1.    The Meeting

 I feel like my heart is going to get ripped out of my butt.

 First, this traffic is killing me. I’m trying to maneuver my blessed vehicle, an old Plymouth Station Wagon, through evening rush hour on the 101 and it isn’t going exactly to plan. People are cutting me off, slowing down in front of me, getting on my ass for no good reason other than this is Southern California and it is everybody’s right to drive like a complete moron.

 Second, I’m on my way to meet my new employer and I want nothing more than to be there early so I can collect myself before meeting him. But no, I’m probably going to be pulling up to this dance studio exactly on time and will have to run in and will have no time to calm myself down. He will probably think I’m a nutcase.

 “Calm down, Lauren,” I mutter to myself as I catch my own gaze in the rearview mirror, “You are a twenty-two year old graduate of Stanford who kicked butt in this job interview and you’re going to be an amazing personal assistant.”

 How I know that when I’ve only had about six months of personal assistant experience under my belt is beyond me. And this isn’t being a personal assistant to a co-executive of a fledgling movie production studio - this is the big time. This is something that I would never expect to happen – assist someone who’s been in the entertainment industry since he was twelve years old. Assist someone who could very well help me get a leg up in the world of record companies. Assist someone who could shape the fabric of my future in this industry.

 And he’s less than two months older than me.

 “Oh come on, please move faster!” I plead with a pick up truck that’s in front of me. I have no idea why this clown will not pick up speed since there is no one in front of him that warrants him to go twenty miles an hour on the freeway.

 I quickly swerve around him and press on the gas, hoping that Bentley Lexus the Fourth (that would be my car) won’t have his transmission fall out of his butt.

 I cheer loudly when I notice my exit and try to move over to the right lane. A loud honk rips through my Queen playlist and I turn around quickly and notice I’ve cut someone off in his beamer. I raise a hand to apologize but the driver passes me quickly, lowers his window, and sticks his middle out and waves it around for all to see. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as he zooms ahead, cuts me off, and proceeds to take my exit.

 Whoops. Sorry. My bad.

 It takes me another ten minutes, but I finally park Bentley in the lot of the dance studios where I’m supposed to meet my new boss. I can feel the butterflies flip-flopping in my stomach, I want to open the door, poke my head out and vomit all over the asphalt. But I know I’m better than that and I’m going to go inside, be professional, and show this Justin Timberlake that I will be the best personal assistant he’s ever had.

 I smooth out the wrinkles of my pantsuit as I walk inside the building. A receptionist looks over her desk and I notice two very large men standing by the hallway that will take me into the recesses of the studio. I can hear a pounding bass in the background and I hope I don’t contract a headache.

 “Can I help you?” the girl looks so disinterested I feel like she’s going to drop dead from boredom. She’s holding onto a nail file and looking at me as if I’m a speck of dust.

 “Yes. I’m here to meet with Johnny Wright and Justin Timberlake. I was told he’s rehearsing tonight.”

 “I can take you back,” one of the enormous men, who looks like he’s made out of brick, interjects. “I’m Eric, one of Justin’s bodyguards.”

 Wow, why the heck does this guy need bodyguards standing at the entrance of this dance studio? This place is so unassuming; you couldn’t even guess there was a popstar rehearsing here.

 “Thank you, Eric. I’m Lauren Walters, it’s nice to meet you.” My hand looks like a doll’s in Eric’s as he shakes it soundly and begins to walk down the hall. There is no getting past him he is that enormous. I can’t even see where we’re going.

 “Good to meet you, too. So you’re the new assistant then?”

 “Yes, I am,” I say proudly. I’m going to be so awesome at this it isn’t even funny.

 “Well hopefully you’ll last longer than Susan,” Eric remarks and I don’t have any time to try to digest that comment because he’s opened a door and pointed me inside.

 The throbbing bass hits me full force before I even step into the room. It’s sweltering and I want to turn around and walk right back out because the room is musty, and the dampness of sweat is hanging in the air.

