The drive to the studio is filled with innuendo and lustful glances, my hand resting easily on his thigh, squeezing every now and then as he maneuvers the massive all terrain vehicle through the streets of L.A. We pull into the parking lot of a nondescript building and Justin tells me to wait as he hops out of the car and I can barely see his head as he walks around the front to open my door for me. The ground looks like its ten feet away. He chuckles as he offers his hand to help me down.

“Jesus Jus what on earth do you need this massive thing for?” I ask as he shuts the door behind me.

“I dunno maybe I’m overcompensating for something,” he grins cheekily and I giggle at him.

“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” I respond, my arm sliding around his slim waist as we make our way to a small door in the side of the building

“Do you?” he murmurs softly, looking down at me and licking his lips.

I nod, biting my bottom lip and standing on tip toes to brush my mouth with his. He grins, moving to deepen our kiss but I jump as I hear someone yell, my nose bumping hard against his. He yelps turning his face away as five men come out of nowhere, cameras clicking rapidly. My heart starts to race and I feel Justin’s entire body tense, his arm tightening around me, pressing his lips to my ear.

“Just keep your eyes forward and don’t respond,” he whispers before pulling away from me, slipping one large hand in mine, squeezing tight, my lifeline.

“Justin when are you gonna pop the question?” one man asks as Justin tugs me along.

“You guys gonna have a summer wedding?” another questions, his shutter snapping and as we approach the building I feel trapped between the building and the flashing cameras, no means of escape.

“Where’s your ring, Skylar?” another prods and I tense when he says my name so casually, like he knows me. Justin squeezes my hand, pressing the call button next to the door.

“Auerelia Studios how can I help you?” a cool female voice asks but she can barely be heard over the clicking of shutters.

“Justin Timberlake,” he says tensely and there’s a quiet hum as the door is unlocked.

Justin pulls it open, ushering me inside quickly and my jaw falls open at the lavishness of the reception area. Who would have guessed by the drabness of the exterior? Glass tables and leather couches are nestled against one wall while gold records and plaques line another. The receptionist’s desk, which is really a large fish tank with a workspace on top, is directly in front of us.

“Mr. Timberlake,” the receptionist says, smiling as she stands smoothing her suit jacket.

“Elena,” Justin responds with a short nod and a quick smile. “Might wanna get security out there.”

Elena’s face crumples in alarm. “Yes, I’ll take care of that right away.”

“Where’m I goin?”

“Studio three,” Elena says, her eyes flicking to me quickly, eyeing me up and down and I wish I would have had more time to clean up rather than just throw on clothes and wrap my wet hair into a bun.

One thing I’ve come to notice about being with Justin Timberlake, not my Justin, Justin Timberlake, the guy who wins the Grammys and sells out the arenas, is that no matter where I am or what I’m doing I’m being sized up, evaluated, and documented. I could be sitting in his backyard having a beer or going to the recording studio with him, it doesn’t matter. The only question on anyone’s mind is “is she worthy?”

Justin tugs my hand and he leads me back through a long hallway to an open door with a small number three on the plaque beside it. I glance inside and there are five men sitting around, seemingly waiting.

“Gentlemen,” Justin says with a sigh, releasing my hand and walking into the room. “What seems to be the problem?”

He’s standing tall, shaking hands with each of the men in the room, nodding and smiling congenially. Something radiates off of him, confidence yes but he always exudes a certain aura of confidence. No, what I see in him now is power. The way the men bow their heads to him and speak softly and Justin seems to tower over them, nodding authoritatively to their greetings. I’ve never wanted him more than I do in this moment, my stomach dropping slightly and I swallow hard.

“Just a matter of a signature Justin,” says an older man wearing a suit that looks like it costs more than my apartment. He meets Justin squarely in the eye, eyeing him unfazed. Okay maybe not everyone.

“Yeah,” Justin says, taking the pen that’s being offered to him by another younger man who looks to be an assistant. “You know I faxed these to you last week.”

“We don’t have them on file sir,” the assistant says softly, staring wide-eyed at Justin who smiles at him before turning to the older man again.

“No harm no foul I guess,” Justin grins but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Matt, man you cool?”

A man about Justin’s age pulls himself off the couch, looking somewhat nervous. His black hair is tussled, face obscured by a week’s growth of beard. He shakes Justin’s hand and gives him a nervous smile.

“Sorry about this man,” Matt says softly and Justin shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s cool. Hey,” he turns back, his arm extending out to me and I step towards him, smiling uncertainly. “This is Skylar,” he says, his hand settling warmly on my lower back. “Sky this is Matt Morris, one of my best friends and the best artist at my label who is in the room right now.”

Matt laughs good naturedly. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I glance at Justin who ducks his head, grinning. “Pleasure’s mine,” I reply, holding out my hand, Justin’s fingers digging into my back at the word “pleasure.” Matt grins amusedly as he grips my hand, shaking it. Another no shaking situation. Dammit.

“This your girl, Justin?” the older man asks and I turn to find him looking me up and down, appraising me.

“Yep,” Justin responds shortly, his hand sliding to grip my waist and tugging me against him. “So I’ll see you later, man. We’ve got breakfast plans.”

Justin smiles at everyone in the room before turning and ushering me out quickly, sighing when we reach the hallway.

“I fucking hate that guy,” he mutters under his breath and I giggle. “He owns the fucking studio and thinks he’s God or something.”

“So we don’t have breakfast plans?” I ask, an accusatory edge in my voice, grinning at him. “It was all some ploy to get you out of there faster?”

“No,” he says, leaning so he’s whispering directly into my ear. “We don’t have breakfast plans but I certainly planned on eating something.”

