"Could you at least try to look a little more enthused?" Trace asks me through gritted teeth.

All I can do is shrug in response. Sorry if I can't look like some lame party is the night of my life, but I don't see why we're even here. We already know there's zero chance in Hell of moving this meeting up; so why am I here to kiss ass? Kissing ass is all very well when it's strategic and it might get you something, but when you get nothing out of it that just makes you a pathetic kiss ass. So sue me for not finding that appealing.

"Whatever. How long do we have to be here?"

Clearly I'm pissing him off, but instead of chewing me out like I can tell he wants to he does the stiff upper lip thing. You can tell Trace is on his best behaviour when there's more than half an hour between flippings of the bird.

"As long as it takes to get some decent face time with Elena. Then we can go and you can go back to bed and sulk, ass."

I had a cold, okay? I'm entitled to stay in bed for three days when I have a cold! He needs to stop bitching about me being ill or calling it man flu. Only girls are supposed to accuse guys of having man flu, when you say that to your own gender it's tantamount to betrayal. I'll admit that possibly the third day was a little superfluous but it's not like I have a nine to five to play hooky from. A little extra time to make sure I'm fully recovered is a fortunate luxury for me which I will be enjoying to the utmost since once promo starts back up I won't have a day off for months and if I get sick they'll pack me out on the road anyway.

This isn't exactly new for me; I can't find it in myself to get all excited about industry parties any more. When you start out they're all shiny and have the novelty factor; they're in expensive places with expensive drinks and people wearing expensive outfits. It's a taste of the glamorous world you thought you were getting into before you realise that actually, being a celebrity isn't too glamorous when you're sweating like a pig in studios without air conditioning for ten hours a day and travelling the rest of the time. After a while though you work out these shindigs are all the same. A lot of grandstanding in expensive outfits, people doing cocaine in the bathrooms and mistakenly thinking they're being subtle about it, grand looking venues that are really overblown and overrated… I could go on. This is a nice function room and everything, the Havana theme's all very nice and Elena from what I can see designs some nice dresses, but I'm fucking bored already. The fact that we've only been here twenty minutes is no reflection on my attention span.

"Fuck off," I mutter to him under my breath. Not my most mature response ever but whatever, he's way too uptight about this.

"Wow, they really go all out with their waitresses," Trace says as he's distracted by a buxom blonde in silver moving past with a tray of drinks. The look is very Marilyn Monroe.

"But I saw a bunch of waitresses just looking like… well, waitresses." I jerk a thumb in the direction of some much more normal catering staff - guys and girls in the ubiquitous white shirts and aprons. Trace peers around me to see them, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Weird. Also dangerous, don't think I'd want to carry a tray of liquid with those kind of heels on."

Having already pissed him off today, I ignore the obvious insinuation that he uses heels the rest of the time. "Waste of good booze when you inevitably spill."

"Speaking of which, let's get to the bar and grab something to drink before we try and attack Elena."

I try not to groan at his choice of phrasing. In some ways I feel a little guilty about my lack of interest in this; since I took a break and stepped back from everything, I've been pretty out of the loop on William Rast stuff. If I'm honest I'm finding it hard to get interested in all the bitty details again. I'd be quite happy to wait and see her at the meeting. Since I know how important this is to Trace I'm trying to show willing; I just suck at pretending to be happy about it.

We get to the bar, and I stop dead in my tracks about ten feet from it. Chatting away in Spanish, Addy's standing there in what's obviously a couture dress and looking… looking…

I remember wondering to myself on Adora what Addy would look like if she really pulled the stops out. She never used to wear make up or dress up much, and she still managed to look so pretty that I figured she could probably kill a guy if she made an effort. When I saw her in her work clothes I figured I must have been wrong, but I guess I should have put work clothes in a different category because right now she looks fucking stunning. I'm sort of shocked. Her hair's all piled up on her head with a few curls hanging loose, and she's wearing this yellow dress with white flowers on it that's clinging in all the best places. If she had longer legs, she wouldn't look entirely out of place on a catwalk (I say entirely, she's not quite a model but she is prettier than your average).

