Author's Chapter Notes:
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I wish I could love
I wish that my goods
Outweighed my bads enough
You know its killin me
Baby how can I let u go
Suddenly there's nothing I need more
There's no way There's no way There's no way
I can get back that girl
Robin Thicke- Complicated
Here's my theory on life: It sucks. I've tried reading The Secret, I've tried to have positive thoughts and positive beings around me and you know what? It doesn't fucking work. Because when your boss, who happens to be the biggest ass on the planet, is also pretty much your addiction in life, you cannot find a happy medium. It doesn't exist.
To say that I haven't tried diligently to forget about the charity event tonight would be a lie, I have tried. I begged and pleaded with myself to forget about the group of assholes in this world and that gorgeous dress that's going to waste because of one of the group's best supporters. But it's so hard. Because I somehow, in my demented mind, feel like it's my fault. It's my fault that I screwed up my only chance with him.
What the fuck am I saying? It's his damn fault and you know what? I hope he goes alone tonight and I hope that one annoying reporter asks him about Jess, and then you know what? I hope he balls his fucking eyes out.
I grab another Kleenex from the box, hoping to find solace in the cotton and the tub of Rita's custard that's sitting on my lap. I should probably invest in another phone, change my number and never talk to the man again. Oh wait, I have a job with a contract. I continue to watch reruns of Entourage and slightly giggle at Llyod leaving Ari. Kind of my life? Minus the hooking up with the slutty dancer after asking another girl to go out with him. A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts and I quietly sneak around my apartment. Making it to the door, I look through the peep hole and decide to open the door.
"You know, I really get tired of cleaning up his messes," Trace says while inviting himself in.
"What's in the box?" I question.
He makes it into the kitchen and grabs a water bottle out of the refrigerator, "a new phone, which apparently you've lost track of yours, some article of clothing, a letter- which I wouldn't read if I were you, and probably other shit."
"I didn't lose track of it, Trace, I threw it on the freeway." I reply back while sorting through the contents.
"Oh," he states, "I know, I saw it. Apparently you thought it would be funny to chuck it at other Escalades, real nice buddy."
"That was your car?!" I scream, "Trace, I'm so so sorry!"
"It's really not that big of a deal, Diana, it's actually his car anyways. What the fuck do I care? But I gotta get going. Call me with whatever decision you make. I'll be sure to relay the message to the dick head." He walks out the door, leaving me in a mess of sorts on my kitchen floor.
I hang the dress up, look at the new Blackberry-which is actually better than the one I had before, and begin to read the letter.
"Diana,
What I did today was completely uncalled for. I mean, worse than uncalled for. I feel like the scum of the earth and I have this feeling of guilt and hopelessness because I know you're not really the type of girl that will just accept the apology without actually knowing that I'll change the way I act. I guess today was a real eye-opener. I really didn't think I had any sort of attachment to you, and then my Mom called telling me to ask you to the event and I started to feel something. I quickly brushed off any feelings that I did have and chalked it up to being a crazy ass fool. I am so sorry for what happened today, and even more sorry that I never really talked to you about how I felt. I guess I thought that by hooking up with another girl that I would be able to fake or hide the way I feel about you. Again, my apologies. The dress is yours to keep and you don't have to go to the even tonight with me, I understand. Take care and you're welcome to come back to work whenever you want. I just want to talk to you.
Love,
Justin"
I turn on the new Blackberry and try to ignore the feelings of tears rolling down my cheeks. Fifteen missed calls? Ten new voice mails? Seems a bit stalkerish to me. I press the voice mail button and begin to read.
"Hey honey, it's Lynn. I heard about what happened and although I can't apologize for what my son did, I do sincerely hope that you know men tend to screw up a little bit more than us girls. I'm not saying forgive him immediately, but do your best to continue on with your normal life. I hope all goes well, call me if you need me honey."
I hit the delete button and continue on with the next messages.
"Hey... it's me. I know you probably don't want to talk to me, and you probably don't want to be seen around me, but there is still a spot for you at the event. I would love if you would come, maybe we could talk? Let me know, Diana."
"Diana, I swear, you gotta do something, this damn boy is going nuts without you. I can't figure it out. Just please call me and let me know what you decide, thanks!"
I hit the end button and make a decision that could either potentially make my life a living hell or a sweet paradise.
"Hi, Ken? It's Diana, Justin Timberlake's assistant."
"Darling! How are you?" The hair stylist replies back.
"Good actually, I need a favor."
"Anything, what's up?"
Story Tags: assistant cheaterj
