One of these days, I am going to have a nice steady workload. It'll be busy enough to stop me getting bored, but not so huge that I spend my day running around at the speed normally reserved for when Freddy Krueger is on your heels.

Alas, today is not that day. Almost all of the executives are on some business trip to New York with Elena, which means my area of the building is pretty much dead. My workload comes from them and without them… I get to sit here and file my nails in my best secretary cliché impression. There are a few other people who give me stuff, but mostly it's their PAs who are in the same no-work boat as me so asking them is no good. Everybody downstairs is still bustling with business as usual, but since what I do has little to do with them it's no good asking if they want help.

For a couple of hours or so, it was great. I caught up on my e-mails, wasted some time on Facebook and read a few news sites so I could feel knowledgeable about current affairs. Now I'm just bored out of my skull but I can't leave because somebody still has to be here in case the phone rings. Everybody else decided they'd go out for a nice long lunch since the bosses aren't here and somehow I got disinvited and volunteered to stay behind. I'm still unsure how this feat was accomplished, especially when I never agreed to it, but unfortunately I'm stuck here now.

I hear the lift ping and automatically look up towards the doors. They creak open with that worrying sound I've been bugging maintenance to take a look at and a familiar head of red hair is behind them. Lily strides out looking purposeful (and very chic in knee high boots and Roland Mouret) and then hops up to sit on the counter in front of me with a cheery smile.

Given that I haven't set eyes on Lily in about three days, this is strange.

"I have a present for you," she announces. It's not unusual for her to skip pleasantries; we've known each other too long.

"Oh?" I squeak, unsure how to process the way she's acting like nothing's out of the ordinary.

"Mmmhmm. Daddy was on business in Milan and bought me and Mum some new watches, except Mum didn't want hers so she sent them both to me and I do not need two watches, so you are going to take the other."

Sometimes I wonder when that girl pauses for breath. The fact that she wants to offload what is likely to be an extremely expensive item on me isn't what I'm raising an eyebrow at; that happens a lot. Her dad is very generous to her and she in turn is generous with her friends. He gives her a lot of stuff she doesn't necessarily want or like and she claims to see it as us helping her out if we take it off her hands. I just don't understand how she can avoid me for weeks, bring a bunch of crack heads into our living room and say nothing but then three days later she's plonking herself on my desk and throwing designer goods at me. What the blazes is going on in her head?

Lily is apparently oblivious to what I imagine is a pretty perplexed expression on my face. She's too busy digging in her bag (naturally, it's a Birkin). "I couldn't decide which one I wanted so I figured I'd let you pick. The white one's just the right side of tacky but cute and the blue one is really nice but might be limiting in outfit choices."

Now I have to take back what I said about being unfazed by her giving me stuff; she's just put two bling encrusted Dolce & Gabbana watches down in front of me. I'm fairly sure the bling is real (it would be just like her Dad to pick something like this, his taste does lean to the ostentatious sometimes). The white one has a leopard print face (I assume that's why she called it tacky), and the blue one is cute but a very bright blue which would indeed be ensemble challenging.

"No, Lil, I can't." I couldn't take a gift that expensive and I couldn't take any gift while she's being so weird.

"Yes you can. Now choose before I flip a coin and choose for you."

I look away at my computer screen as if it could tell me what to do; how the hell do I react to this? I don't get her.

"Fine." In the blink of an eye she's called heads for blue and flipped a quarter. Why do I get the feeling she was prepared for me to protest? "Tails. You get the white one missy. Probably a good idea, electric blue and fuchsia are a bad mix; that dress is wicked, by the way."

"What are you on?" Is the only question I can think to ask after she's taken the liberty of fishing my rather less expensive bag from under my desk and throwing a watch that probably costs more than the collective contents of my bedroom. I suspect I'd probably choke if I saw the price tag.

"I was stupid enough to participate in two Starbucks runs today. Caramel frappuccinos should come with a health warning on them, way too much sugar."

"Oh." Not my most articulate response ever but the best I can come up with.

"Anyway, that's not actually why I came up here, I need you."

"You need me?"

"Well, more like I'm going to pretend to need you because I'm taking a bunch of stuff over to… uhh… some studio somewhere… wherever, it's for Justin and his dancers and I figure it'll be far more entertaining if you come with me. I have to stand around and wait for them to be done and make sure they don't so much as pull a thread which is going to be extremely dull even if it is at a show, plus I figure Justin will want to see you way more than me so it works all round."

"Umm…" I need some aspirin. I have no idea what's going on here and I don't understand why she's acting like everything's all rosy again and it's giving me a headache.