"Hello?" I'm startled out of my stare by Trace clicking his fingers impatiently in front of my face. "Ground Control to Major Moron, what do you want?"

"Oh, umm…" Typical, one pretty girl in a room of dozens of pretty girls and I turn into a slack jawed idiot. "Sorry, JD and coke." I feel tonight is going to be one for hard liquor.

Like I wasn't feeling awkward enough, I'd almost forgotten that a girl who was kind of mad at me would be here. To make it worse she looks entirely too hot and it's confusing me. Her coming to LA has been really inconvenient for me - I had her categorised in a neat little box whereby she was this cool cute surfer chick who had failed to disappoint me in any way at all. She was supposed to sit still and stay there. That was a good box; it was neat and tidy and stored away in the back of my head and all was right with the world while she was in it. Now I've had to add stressed out and kind of bitchy in there, and it was a stretch enough trying to get the idea that she had some seriously less attractive qualities in without now having to extend it even further to fit the idea that she's hotter than I originally thought in there. My box is now all fucked up and overflowing.

I really wish I wasn't here. Maybe I should ask Trace to make it a double.

"Sorry, let me get those guys…"

And while I was busy staring into space she suddenly appeared next to me and now I have to try and avoid looking at her cleavage which has been pushed up and out. Somebody shoot me, this is seriously fucking uncomfortable. With a reasonably subtle fake grin on her face (I've both given and received a lot of fake grins in my time, I can tell), she hands us both our drinks and gives the bartender a nod which makes him refuse Trace's money. Huh. Where was she for the last two rounds? Maybe if she could go away for now and I can just call her back when I need more alcohol.

"So how we doing, having a good time?" She asks politely.

"Yeah, great," Trace replies. This may be his best ever acting job, he's been scowling at me all frickin' night but he's smiling at her. Then again, I guess she is prettier than me. "You?"

"Busy, busy, busy!" Addy's chirpy in tone but you can see just the slightest touch of gritting going on with her teeth - her jaw's a little tight. "So you spoken to anyone interesting, would you like me to introduce you to anybody…?"

Wow, is it just me or does she suck at schmoozing? That lacked some finesse. Trace's eyes open ever so slightly wider and I know he's thinking the same.

"No, we're good," I answer for him. If that's the way she does it then I'd rather we worked the room ourselves.

"Great. See you guys in a bit."

In the blink of an eye she's racing back over to the Spaniards, tottering and wincing a little on those overly impractical shoes. Slowly, in unison, Trace and I turn our heads towards each other and meet eyes with an identical 'what the fuck' expression.

"Remind me never to have her host any of my parties," I comment. It's a far cry from the relaxed and smooth gatherings she hosted on Adora. She mingled like a pro back there.

"Umm… dude…" Trace's brows wrinkle in towards his nose and it makes his forehead scrunch up. "Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but was this girl like a really good lay or something? Because she seems really fucking weird and I'm not understanding the attraction. You know, beyond the nice tits."

"Man…" I shake my head slowly side to side; my mouth dropped a little open in disbelief. "I swear to God, I'm wondering if it's even the same chick. It's like she's been body snatched since I last saw her."

His lips purse together sceptically. "You sure you weren't just blinded by the sun and the pussy?"

Normally I'd call him some kind of name for that, but on this occasion it's a fair question. Still, I can just imagine what Rachael would have said in response to that if she was here. Sometimes I don't need TV or clubs or anything, I only need to set Rachael and Trace off on a verbal sparring match and that's my entertainment covered for at least an hour.

"Sure. When I saw her there she was this cool and really laid back girl. Now she's… well, you can see for yourself."

"You mean the enormous stick up her ass? Yeah, I can see."

There's a part of me that feels inclined to defend her for that - especially since I finally got the record company to cave and put 'her' song on the album and it seems wrong to let insults to any muse of mine stand - but I'm not sure he's wrong. Even as I watch her out of the corner of my eye, there's something about her that seems flustered and panicked. It's not obvious, and I'm sure anybody not already acquainted with her would probably think she was reasonably poised (if a crappy mingler) but I can see it in the way she's holding her back and shoulders, she's too rigid. Or is that just the outfit?

