I am doing what I always do the night before a trip. I was going to be doing it anyway, just a week later. I'm in my pyjamas ready for an early night. The paraphernalia for my contacts has all been packed already so I'm rocking my glasses for now. I'm sitting on my bed with my list in my hand and my suitcase sat next to me, and I am checking off all the items I need and trying to think of any I missed. No matter what happens there's always one thing that I forget to put on my list but I get most of the stuff I need packed.

I'm not usually so pissed off while I'm doing it, but never mind. I have three sets of pyjamas in there; I have plenty of jeans, pants and shorts; I have some smart shirts, some t-shirts and some going out tops; I have skirts; I have shoes which range from sensible to utterly impractical. I was forewarned by Trace that as Justin's PA I am expected to hang with him, do business with him and party with him as well. His exact words were "normally I tell women that they pack too much shit but working for him you'd better be dressed for all occasions."

Ugh, I hate packing. Just when I think I'm prepared I realise all the stuff I forgot. I love my suitcase though - it's hot pink. I am such a great big girl, but I love my suitcase. Also, I never have any trouble identifying my luggage. Umm, I think I have everything. I have my make up and toiletries and stuff, and in a fit of wishful thinking I've brought along a couple of books in case I get some down time. It doesn't sound like I will though; normally Sophie's pretty much done with press stuff by early evening but Justin's on promo all day and then his gigs are at night.

I'm pissed, too. I just got into Trudi Canavan's Black Magician trilogy. I finished the first, I made two shiny new Barnes and Noble purchases so I could finish out the three while I was away, and I'm not going to get the time.

Okay, alright, I'm not pissed about the books and we all know it. I'm fucking livid that Sophie fucking Lumos thinks she can loan me out like I'm a fucking handbag. Though actually, I think she'd be pickier about precisely whom she loans her precious handbags to. She just stood there and told me he could take me, she didn't mind. WELL I DAMN WELL DO! When did it become her prerogative to do that? Since when does she get to make major decisions about what I'm going to be doing with my life without actually running it past me first?

I just really don't feel like she considered me at all here. I know that in her little Sophie head she's probably figured that I'll just be doing what I do for her and that it won't make a difference if I'm doing it for her or the Queen of England. That is hideously oversimplifying it. Justin is not about to go on a movie press junket, a thing with which I am very familiar. He's about to go on a club concert tour which is something I have no knowledge of. I don't even listen to the charts too much to be honest, I only get to know new songs if somebody mentions them to me or if I see them on the video channels while I'm TV surfing. All in all, I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to pull off being Justin Timberlake's PA. It's one thing dropping off a package for Trace, it's another actually being his right hand man… or girl.

Oh, and you know what really burns me? She had the damn nerve to come up to me after and… my God, I can barely even put words to it. She wants me to spy on Justin and report back to her. Of course that's not how she meant it and I'm being a drama queen (she just wanted me to feel him out a little to see if he likes her which I've done a million times for Kennedy), but that's what it feels like. I feel like I'm some two faced enemy spy. I feel like she dumped me in this totally alien situation without a single familiar face -Justin doesn't count- just so she could play that whole 'my friend might like you' shit. I'm sorry, I left high school already. I don't want to go back there either; it sucked if you weren't on the dance squad (a.k.a popular).

Oh, that's my phone going. I took SexyBack off (Sophie's doing, again) and I've replaced it with Gnarls Barkley. I feel crazy right now, it's appropriate.

"Hello?" I ask as I crawl off the bed and head over to the bathroom. I have a sneaking suspicion I didn't pack my hair serum or my straightening irons. If you'd seen the naturally frizzy state of my hair, you would understand how crucial those items are.

"Hello is this Chelsea?" It's some unfamiliar dude with a very nice sounding voice. It's very smooth. Doesn't stop him being a potential weirdo though… I have an unlisted number so I get nervous when strangers call me.

"Yes," I answer cautiously, clearly having seen that everything I need from my bathroom has been packed and so padding back into my bedroom.

"Hi, this is Johnny Wright, I'm Justin's manager. How're you doing?"

"Oh, hi there. I'm good, thank you. You?" Stupid me, I should have figured it'd be somebody like that.

"I'm very well, thank you."

