"I think that'll do for now, J."

Releasing a sigh, Justin Timberlake leaned back in the thick leather chair pulled close to the conference table. One hand dragging over his face he reached for his bottle of water, ignoring the condensation that dripped onto the contract before him. Had it really been that long since he had negotiated for himself? Was it possible that he had forgotten all the boring hours that were wasted over the tiniest detail?

Did he really need a meditation room backstage at each venue for the tour?

Nah, he decided, pulling the rider printout close and scratching that item off the list. His meditation came in a bottle and a small glass before going onstage. Eyes scanning the other requirements for venues, he nearly snorted at some of them, knowing most were Johnny's input and not his. Yes, a large room for video games were great for downtime, but Justin knew from experience that he rarely had downtime on tour. Of course, it was a perk for the crew. That stayed. But others... A selection of condoms? Seriously? The horny bastards could buy their own.

He just didn't remember it being this much work before. He didn't remember having to meet with the muckety-mucks nearly every week for a budget update. He didn't remember having to explain every little step he made in the process of planning and designing a stage show. And he sure as hell didn't remember being so fucking tired all the time.

He couldn't recall what had inspired him to hole up in the studio and crank out a new album. Perhaps the breakup. Perhaps the pressure for new music had finally gotten to him. Hell, it may have been the litle hottie in Arizona that had told him she listened to his songs when she masturbated and then asked when she would have something new to listen to. After all, he aimed to please. Or maybe, just maybe, he felt the time was right. All he knew was that he had gotten up one morning eight months before and called a few people to get the ball rolling. Two hours later he had been in the studio.

Eight months later, here he was. Gearing up for the album release and fine-tuning the tour. Dancers needed to be auditioned. Wardrobe needed to be finalized. Fuck, he still needed to find a choreographer. He still balked at the idea, dying to work with the same people he had worked with for the FutureSex/LoveShow. But no, they all had to be busy doing other things.

Could you be more of a spoiled asshole? He thought with a derisive snort, shaking his head slightly. After working so hard to get rid of his arrogant, elitist persona, he was falling back into old habits. Before he knew it, he would be taking a Town Car everywhere and drinking bottled water that had been filtered through the intestines of a virgin sheep... He shuddered at the thought and turned back to the mountain of paperwork before him.

Fucking paperwork.

* * *

"Chins up, my little darlings!" Calandra Turner insisted in an exaggerated French accent as she moved down the line of preschoolers that had positioned themselves at the barre. Even though her knowledge of French accents was limited to second-rate movies, the littlest students seemed to appreciate the change in her voice. Reaching with one hand to adjust the stance of a particularly chubby little redhead named Cynthia, she then stepped back, looking down the line once more. Deeming them ready, she gave a nod and held up her hands as the music began to play from the stereo in the corner. "And begin."

 Her mocha brown eyes watched each girl intently, softly correcting when one's stance was sloppy, reminding another that it was important to not look too stiff. And when the little girl at the end seemed to have more difficulty than the others, she stood next to her and helped her with the positions and steps, smiling with pride when the girl finally caught on. They went through the routine three times before the class was over and she allowed them to play for those last five minutes before gratefully handing them over to their mothers.

Her face was tired from the constant smiling. Her head ached from the repeated playing of Once Upon A Dream, which they would perform to at the recital that weekend. Crossing to switch CDs, one hand reached to unpin the neat bun at the nape of her neck, combing through the wavy black hair until it fell past her shoulders. Nodding to the beat of the thumping bass, she raised the volume until the floorboards beneath her feet vibrated, backing from the stereo and falling into the routine she had put together one lonely Saturday night. In her room, earbuds in place, she had given in to the flowing beats and sensual voice that had floated into her ears.

She seriously doubted parents would want her to teach this to their little darlings.

Her body moved fluidly, eyes closed as the music took over, feet following the beat and hips rolling to the lyrics. She forgot her surroundings, forgot the hole she had discovered in her leotard that morning, forgot her exhaustion and her headache. The music transplanted her to another world - one of gyrating bodies, tall and handsome strangers that whispered seductively... Though she truly only longed for one stranger in particular.

Her reverie was broken when the music abruptly ended. Eyes snapping open, she dropped her hands from her ribcage and whirled to see who had so rudely interrupted her. When she saw no one in the room she know that meant nothing. She had learned in the past year that she was never truly alone.

Had it really been a year since Ariella had flown into her life? A whole year since that dreary day when the miniscule green and yellow creature had made herself known?

"Ariella," she sighed as she neared the stereo, spying her companion seated atop the speaker. It had taken her months to get used to the squeaky voice. Months to grow accustomed to the fact that what she had once thought mythical truly existed. She had always believed fairies belonged in storybooks and Disney cartoons. But in the last year she had learned how wrong she had once been.

The fairy measured just a hair over three inches (it had taken all of Calandra's persuasion to talk her into standing still long enough for a measuring) and her wingspan was exactly four inches. Scarlet locks fell in tousled waves to Ariella's waist, and her yellow and green dress fell to a demure length just below her knees. Her wings were currently folded behind her back, but Calandra knew that when the fairy was in flight they resembled the bubbles that children loved to chase. That was what had first drawn her attention, because there had been no children nearby and she would have thought the rain would have popped a bubble.

Tinkling wind chimes came from the fairy's mouth as she rocked on her backside. "You were so far away, Cat!" she giggled, tiny hands fluttering dramatically. "In that dark club with your handsome prince again?"

"You know where I was," Calandra answered, knowing her friend had the ability to read her thoughts. She had learned that the hard way when fantasizing in the shower. Having her most private desires spoken aloud from the other side of the shower curtain had nearly killed her. "And stop calling him my handsome prince."

"What would you prefer? Your dashing Casanova? Your liquid-voiced Lothario? Your ultimate fantasy that would have your panties on the floor with just a word?"

"...That works," Calandra decided with a laugh, sliding into a folding chair to remove her dance shoes. Tossing them into her bag she stepped into her red Converse sneakers, tying them tightly as Ariella turned off the stereo before flitting across the room to close the blinds. The afternoon sun was soon deflected and Calandra rolled her shoulders as she thought of her ultimate fantasy. The man whose face was the wallpaper on her cell phone. The man who looked back at her whenever she turned on her laptop. The man who didn't know she existed. Slinging her bag over her shoulder she headed for the door, not wanting Ariella to see her frown as she turned out the overhead lights.

Fantasies were great. It was too bad there was no guarantee they would come true.