"Hmm," is my eventual and non-committal response.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, the girl's gorgeous," he continues, "but it doesn't seem like she's really on this planet."

"Hmm." I don't even want to talk about her any more; I find it kind of depressing seeing her this way. This is the girl who taught me how to relax and enjoy life and now look at her. Kind of makes me look at everything I thought I knew about last summer differently. "Let's just go hunt Elena down and get this over with already. Then we can go to a real bar."

"Solid call," Trace replies as he gulps back the last of his drink and carelessly shoves his empty glass in the direction of the counter.

***

This may have been the weirdest night I've had in a while. And I've had some fucking weird nights in my time.

First of all, it took Trace and me about an hour and a half of trying to subtly stalk Elena across the room to score a chance to chat. When we did, it was mostly taken up by some subordinate of hers (a VP? I don't know) talking loudly about our last fall line and what he thinks we could have done better. Trace was seriously ready to sink his foot into the guy's balls and I can't say I'd have stopped him. Elena barely spoke, Trace got all red faced trying to keep from telling the guy to go fuck himself, and I stood there desperately wishing I was somewhere else.

Then, some chick in a red corset who didn't have the breasts to fill it out right started stalking us to ply us with drinks and introduce us to people. That was annoying but to be expected - what was weird that she seemed to do it any time Addy got near us (presumably to do the same, can't be sure, the chick in red kept interrupting first). It was like she thought it was a competition or something. Fuck, maybe it was, I don't know - the best I can figure about all these couture clad waitresses is that Elena's put them out there to subtly direct people to mingle. Well, some are better than others; I thought Addy was bad but this chick is about as discreet as Lil' Kim on a red carpet. She may also have been trying to flirt with Trace, but I can't tell whether the way she was batting her lashes at him was flirting or because she'd thrown on so much make up that she was getting glitter in her eyeballs.

Now I'm kind of hiding in a disused cloakroom. I only came in here to take a call in private, but I finished talking to Barry ten minutes ago and I still can't bring myself to leave. Trace finally gave up even trying to have a decent conversation with anyone important, but my driver said he was stuck in traffic and was going to be half an hour. By my count I still have fifteen minutes to kill in here; I left my best pal draining whiskey at the bar. Call me yellow, but I really can't bring myself to go back out there until the last possible second. Maybe like three minutes before the car's due.

I nearly shriek like a girl when the door opens, but it's only Addy bursting through. I guess that answers the question of whose stuff was lying across the table.

"Uhh, hi," she says in a bemused tone.

"Hi," I reply in a monotone.

"I really can't seem to get rid of you can I?"

If she hadn't smiled, I would have taken that real personally. It's still a pretty dumb thing to say to anybody, but I can tell she's had a few too many. She's not sloppy drunk, but she's tipsy.

"Sorry."

"Hey, it could be worse. I could have been you this evening. Sorry about Nancy by the way, I did try to stop her throwing herself at your friend every five seconds."

"Oh, her name's Nancy?" Huh. I guess that shows up precisely how hard I've been listening to anybody tonight.

"Yes." She rolls her dark eyes and lets out a puff of air with her lower lip that momentarily lifts a curl away from her face. "Elena purposely asked me to look after you guys tonight so you wouldn't have some stranger fawning over you but Nancy had her own plan. Sorry about that, by the way, I've been neglecting you both."

Ah-ha! I knew this whole exercise was some weird schmoozing plan. Still, at least Elena had intended to let an acquaintance look after me instead of me having to put up with some stranger for the night. Sad that plan never came off.

"Don't worry about it," I tell her with a shrug. "You looked busy."

"Tell me about it," she says as she starts digging through her purse. "Twenty Spaniards plus you two to look after was a little over-ambitious on somebody's part."

"Yikes. I'll never be rude to hostesses again."

"You mean you were rude before?" She frowns as she says it, but not at me; clearly whatever she wants in her bag isn't showing itself. "And here I thought you Southerners were gentlemen."