I gasp as his tongue flicks out to lick around the shell of my ear, my stomach dropping and how he can get me wet with one sentence still amazes me. He’s standing straight again, smirking slightly to himself but otherwise seemingly unaffected. I bring my hand up, pressing my palm flat between his shoulder blades, curling my nails just slightly and dragging down, eliciting a full body shiver from him. Two can play this game.

“Justin!”

He stops, turning and breaking into a wide grin as he sees a large dark man approaching him. I know him or at least I feel like I do. I’ve seen them together on numerous occasions, on tour and on television. Butterflies tickle my stomach and its not necessarily from being star struck so much as knowing that this is one of Justin’s very best friends.

“Tim! How you doin’ man?” Justin asks, clasping the other man’s hand and patting him on the shoulder.

“Doin’ good. Doin’ good,” Tim’s eyes fall on me and he smiles. “This must be Skylar.”

I look at him slightly bewildered and then smile. “And you must be Timbaland.”

“The one and only baby,” he grins and reaches out his hand. I look at it for a moment before realizing that he wants to shake. Okay I seriously suck at this.

“Justin, dude, you gotta hear this track I’m working on,” Tim says and a conflicted look comes over Justin’s face as he looks between Tim and I. “It’ll take like two seconds.”

Tim’s already making his way down the hall and Justin gives me an apologetic look as we follow him into another studio, set up much like the one we were just in, soundboards pressed up against soundproof glass, couches and chairs spread throughout, keyboards and guitars laying everywhere. There’s a young dark man sitting behind a keyboard, large headphones on his ears and upon seeing Justin he smiles and waves before going back to what he’s doing.

I’m still standing in the doorway, stunned by all I see, but Justin and Tim have moved to the soundboard and Tim is talking heatedly about beats per minute and bass and snare, Justin nodding his head in understanding and it’s as if they’re speaking their own language. Tim flips a switch and a pulsing beat fills the room, Justin finding it instantly and bobbing his head. A slow grin smoothes over his face and my breath catches in my throat at the pure unadulterated joy radiating from him. This is what music does to him, it flows through him and around him, and the effect is dazzling. I see his lips form the words “that’s sick” but I can’t hear him over the pumping bass. Tim flicks it off and instead of silence left in its wake, there’s a ringing in my ears. No wonder Justin never hears me when I talk to him from across the room.

“Maybe if you did this?” Justin asks, fiddling with a few knobs on the soundboard, “And added a really funky guitar riff, something like…” and he screws up his face as he plays the air guitar, his fingers plucking out the notes his mouth is spitting.

Tim nods. “You wanna work it out with me?”

Justin’s smile fades and it’s as if someone has turned out the lights as he turns to look at me but a new smile pulls at his lips. He shakes his head. “Nah man, my girl’s here.”

“Its fine,” I say, wishing for nothing more than to see him smile like that again. “We can hang here.”

“Sky,” Justin says walking over to me and holding my elbow as he leans into me in conference. “Are you sure? It could be awhile,” he warns but I can see in his eyes it’s what he wants.

“It’s fine. I’ll just hang here,” I say and he eyes me.

“I’m not kidding it could be hours,” Justin says and I shift. Okay maybe I didn’t wanna spend that long just hanging out. I was thinking an hour maybe and then we could go back to his place. A wave of heat passes through me as I think back to this morning. We could finish that shower…

“Hey, you know what. There’s a museum just a couple blocks over I think.”

My brain jars. Museum? “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says and turns to Tim, “Isn’t there a museum over on Wilshire?

“Yeah the L.A. County,” Tim says nodding before sitting behind a keyboard and tapping a few keys.

I gasp. “The Los Angeles County Museum! They have the Thomas Hope collection,” I say bouncing slightly and Justin grins at me, amused by my excitement.

“Would you wanna do that? Mill around the museum while we bang this out? Is that okay?” Justin asks, his eyes slightly unsure. “I mean I know we were supposed to spend the day together but-”

“Justin,” I say, reaching up to touch his face. “It’s fine.” I nod and his face relaxes, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, turning his head to kiss my palm.

“Okay, here,” he says digging into his pocket and producing his keys. “Take the truck. We’re on La Brea street and you just head straight down like six blocks until you hit Wilshire and you’ll run right into the museum.”

“Justin,” I say looking at the keys he’s holding and laughing. “I cannot drive that truck. Are you insane?”

He chuckles. “Okay…well…” he sighs, looking around the room as he thinks. “Okay how bout this. I’ll call Rachel and she can bring up the Ferrari and switch out and you can take that to the museum and she can take the truck home.” He beams at me as if waiting to be patted on the head.

“Then how would you get home?”

“Rachel’d pick me up,” he says shrugging.

“That’s an awful lot of work for Rachel,” I say, biting my lip. She probably already hates me for running her friend off.

“Don’t worry she’s paid well,” Justin chuckles and I let my lip slide from between my teeth slowly.

“You’d let me drive the Ferrari?” I ask, eyeing him and he nods, grinning.

“Just don’t get a ticket. I hear they’re rather expensive,” he chuckles and I smile at him.

“Well okay…if you’re sure,” I say, studying his face for a moment and his eyes go uncertain.

“If you’re sure…” he says and I nod. The grin that breaks out over his face dazzles me as he reaches into his pocket for his phone.

So we’re spending the day apart. This wasn’t exactly how I pictured it but I certainly can’t complain. Justin laughs as he talks to his cousin on the phone, a quiet giddiness surrounding him like an aura and it’s worth it. And I’m not exactly getting the bad end of the deal on this either, my stomach jumping in excitement at the thought of going to the LACMA for an afternoon of art. And I get to drive a Ferrari. Not bad for my second day in L.A.