 Gross.

 There are a group of people in the middle, dancing their butts off and it looks like fun, but I have two left feet and there’s no way I would ever, ever be a dancer, not in this life or in the next.

 Well, in any life for that matter.

 There’s a couch in the back and I see Johnny perched on the arm, completely ignoring the scene. He’s looking down at his Blackberry and doesn’t look up and notice me until he’s finished with his email.

 “Lauren, hi!” Johnny calls out and motions for me to join him.

 “Jesus Christ, Johnny, shut up!” a voice in the middle of the room exclaims. I can’t make out who said it exactly, but that doesn’t stop me from scampering over to where Johnny is and taking a seat next to him.

 It seems like everyone is ignoring the outburst and the dancers continue doing their thing and Johnny continues to do his. My heart is pounding along with the bass and I want nothing more than for the music to stop so I can meet my new boss, get acquainted, receive my duties for tomorrow, and get home so I can watch Flavor of Love.

 “They’re just going to finish up this routine and then they’ll take a break,” Johnny whispers to me and I nod to show that I’ve heard him.

 The dancing is really good, really complex and everyone is hitting their mark like they’ve been doing this for years. It’s actually a really impressive thing to watch. The music comes to a crescendo and everyone drops to his or her knees except one guy who strikes a pose and looks straight at himself into the mirror.

 Hello there, boss.

 He’s got delicate curls all over his head that are plastered to his forehead and the nape of his neck with sweat. I can see his chest rising and falling in the mirror and you can tell this guy has been working hard for the majority of the day.

 The music’s ended and most of the dancers are getting to their feet and reaching out for towels and water bottles. I raise my hands up to applaud their efforts, but Johnny reaches over and pushes my hands down with his – he hasn’t even looked up from his Blackberry.

 “Justin,” he calls out before he looks up from his phone and shoves it in his pocket. Johnny gets to his feet and heads over to my sweaty employer. I really hope he wipes his hands on a towel before he shakes mine. I really, really, really hate sweat.

 “What the fuck, Johnny? You can’t be yelling shit out in the middle of a dance routine, I could have fucked it up and you know how ridiculous Marty is about that shit. He’d make us run through the whole thing again.”

 It seems like this guy likes to complain. Okay. Duly noted.

 “Sorry about that Justin,” Johnny says with a chuckle before he slaps him on the back. God, now Johnny has Justin sweat all over his hands. This is so disgusting. “I want you to meet your new P.A.”

 I stand up immediately and throw my shoulders back so I don’t look like I’m easily intimidated. I offer my hand for him to shake – sweat or no sweat – it’s no use being impolite to the man who is going to be giving you a leg up in the industry. My most winning smile is on my face and I’m ready to take this plunge as he reaches his hand out as well.

 “Justin this is…”

 “Good job, Justin!” the two voices ring out at once and Justin is immediately more interested in the person giving him praise. I look over to see who is complimenting him when they know he should be busy, and it’s one of the dancers who’s heading out of the studio.

 Really?

 Justin’s hand has already been extended and I’ve already grabbed onto it to shake. I can vaguely hear Johnny giving Justin my name, but I’m more transfixed on the fact that this man is shaking my hand and completely ignoring me.

 Again. Really?

 “Justin, did you hear me?” Johnny interrupts the conversation Justin is having with one of his dancers, “Your new personal assistant?”

 “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I did,” he says letting go of my hand and throwing his own up in defeat, “How you doing, Wiggins?”

 “It’s Walters, actually, Lauren Walters,” I correct him.

 “Eh, whatever.”

 No. It is not whatever. Is this guy for real? I’m going to be working very closely with this man for who knows how long and he doesn’t want to get my name right? Is he serious?

 But I don’t say anything, because I don’t want to start out on the wrong foot with this guy which is why I don’t correct him again as he walks past me and lounges across the couch.