"And I saw them going out without you and leaving you to handle all this by yourself which is pretty bloody rude, so I'm thinking you'll be able to rub it in that in their absence you got chosen to handle Mr Timberlake. Not literally, obviously, though of course if they knew you'd already done that too their silly little heads would explode. But anyway, all you need to do is forward your phone to Carla's desk; she said she could take messages until they get back."

Well, she's got this all worked out. That makes it awkward to say no since she's already shot down every excuse I might have made. What is going on with her? Does she want a useful go between so that relations with Justin's team run smoother or something? I know she met Justin a few days ago since they were having breakfast when I got back, so she can't need an introduction. What's her game?

"Did I mention that this is mandatory and if you don't come willingly I will drag you?"

"Fine, fine," I groan. Sometimes it's better to go along with her, even if you do know there's got to be a catch somewhere. She is an unstoppable force but I am not an immovable object, so she's going to win every time. The only question is how much energy I waste fighting and I am not in the mood right now.

"Great!" She smiles brightly at me. "We'll pick up lunch on the way and I promise it'll be much nicer than wherever they were going."

"Tao," I answer.

"Yuck and double yuck. Crystal works there and she says she knows at least one waiter really does spit in the food, so you can guess I haven't been there since."

For the first time all day, the corners of my lips may have curled up a little bit.

***

"Hey English."

Justin plants a quick kiss on the top of my head as he gives me a hug to say hello. I almost feel a little silly - apart from the fact that too many TV crew members are peering interestedly out of the corners of their eyes at everything he does, I feel sheepish after the last time I saw him. It's not like I don't know that people take drugs. Hell, it's not like I didn't know that Lily has in the past known people who do, so why it should surprise me that in La-La Land she knows a few more I'm not sure. It was a total overreaction and it's embarrassing that he saw me so frantic.

Well, maybe not a total overreaction. Bringing it into the apartment and keeping me awake until all hours is still utterly rude and wrong and generally not on.

He was so good about it though; I think that's what embarrasses me most. It was so obvious that he thought I was making Everest out of a molehill but he never said that to me and he just tried to put it to me in a way he thought I'd get. Sometimes it really frustrates me when I'm so silly about stuff in front of him. Lord knows he must have the patience of a saint to put up with me, but then Lord knows what he thinks about watching the crazy woman getting wound up over nothing. It doesn't exactly show me off at my most flattering.

"Hey Memphis," I greet him as I hug him back.

"Lily," he gives her the nod. "What are you ladies doing here?"

"I have to be here to look after the outfits and I dragged her because I didn't want to get bored waiting around on my own."

"You should have let me know, I could have organised for you to come with us this morning."

"Nah, you're good, we had work and a lunch date."

"Oh? Nice." It sounds totally innocent to those not in the know, but I am in the know and there was definitely a tone. It was a tone meant for me, too. He's subtly asking me what's going on with me and Lily, as well he might when he spent a good few hours listening to me fret about the state of our friendship a few nights ago.

"Sorry, I got dragged at the last minute otherwise I'd have texted you." That was my (hopefully) equally subtle answer to his unspoken question.

"Cool. Well we'll most likely be late here but if you feel like a late dinner you're welcome to join us, Rach is cooking at home."

"You mean you'd just dump two extra guests on her without warning?" I poke him in the ribs. "And you wonder why she takes the piss out of you; it's vengeance."

"I think six hours is fair warning," he retorts. "Interested?"

"I have a date so count me out, sorry. Some other time? You can come over to ours and I can talk Addy into letting me pretend her paella was a joint effort."

"You can't fool me, I have already tasted the heaven and you were nowhere to be seen."

Well, at least he likes my cooking even if he does think I'm a naïve ball of hysteria. Apparently I do have some redeeming qualities - though he's just like Steve, ruled by his stomach. I could've beaten Steve's mother to death with a frying pan and he'd have forgiven me if I made him my lemon meringue. Well, it's my mum's actually, but I call it mine. Consider it my inheritance.

"Darn it. What have I told you about not giving away my secret?" Lily jokes, squeezing my arm.

I can't help tensing up when she does it. It's not that I don't want her to be my pal again, it's just that this level of friendly affection has been conspicuously absent for a while now and nothing she is doing right now is giving me any clues as to why it's back. Maybe it says more about me than her that I find it so suspicious when a lifelong friend is being nice to me, but I can't comprehend the sudden turn around. I'd understand if there had been some kind of trigger, like maybe we'd cleared the air or she'd had a bad time and had needed to speak to me or something, but she's brought this totally out of left field.

