing snippets of what he’s been working on already and more than a few times he’s dropped hints about luring me in there with him.
He’s not wrong though, even the idea of listening to myself singing gives me the shakes, but I desperately want to be able to do this. For myself, and for him.
Ash would also probably sell his soul for the song. I’ve had to ban him from playing the video Avery recorded of me singing around me, because he listens to it so often. He hums it under his breath while we’re studying together but no matter how often he does it, I still blush like an idiot.
Blowing out a breath, I glance around us both before I murmur back to him, “I don’t know if I can listen to it but… if you sing it for me, I can copy you with the earplugs in. It’ll be a nightmare for you if I can’t hit the right notes, though. Avery sat with me for months to get Pompeii right—”
Blaise threads his fingers through mine, cutting me off to stop me talking myself out of it before we even start.
“So then I’ll sit with you until we get our song perfect, too.
This isn’t a rough deal for me, Star, I want nothing more than to listen to you sing for hours on end.
We’ll work on it together; singing and then listening to it.
I’ll do whatever it takes to help get you past this because I want this song on my album.
It will be on it, and it’ll be a single.
It’s going to get a lot of airtime on the radio, I can already tell, and I know it’s going to be huge.
I want to sing it on stage with you someday.
We can’t do any of that if you can’t listen to it. ”
Holy fuck.
I suddenly feel too warm, too full, too loved.
I was already struggling with words thinking about singing in the first place, but now there’s no chance of me managing a coherent reply so I duck my head as I nod and squeeze his hand, hoping it’s enough.
He squeezes mine in return, then lifts it to kiss my knuckles before he opensup his notebook to show me our song.
After Choir, Blaise tucks me under his arm to walk to our next class with a grin on his face that is so smug I feel like it should be illegal.
Mostly because he’s usually only wearing it after we’ve fooled around together, or when he’s teasing me about how quickly he can make me come which, for the record, is embarrassingly fast.
Harley gives him a look when he walks me to my desk but Blaise only chuckles at him before he pulls my seat out for me.
It’s all very chivalrous and sweet, right up until he swoops down to kiss the life out of me, right there in the middle of our history classroom that’s already half full of students.
Blushing, I chew on my lip and try not to look like a total sexed-up harlot, but Harley scoffs at me. “You sang for him, didn’t you?”
Ash turns around in his seat, not even pretending he wasn’t eavesdropping, and it takes me three tries to get my words out. “I tried to. We’re working on something together.”
Ash’s eyes flare, only to grimace when Avery very pointedly clears her throat next to him.
I’m hit with the insane urge to giggle at the bucket of ice he must feel over his head but I’m too busy trying to ignore the heat of Harley’s hand on my knee.
It’s already an impossible ask, but when he smirks and slips it underneath my skirt to get a handful of my thigh instead, I have to smother my scandalized reaction down to a hard look.
He only stares lustfully back, biting his lip like the fucking tease that he is.
Our fun comes to a screeching halt as the door opens and Ms. Vivienne walks in.
With a groan that has nothing to do with his hand, I turn away from Harley and glare at the white board like it’s to blame.
From the corner of my eye, I see that bitch of a teacher lock-in on Harley the moment she steps foot inside the classroom.
It’s like nothing else exists here but him and for the first time in my life, the idea of killing someone without money being involved, or a favor, or even my life being on the line, becomes appealing.
I want to murder her.
I’m too busy planning it out in my head to hear a word of what she’s saying.
My surroundings don’t come into focus, until she’s handing back our work that she marked over the weekend and Harley freezes in his seat, his hand flexing on my thigh.
I turn to look at him but he’s glaring at my paper, not his own.
My brows pinch in, no clue what his problem is, he’s practically trembling with rage, but when he glances up to meet my eye, he’s suddenly being very careful.
I get the feeling he’s kind of tip-toeing around me and I’m completely lost.
Then I look down at the paper in my hands and my brain breaks in half.
B+.
Written in bold red ink, refusing to change no matter how long I stare at it.
Before Hannaford, I’d never gotten lower than an A+.
But here? I’ve never gotten a lower than an A.
Never. Even when Harley beats me in our classes, it’s only by the smallest of margins and yet here I am staring down at a B fucking plus.
My head fills with a high pitch buzzing noise and my mind checks out entirely.
Gone. Closed for some serious freaking maintenance.
My breathing shallows into these weird little pants—I’m probably hyperventilating—and I vaguely feel a hand on my back, rubbing slow circles, while an argument starts around me.
I can’t seem to turn my focus away from the panic that has broken my brain.
A chair scrapes back sharply, the warm caress of breath down my neck, and then the low rumbling of Ash’s voice as he whispers in my ear, “Avery will fix it, Mounty. Just breathe, for fuck’s sake! No one is going to die over one crappy grade.”
That’s some perspective, right there. My chest eases enough for a deep, gulping breath. Just one, but it brings the room back into focus and I can hear the war waging around me.
“Mr. Beaumont, get back to your table! And Miss Beaumont, I will not be spoken to like that in my own classroom. If your little friend is unhappy with her mark, she will just need to work harder,” Ms. Vivienne snaps out and, hoo boy, big mistake.
My eyes finally unglue themselves from the mark, and I look up at my best friend as her shoulders roll back and her chin lifts.
The room stops.
Stops talking, stops moving, stops existing.
Ms. Vivienne glances around, frowning and unsure of what the hell is going on, like the clueless fool she is.
Avery stands slowly, smoothing her skirt down with a steady hand. She’s been teetering on the edge of bloodshed all week and this bitch just stepped into the ring. Ash leans back in his chair to survey the class, but there isn’t a single student willing to meet his eye.
Sheep, the lot of them.