The Professor Who Loves Me Sebastian Brothers

“This is nonsense, and nonsense doesn’t belong on my desk, Ms. Scott.” Professor Jennifer Clarke almost spat her coffee on my lyric sheet before shoving it off her table. My songwriting professor has rejected my song for the third time.

I need her to accept my lyrics and give me a passing grade before the holidays because my benefactor, Mr. John Pitch, wants an email report.

“Did you think you were Taylor Swift, little girl? Did you think writing too much like her would make me happy? She is already in the business. We don’t need another one.”

I lower my head, clenching my fist because I want to shout back so badly. Professor Clarke is a sophisticated woman in her mid-thirties, but she has mood swings like a woman going through menopause. I don’t argue with my professors, but she’s the only one who upsets me to the core.

“I understand, professor.”

I’m also not the only student going back and forth at her office in the past few weeks, but I’m the last one she hasn’t passed.

“You’ve been in this program for over two years! What in the hell is going on with you? But I get it. I get it, okay?” She waves with her manicured fingers. “You can compose. It’s one of the program’s most important majors, but you have two. You signed up for this, so you won’t be able to make it here just by being good enough.”

“I understand, professor,” I say again.

“I don’t know how or why they would think your composition is music when your songwriting skills deserve an F. It doesn’t have a story or shape. I don’t know where you’re getting at. It sounds like you copied songs from the internet and put them together. But with Maria...”

I sigh. I stop listening when she talks about Maria Callahan. I know what’s going on now. Last month, I beat her favorite pet in the composition contest. It’s not like I begged the judges to pick me.

“Anya Scott! Are you even paying attention?” she demands.

I shake in panic. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then why aren’t you picking up your trash?”

My heart sinks. This is when she’s going to tell me to rewrite my song. “I’ll go over everything again and—”

“There’s no need. We don’t have time for that, so let’s get this over with. Put that back on my desk.”

“What?”

“Oh, do you want me to get it for you?”

“I’m sorry.” I prevent myself from showing emotions. I bend down and pick up my lyrics sheets. I take it to her desk carefully.

She makes a face. “This paper should get an F. But I’m considerate, so I’m giving you a C, but don’t disappoint me again.” She scribbles my grade on the top of the paper and hands it to me. “I mean, I hope you won’t disappoint your new professor. I’m sure you heard the news.”

“Yes, professor.”

Professor Clarke is moving to the contemporary performance department, and next semester, a new professor will take over the composition and songwriting courses.

Professor Julian Sebastian.

He was a well-known composer and record producer in Hollywood before he became a professor. His family owned the Sebastian Entertainment Group, a multi-billion-dollar American film studio, and a music publisher. His personal life: he proposed to Stella Pierce, an award-winning singer-songwriter, but they split two years ago. And after that news about him and Stella came out, he left the mainstream and finished his Ph.D. at Yale.

I met him once in senior high school. The principal invited him to evaluate those who applied for the John Pitch Scholarship to study music in college. I played Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu as my final piece in the competition, and I was one of his chosen five out of the seventy students who participated.

The man is sexy as hell. He is the kind of guy who’ll invade your dreams for a week. I even used his face as an inspiration when I touched myself.

“I’ll do my best, professor.”

“Don’t try. Just do it.” She rolls her eyes. “Now leave.”