It's… ugh. Perhaps it's only me being paranoid. My mother always said my need to control everything and know exactly what was behind everything was only going to bring me stress. I replied that surely it would mean I knew what was going on and could relax because I'd be prepared, but she rolled her eyes at me and said I needed to learn that seeking to know and understand everything was an exercise in futility and I'd only piss myself off trying. Especially when it comes to other people, she said. Maybe she was right.

"Heh! Addy has no secrets from me. How is Mr Floppy, by the way?"

Oh fuck. Way to drop me in it, Timberlake - I'm not supposed to tell anybody about him.

***

"You alright?" Trace asks me as he stretches out lazily on the couch next to me.

Lily is currently with Justin's stylist watching her like a hawk and protesting every time she even thinks of pinning something, so until he sat down I was Billy No Mates. They're filming some one hour TV show thing where Justin sings a few songs and takes audience questions, so everybody is hustling and bustling and I'm lurking in a dark corner feeling like the fourth corner on a triangle (yes, I do know there are only three corners on a triangle, that's kind of the point). I really have no idea why Lily insisted on dragging me here. As soon as Justin got called away I ceased having a reason to be here and since then I've just been feeling guilty that I'm sitting on my arse while everybody else is working.

"Bored but otherwise peachy. You?"

"Same," he chuckles. "Doesn't matter how used to it you get, hanging around for this shit is still dull as all hell."

"Lord, I don't know how you could do this so much." I shake my head. "It'd drive me round the bend."

"Is that weird British talk for crazy?"

"I don't know. Was that dumb American talk for stating the obvious?"

"Dang. I'm gonna get you, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, talk it up Trash Boy."

Exchanges like this to the casual observer may make me appear to be nothing but a heinous bitch, but it's actually a private joke Trace and I have developed based on our cultural differences. The reason I always one up him though is not because I'm English, it's because I'm female and therefore cleverer than him. He takes a shot at my nationality, I take a shot at his, and the best man always wins - which is always me. I'm just better practiced at witty repartee than he is; I think he must be the butt of all Rachael and Justin's jokes because his comebacks are seriously underdeveloped. Clearly he's been effectively hammered into submission over the years.

"So what news on the Rialto? Hot dates, living it up?"

"Early nights and cocoa because I've been catching up on sleep before it gets manic again."

"Oh. That's… nah. I tried to say nice but I'm going to have to say really, really dull."

"Oh you're alright mate; I know I'm a saddo." I give a shrug as I pick at a loose thread on my skirt. "One of these days I will get a life. I swear I used to have one but I must have misplaced it."

"You're telling me. Want to start with a barbecue on Sunday? JT's away so Rach and I are having a pool party and messing with all the shit he doesn't let us touch while he's at home."

"Such as?"

"His surround sound, the quad bikes, the trampoline…"

"Why would he be precious about you using a trampoline?" I ask incredulously only to receive a shrug.

"Because he's an anal retentive freak? Anyway, it should be good; we have a bunch of people coming."

"I'll think about it."

"You'll do it."

"I'll think about it."

"Alright, but you'll do it."

There is only one word for Trace, and that is 'incorrigible.' It's like he doesn't have the impulse in his brain that normally tells you when to quit. Sometimes it's endearing- sometimes it's a pain in my arse. "Oh wow, is that Justin's new video?" I'm distracted by the between-takes entertainment going up for the audience. Previously it's been old videos (though not old to me who was under the delusion for some time that Justin had a job which did not involve making music videos) but this one I haven't seen.

"Yep."

Is it weird that I'm biting my nails and kind of nervous? It's not like it's me in the video, but then the song is kind of loosely based on me. And of course the audience have no idea about that. So why am I nervous?

The beat kicks in and Justin's in this dirty looking club, like it used to be an old meat packing plant or something. Or at least how I imagine meat packing plants look, which since I've never been in one probably isn't very accurate. He's watching some girl pass him by hand in hand with one of the dancers I saw on stage with him earlier, and she meets his gaze and arches an eyebrow. Then it starts on various risqué flashbacks of him and her dancing and… other things.

"Lord she's gorgeous," I comment. "What I wouldn't give to look like her."

Trace immediately starts choking on his Coke, and I thump him on the back in alarm as he coughs and splutters.

"You alright mate?"

"Yeah," he manages to spit out. "Hit my nose funny and then I swallowed wrong."

"Well try not to kill yourself, dear."

He merely grimaces at me and gives another cough.