 “So,” he begins as he rests an arm behind his head to prop himself up so he can leer at me properly, “You’re the person my record label sent in because they think my own P.A. can’t handle it.”

 I open my mouth to say something, but close it, because what he has to say is true. From what I understood from the six interviews I went on to secure this job, Justin’s personally hired Personal Assistant was making him run late, dropping phone calls, and basically just dropping the ball on everything.

 From what the record label told me, Justin’s assistant also happens to be his best friend, so I’m sure they have a good time yucking it up and living the fast life instead of actually getting things done.

 “The label just thinks you need a little bit more guidance,” Johnny intervenes and I quickly throw him an appreciative smile.

 “Oh what the fuck ever. What makes them think that she’s going to be different than the last one that left in tears? Sarah, or whatever the fuck her name was.”

 “Well Susan was doing fine, until you told her you wanted the last Harry Potter book and she couldn’t deliver because it hasn’t been written yet.” Justin grins at his own little prank and swings his legs off the couch so he’s sitting up and looking at me with interest.

 “If I may, Mr. Timberlake, I’m more than qualified for this position and I would be more than happy to work with your current assistant on anything you might need,” I explain quickly and I want to scream in frustration when he actually yawns in the middle of my speech.

 “Really then? Okay. Well tomorrow I’m going to need you to pick up my assistant at the airport. I don’t know what time he gets in and I don’t know what airline. I’m pretty sure it’s before lunch. You’ll need to pick him up and bring him here and bring me lunch in the process. Then I’m going to need you to take my dogs to the groomers, pick up my dry cleaning, and you’ll need to do my grocery shopping. What kind of car do you drive?”

 “Pardon?” but before I can get anything else out, Justin is on his feet and out the studio door. I cast a look towards Johnny but he merely smiles and shrugs as if this erratic behavior is an every day occurrence.

 “Come on Wiggins!” I hear him yell in the hallway and I have no choice but to follow him.

 The minute I hit the hallway he’s already outside and I find myself running towards the exit so I don’t keep him waiting. He seems like the kind of person that when he wants something done he wants it done right away and there is no down time allowed.

 “Where’s your car?” he asks me as he surveys the parking lot in the setting sun.

 “It’s over here,” I point towards Bentley Lexus and for once he’s following me.

 “Where is it?” he asks once we stop right in front of my car.

 “It’s right here,” I explain and I rest my hand on the roof of my precious vehicle.

 “You mean it’s behind this piece of shit, right?” I guess he thinks I’m joking that this is my car. But there is no joking when my car is involved.

 “No. This is my car,” I say slowly so maybe his brain can catch up with his mouth.

 “Well, you can’t pick Trace up in this. Fuck no. Come over to my house tomorrow and take my Escalade. Jesus, how do you get yourself around in this?”

 “It’s a great car it runs…”

 “That was rhetorical. Nice meeting you Laura, see you tomorrow.” 

 And he’s walking back to the dance studio before I can tell him that my name is Lauren Walters and that I am not an idiot.

 I watch him walk past Johnny and into the building, Johnny laughing under his breath. I don’t know what’s so funny. I’m about to get into my car, but I see that Johnny is walking towards me with an enormous binder in his hands.

 “This is for you,” he explains and I nearly drop the thing. I feel like I’m holding a newborn, if said newborn weighed fifteen pounds, “This is Justin’s schedule for the next four months. Your work cell phone is inside as are the keys to Justin’s house and all the access codes for his security systems. If you have any questions, you have my number and everyone’s numbers are programmed into the work phone. It’s nice to have you on board, Lauren.”

 He reaches out to shake my hand and I have to juggle my purse, keys, and a binder that contains an almost-twenty-three year old’s entire life. I take his hand in mine and smile, “Thanks Johnny, won’t let you down.”

 I throw my belongings into the car and close the door once I’m inside. I lean back in my seat, letting my head rest against the back. Letting out a huge sigh, I start my car and take a deep breath.

 Something’s telling me I’m in for a wild ride.