He sounds nice. I have no basis for this whatsoever, but he sounds nice. That's mildly encouraging considering how much I'm dreading this. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to let you know we've arranged for the car to be there for you at eight in the morning," he says. "It'll then take you over to Justin's, and I'm going to bet that he won't be ready so I hope you're good at packing."

"Sure, no problem." I look over at my suitcase as I lie through my teeth.

"Did you get the itineraries I sent?" He asks me.

They're sitting on top of my travel bag - it's the largest shoulder bag I own, and I can fit all kinds of crap in there. "Yes I did."

"Well, rest assured my staff will be phoning you fifty times a day with last minute changes," he chuckles. "Did you have time to look through?"

"Oh yeah, I got it covered. I can go through it with Justin in the car on the way to the airport. Though can I ask what it means by the 'PI' you've marked next to some of these interviews?"

He just laughed again - at it or me I'm not sure. "Potential instigator. It's those journalists we suspect might try to get a rise out of Justin. Any time he goes into one of those it's your job to warn him to keep his cool and to make sure you have a member of the PR team prepped and in the room with him."

"Oh, okay," I quickly scribble that down in the notepad that's on my nightstand; I always make notes to prep for the publicity whirlwind. It's weird - I never need to look at them, but somehow if I don't make them I forget stuff. It's the same with the packing list. "Umm… there's a lot of them."

This time I get a sigh instead of a chuckle. "Normally there's a lot fewer, but in our experience some people that we'd normally consider reasonable get a whiff of blood like this woman beater scandal and they do a temporary turn."

See, this is weird to me. As much as I'm pissed off with her, the press loves Sophie. She's a very charming person, and she has a knack of managing to be interesting but not too controversial. Of course it also helps that she is, as I've mentioned before, painfully beautiful. She's not quite America's sweetheart, she's made enough naughty comments to save herself from that stereotype and the expectations that come with it, but she keeps her nose clean. Occasionally she'll make a film that they don't like yet she always seems to come out with her image unscathed. As much as I hate to credit him for anything, Enrique's overzealous approach to protecting her reputation is probably why.

"Precisely how much of a…" oh, wait, I was about to say 'how much of a bitch do you want me to be,' which I can say to Sophie but not him. "How fierce do you want me to be about people approaching that subject?"

"Polite but firm," he immediately says. "You come on too strong and they'll think we've got something to hide."

"Got you." I make another note.

"We really appreciate you stepping in at the last moment like this, Chelsea," he tells me. "You're really helping us out here."

"Well don't thank me thank Sophie." Since it was her who gave up my time and all… shit, I shouldn't have said that. I'd rather he didn't realise just how much I don't want to do this.

You may wonder why I didn't put up a fight, and the answer is simple. Part of it is because it'd make life with Sophie hell. She's already a handful when she's not raging mad and trying to piss me off, I don't need to set my employer against me. She is, after all, paying my salary, and I need to keep her happy. The whole point of me being her PA is so I can take a glowing and influential recommendation to those bigwigs I eventually want to work with - this means making her happy at all costs.

The other part is this… it's something that's even truer in Hollywood than it is in the real world. The people you step on while you're on your way up? They're going to be the people you need to crawl to on the way down. Heck, you may find that even on your way up you unexpectedly need them at a later date. Justin's more singer than actor right now but he seems to me like a guy who's taking over the world one step at a time. It will not surprise me one bit if one of these days he's a big player in movies as well as music, so I want to keep him and his posse onside.

Hence why I'd prefer it if Johnny Wright didn't realise that I resent every second of this. I know I sound like a ruthless bitch, and I don't mean it badly or like I'm out to just get what I need from him, but professionally it'd be dumb of me to leave these people with a bad impression. Not to mention if I screw up Sophie's chances I will never hear the end of it.

"Okay," he says, "I need to run but if you have any more questions or you need anything, just give us a call. We're on a later flight than you but we'll see you at the hotel."

(In case you're wondering, there was a last minute change of plan and the first show is now in Chicago).

"Great, thanks, Johnny."

We say our goodbyes and I flip my phone shut, just glad he didn't seem to pick up on my bitterness. Sometimes I really do have to question my worth in this job. It's like… I don't get how Sophie can be so inconsiderate. She's amazing at getting me little gifts and making sure the studios put me up nicely as well as her when we're in hotels, but when it comes to the basic human level she kind of sucks. I don't see her treating anybody else like that and it makes me wonder what I'm doing wrong.