Heh. A year later, she's finally learned not to call me a Yankee. "I thought you'd have learned from experience by now."

"Oh you're not that bad."

Not exactly the greatest compliment I've ever been given but I'll take it nonetheless. "What are you looking for?"

"Elena's bloody Blackcurrant."

"Her what?"

"Blackcurrant aka my pet name for her BlackBerry when I'm annoyed with the bloody thing."

"Oh. Like when you can't find it?"

"Exactly."

Why anybody needs to have a pet name for their BlackBerry at any time is a mystery to me, but everything I ever found weird about Addy I usually put down to some strange British eccentricity. Sometimes it was cute, lately not so much.

"Nice dress," I tell her for lack of anything better to say.

"Thank you. If only I could breathe in it I'd marry it."

That actually does make me laugh. Her sense of humour is pretty sarcastic, but then so is mine; we always matched each other on that level. It only tended to fail when we came up with some American-British reference ignorance.

"Finally!" Victorious, she yanks the offending technology out of a deftly concealed side pocket and starts tapping frantically at it.

I'm nosy, and this is killing the time, so I enquire. "What you looking for?"

"The fashion editor from Glamour just told Elena she can't make it to their meeting Monday, so I have to re-schedule it. If you're really nice to me I might give your pal first dibs on the free slot."

"You'd be his favourite person forever. He barely got a chance to speak to Elena tonight and he's seriously pissed about it."

"Ugh." A guilty expression passes over her face. "I'm sorry, that's probably my fault. I should have looked after you both a bit better; I'm not usually this bad at the whole mingling thing but with twenty two people to keep up with on these shoes I just couldn't do it."

"Yeah." I look down at the things and the heel looks scary. In those things she's not all that far from my height and I don't understand how she can stand in them. I think I'd snap an ankle the second I tried. "I hope their health insurance package will cover the amputation."

"Right now I'd welcome it." She shakes her head, not looking at me but rolling her eyes in response. "I miss the beach where I never had to wear anything but flip flops. And surfing, I miss surfing."

"Yeah, I'm back on promotion soon so it'll be a while before I see any waves."

"Oh, you have some new stuff coming out?"

It seems stupid now that I was worried about her still being mad. It's not like we're back to being bosom buddies… oh crap that was an unintentional double entendre of a thought… but she's being perfectly pleasant. The small talk is small but not uncomfortable.

"Yeah, the first single hits radio week after next. There's even on about you on it."

For the first time since she found it, her head snaps up from the BlackBerry and her eyes meet mine. I'd forgotten how deep chocolate they were, almost an espresso colour. "Really? How's it go?"

She sounds kind of suspicious. With a deep breath and fingers surreptitiously crossed in my pocket, hoping she doesn't hit me for this, I give her a soft voiced blast of the chorus. For a moment she looks stunned, blinking and expressionless as a china doll, but then she bursts out laughing and slaps my bicep.

"You filthy bastard!"

Nervously I chuckle. "Like it?"

"You should be glad I did or it would have been your face I just smacked!" Clutching the BlackBerry to her stomach with one hand she hides her mouth with the other, trying to contain her giggles. "Oh that's class. Justin Timberlake wrote a song about me being his holiday shag. That's just brilliant."

A smile creeps on my face. "It's kind of exaggerated for effect. Poetic license and all."

"I hope I get a cut of the royalties."

"Sorry. I'll throw you a free copy."

"That'll do." As she tries to smother the rest of her laughs they kind of come out like hiccups. "Right, let's go grab your mate and Elena before she mentions to somebody else that she's free Monday and they wangle the spot."

"I warn you, Trace might want to kiss you for this."

"That's fine so long as his breath doesn't stink. A couple of people have had really bad cigar breath and it's hard to keep a straight face when you want to throw up."

Hmm. After all this weirdness she's displayed this evening, I now find her weird precisely because she's not being weird. She's being pleasant and helpful. That really shouldn't be weird, but she was so weird before it's now weird that she's not being weird. And I need to start using some word other than weird.

Women are just fucking weird.