Justin sat at the bar in his kitchen, burning a hole into the newspaper with his face on the cover. The title read, ONE NIGHT STAND. As he sat there reading the passage, he could feel the anger building up in his system. Never in his life, he felt so used and misplaced. At the end of the article, the name of the journalist was printed in bold lettering. STACY B. This name didn't ring a bell but then again, the majority of the women he slept with all had nicknames. Some named after fruit and sweets. So it could have been any one of them. His mission was to find out and he was going to first stop by THE LA TIMES to find out who this STACY B was.

As soon as he finished off his toast, he exited the kitchen and headed towards the front door-newspaper still in hand. When he opened the door, his eyes immediately focused in on Brooke, his next door neighbor. "Just great." the last thing he wanted to do was talk to her because he knew she had read the newspaper. She never went a day without reading THE LA TIMES.

He quickly ambled towards his vehicle, hoping she didn't turn around to see him. And as soon as he sat in his car and shut the door, she looked over her shoulder to stare at him. "Oh!" she waved her hand, trying to get his attention. But he conveyed his car to life, pretending as if he didn't see her. "Justin?" she dropped the water hose she was using to water her plants and approached his car. "Hey..."

"Dammit." he mumbled, hesitantly pressing the down button to his window.

"Jeez! You didn't hear me calling you?" he shook his head no.

"No, why? What's up?" he already knew what she was going to ask.

"You know, I tell you all the time you should get your ears checked. But besides that, I just wanted to ask you..." here it goes. "...if you got your newspaper today?" he quickly looked up to meet her gaze with this confused look on his face.

"Huh?"

"Your newspaper. Did you get yours? For some reason, mines wasn't on my porch this morning." he shut his eyes, sighing in relief.

"Oh, well...no. I didn't get mine either." he lied, knowing if he told the truth, she would ask to see his. "It's probably nothing exciting in there any way." if only she knew. "Listen, I gotta be heading out. I'm already a few minutes late for my recording session."

"Oh, of coarse!" she stepped back as he slowly pulled out of the drive way and headed out on the road. "Bye!" she waved, watching him drive off. He decided to turn the radio on so he could listen to music on his way to the office. Immediately, he heard his name.

This girl goes into detail about how he went down on her and how big his size is. His eyes shot wide open. There was no escaping this. It was everywhere. On the newspaper; on the radio and probably on television. What was he going to do? How was he going to get himself out of this one?

Can you imagine that? Picking up a girl at the club and taking her back to your place to have sex with her. Only to find out that she worked for a BIG newspaper company. That's really messed up.

Of coarse it was. It was invasion of privacy. He couldn't wait to get to the office so he can bash this journalist.

About a half an hour later, he pulled up in front of THE LA TIMES and parked his car in a GUEST spot. He quickly stepped out of the car and made his way towards the entrance of the building. The closer he had gotten, he could feel his heart rate increasing. He never felt so anxious in his entire life. When he entered the building, all eyes slowly focused on him. They watched closely as he ambled towards the front desk where a clerk was sitting. She sat there, talking on the phone with God knows who. Even though he hadn't been waiting too long, he felt very impatient because he needed to see this journalist. "Excuse me." he spoke, tapping on the desk. The women finally looked up at him, flashing him a questioning look.

"Yes?" she answered, instantly gasping. "Shit. I gotta call you back." she whispered, hanging up the phone. "Hi, um...Mister Timberlake, right?" he nodded.

"Right. I need to..."

"I already know who you want to speak to. Her office is that door on your left." she pointed. "It has the number FOUR on it." she added, watching him head towards the specific door down the hall. When he made it to door number 4, he reached up--knocking three hard times on it. Moments later, the door flew open and an African American woman stood there smiling. When she noticed who it was, her smile instantly faded.

"You?" he asked, completely taken back.

"Uhhh." she had no clue what to say. "What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me?" he shook his head pathetically.

"You?" he repeated. "I can't believe this." he invited himself into her office.

"Excuse me, I didn't say you could come..."

"Shut the door." he demanded.

"Excuse me?"

"I said shut the fucking door!" he snapped. This nervous look was on her face, because for one--she didn't know what he was capable of doing to her. For all she knew, he could have killed her, stuffed her in a suitcase and walked out of the office like nothing happened. She hesitantly shut the door, leisurely turning around and resting her back against it. "So it's you. Miss Blu." he made himself comfortable in her chair. "I can't believe this." he sat there, eying her with no words left to say because he just couldn't get himself to believe that she actually set him up. "How..." he laughed pathetically. "How could you do something like this?" she held her head down, crossing her arms over her chest. "Was this your plan all along? I mean, how did you even know I was gonna be at the club?"

"I have nothing to say to you." her cocky attitude was starting to eat away at him and believe it or not--he was actually trying to keep sane.

"You really believe that?" he arose in his chair, slowly approaching her. "You actually think that if you stand here and ignore me THAT is going to make me go away? Hmm?" he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Like I said..."

"No!" he interrupted her. She quickly looked up to gaze in his heated eyes. "I asked you a question and I expect to get an answer. I deserve an answer, especially after you call yourself writing about our intimate moment we had a couple of nights ago. I don't get it. You journalists will do ANYTHING to get a paycheck. You will even ruin an innocent persons life."

"Ha! Innocent? You're not innocent. You hit on women every night you're at the club and you take them home and use them for your pleasure."

"Oh really? So this is what this is all about? You believe that I used you? How the fuck did I use you?! You were willing to go back home with me. I did not force you!" he raised his voice.

"You didn't have to. You took me for granted." he returned a questioning look. "You used your status to get what you wanted. And you know, the funny thing about it--you're not the first celebrity who has hit on me before? AT THAT CLUB!" his eyes lit up instantly because now he finally knew where he saw her from.

"Oh my god." he looked away, holding his hand to his mouth. "It's you!"

"That's right. It's me." he lowered his eyes at her, never wanting so badly to hit a woman before.

"You sleep around with celebrities and write about it in your stupid ass newspaper. Fuck! Why didn't I see this coming? You turn men on and then you go back home with him." he flashed her a disgusted look. "You disgust me. You're nothing but this big whore. Fucking slut."

"Ha-Ha. Last time I checked that's all you slept with. Sluts! You're just pissed off because a SLUT finally did you in." he grabbed a hold to her, quickly pushing her against the door.

"You say another god damn word and I swear..." he trailed off, slowly getting lost in her light brown eyes. He didn't understand how someone so beautiful could be so ugly. "Move out of my way." he pushed her aside and twisted the knob, pulling the door open. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer. You and this shitty newspaper." and with that, he departed the room--never looking back.