It's also made me fight with Kennedy. She reamed me a new one for not telling Sophie no, and she doesn't understand why I have to just suck it up and do it anyway. They just get along so badly, she doesn't see why I can't just tell Sophie to go fuck herself. It's not that's simple, I need this job. It sucks and so often I think about just quitting and seeing what I can do by myself, but I know that's a stupid risk which is why I haven't done it. I need more experience and I can't pass up the money. Despite her more annoying character traits Sophie is genuinely my friend. Kennedy refuses to see that. She also refused to come along on the tour when Justin asked, which is really stupid considering how many helpful contacts she could make on it; I happen to know for a fact that Marty Kudelka is attending at least one show.

Yuck. And oh, will that phone shut up? No, scratch that, I hope it's Kennedy. I reach for it and… not Kennedy. It's an unknown number.

"Hello?" I'm using my best phone voice in case it's somebody else like Johnny.

"Hey Chelsea, it's Justin."

"Oh, hi." I forgot he still had my number after that whole club incident, from when he and Trace were checking up on me. "What's up?"

"You are aware that as my PA you are subject to absolute confidentiality and nothing I say to you is to be repeated to anyone anywhere?"

Okay, he just kind of scared me. What the heck can he be about to say? On the bright side, that may be a good excuse for Sophie when I need to explain why I haven't been playing James Bond for her. "Umm, sure."

"Good, because this is mightily embarrassing. I insisted on doing my own laundry for my stage shirts to prove to my mother that I wasn't totally spoiled, but I accidentally left some socks in there and they're, like, tie dyed or something. So now that's a couple of thousand dollars worth of designer shit that looks like some hippie leftover."

I'm trying not laugh, I'm trying not laugh… "Give me your address."

"How's that going to help?" he sounds so totally bewildered, I really want to crack up. I'm biting my lip but my mouth's still spread in this grin and my hand is twitching.

"Because I'm going to drive over there with the best stain remover ever." It is actually, it's this 'back to white' stuff that magically removes dye. It may just be bleach in disguise, but whatever works. If worst comes to worst, I know a ton of store owners from Sophie's credit card exploits and I bet they could get me a bunch of shirts in the morning.

"Thank you…" He's audibly relieved, and he gives me the address. It's going to take a while out of my time when I really wanted to get an early night, but whatever. This is my job. "You're a lifesaver. Umm… you also realise that confidentiality includes not telling Trace?"

"Sure."

"Great, I'll see you in a while. And thank you for waiting until I'm off the line to laugh at me, I appreciate that."

He hangs up and sure enough, I quickly have a stitch from laughing. I have to rummage through my closet for what little I didn't pack, but I quickly decide that I don't give a shit if he sees me in a sweater and jeans. I quickly discard my Pjs and slip into my favourite slob outfit: my well worn in UCLA sweatshirt and my favourite pair of 'totally past it but too comfortable to give up' track suit bottoms. Then I hear my phone go again for about the third time in half an hour, and looking at the caller ID I see the same unknown number from last time. Note to self: if it's his cell then I ought to save it in my phone book.

"Justin?"

"Wow, she already knows me. I can tell you're going to be good at this job… are you packed?"

"Just finished, why?"

"It just occurred to me that it's late and it's dumb for you to come all the way out here and then go all the way back when you're only going to come pick me up in the morning anyway, so you might as well stay here. I got plenty of guest rooms - just bring your stuff and I'll tell them to come straight here tomorrow."

Great - my last night in my beautiful comfy bed gone. I'd put up a fight if he didn't have such a good point. Even travelling there is going to take a couple of hours, plus the time I spend there fixing his laundry… it'd be obscenely late by the time I got in. Being sensible has to win out.

"Okay," I tell him. "I'll see you in a while."

***

Clearly I did not give Justin enough credit for his laundry skills. I think this forgivable, since he did call me to say he'd wrecked some very expensive shirts, but when I got here I expected his laundry room to look like a bomb hit it. Actually, the rest of his laundry has all gone swimmingly. He's done his darks and his colours properly, he's separated out what could go in the dryer from what can't, and what's ready to be folded has all been nicely folded… it's just this rogue pair of socks that's done him in.

He's amusing when he's feeling sheepish, he goes all quiet and he smiles a lot. The smile being a subliminal defence tactic - poor naïve fool thinks that if he smiles and looks cute enough people will forget his flub ups. To be fair I bet it probably works a lot of the time, but I'm not a screaming fan girl and am thus immune. In further concession though, he didn't just give up and leave the rest of the laundry for me to do when I got here which is exactly what Sophie would have done in his situation. Not that Sophie would ever get herself in this situation since she regularly does her own laundry, but I'd bet that's what she would do.

"You all set for tomorrow?" I ask Justin.

"I'm never set for these things," he chuckles. "You'll be able to sit there and watch me make a ton of mistakes on stage."

"I meant with the packing," I elaborate. This is me fishing. Given Johnny's comment, I want to know how much work is ahead of me.

"Yeah, my mom was over for dinner and she helped me out because she said if she didn't some poor helpless PA would have to."

Lynn Harless just became my favourite lady, I swear. "Cool. Oh, and I've got the itineraries and stuff to go over with you if you want."

"Chelsea…" Jesus Christ what did he do to my name? I don't recall my name ever sounding so… weird like that. It's like he made it a sigh. "You might be in my house but you're not on the clock, aight?"

Ugh, I hate people saying 'aight.' That is not a real word. I pretty much don't know what to say to that so I just smile nicely at him, though it probably didn't reach my eyes. Poor naive boy - his PA might be friend and or family and thus get treated better than the rest of us, but in the real world a celebrity's PA is always on the damn clock. Sophie is contractually entitled to call me twenty four seven unless I'm officially on a day or few days off.

Best I can do is try to play it off. "If we don't do it now we'll only have to do it tomorrow…" I sing song in fake chirpiness.

"Then we'll do it tomorrow," he shrugs. "You'll have a nice long car journey and flight to go over it until I'm blue in the face."

"Don't you mean until I'm blue in the face?"

"No, I definitely meant me," he pulls a cross-eyed expression, "because Lord knows I hate that shit. What normal person knows what they're going to be doing at nine forty seven exactly? One of these days I fully expect them to schedule my bathroom breaks."

My mouth is going like a fish here - I keep opening it to say something and then closing it because I got nothing. It's really attractive, I'm sure. Then again, I wasn't exactly going for attractive with the slob outfit so now I think about it, what's the difference? On the bright side, Mr Timberlake is wearing a pretty grubby looking pair of sweatpants himself so it's not like I'm underdressed.

Actually, now I look at him, I have just realised that he shaved his head again. Wow, I'm so observant; I've only been here forty five minutes. It's weird, he spent half the shoot saying he couldn't wait to do that but now he has and I'm surprised. He looks extremely different without hair… older, I guess. Not in a bad way, when you're only twenty something looking a little older doesn't make too big an impact, but it's weird how much it alters his face. It looks rounder, somehow, a little wider. That's pretty weird, now I think of it, how can hair on top of you head make your cheeks look slimmer? Gah, and now I sound like I'm calling him chubby cheeks or something. Best to get off this thought track.

I'm saved by the washer, which pings to let me know that now is the moment of truth. These shirts will either be pristine white or they'll be fodder for the garbage can. Justin pops the lid, reaches in and pulls out a shirt… hurrah, it is white once more! My stain remover rocks, I didn't fancy a last minute scramble to bag shirts for Justin.

"Chelsea, you're a miracle worker," he says in awe. Believe me awe is necessary because those shirts looked awful. When he said tie dye hippie cast off, he was right on the money - they offended my eyes.

"No, this amazing stain remover is the miracle!" I put on my best game show host impression and hold the box to my face like I'm in an infomercial. "All for the bargain price of nine ninety five plus tax!"

Justin chuckles at me, shaking his head. "That was lame."

"Not half as lame as what you did to those poor innocent shirts in the first place. You need to treat clothing with a little more respect." I'm pulling the other shirts out of the washer and I toss one at his head.

"Hey, it could happen to any one alright?"

"You keep telling yourself that." I pat him condescendingly on the arm. "Right, can you work the dryer without causing yet more indignity to the fashion industry?"

"What, aren't you going to help?"

"Hey," I shrug, "you're the one who said I was off the clock. I'm going to bed."

And do I feel even a little bit guilty about leaving him to finish all this folding? Not the slightest little bit.