There are some days (they usually follow a certain kind of night) where I wish I'd never got out of bed.

This is one of them. I'm falling asleep practically every second, and it's a struggle to so much as keep my head upright. Possibly if I hadn't stayed up late worrying over and then having sex with my temporary boss this wouldn't have been an issue, but there you go. That's the price I pay for having had a sex life for the first time in forever.

Hee, this morning was kind of hilarious. Justin had absolutely no idea what to say or do when we woke up, and it was really amusing. He looks like a twelve year old when he's confused, all lost little boy. He was practically tripping up over his own feet trying to find his pants, and finally I had to hand the damn things to him and tell him to relax before he popped a vein. That seemed to shock him even further, but there you go. I can't believe we'd been having sex… what, maybe three hours earlier… and suddenly he couldn't look at me. Generally speaking after sex I don't do big post mortems or heart to hearts, but I had to pretty bluntly tell him to get himself together and that it wasn't going to be awkward so he needed to get his ass in gear before he was late.

Possibly it's not the best idea for us to have done that, but to be honest I was a little overwrought with everything last night and then learning I was worth twenty grand to him kind of made me a little emotional and it happened. There was a mood and a moment and that's what happened in it, is all. I'll admit there's probably been a little sexual tension since that one off make out session, so it was probably waiting to happen at some point. It's not like I've been taken advantage of or anything and I know he's not going to suddenly start treating me like crap, so I'm just looking it as a pleasant way to have spent some time. Very pleasant, actually, boy's not bad at all.

Today has been less pleasant, what with me being exhausted. I've been running errands for Lynn, so the most I've seen of Justin after we left the room was the thirty seconds in which I popped my head into his car and asked him what he wanted from Starbucks. I like his coffee requests, whatever he chooses is always pretty straightforward - unlike his head of security Randy and his half fat decaf soy vanilla shot whatever the hell it is he asks for. Suffice to say that I have made speeches shorter than his drink order, so he basically gets however much of it I can remember… which isn't usually much more than 'half fat.'

I got in one car to go to Starbucks with Hannah and a couple of the guards, and we're meeting Justin, Lynn Johnny and the rest of the guards there. Hannah and I both have our hands full of drinks, but at least it's a short trip so they won't be getting cold. We've been following him around for various appearances this morning, so we're having a quick stop back at the hotel for regrouping and re-briefing before going back out for the afternoon's photo shoot. I like photo shoots, I get to sit around and read while everybody else works.

"Drinks, finally!"

Lynn looks incredibly grateful to me as I walk through the door with an arm full of cup carrier. I smile at her before setting them down on the table - the hotel has kindly let us use their small conference room, so everybody's sat around this great big table in really squishy looking swivel chairs. I like swivel chairs, they're fun.

"Okay…" I peer at the carrier Hannah has set down next to the one I was carrying; I think I have these drinks straight, maybe not. "Chai for Lynn, mocha for Johnny, insanely complicated drink for Randy and…" I have to examine the fourth cup, "Wait this one's mine."

Hannah's approach is totally different. "That one's mine and I have a skim latte and a frappuccino. Come and get 'em." I know the latte is Justin's but I'm mildly surprised that Kevin (the musical director) opted for the frap. I see him as liking his coffee hot and strong, not iced up with chocolate flavouring poured in.

The only seat open is next to Justin, so I slide into it cradling my drink. I have to make an indignant noise when he immediately grabs it from me and takes a sip. I don't care if I slept with him, that's just taking liberties.

"What is that?" He asks.

"Caramel hot chocolate." I got venti sized, too - Sophie might lecture me about refined sugar but is she here right now? No.

"Are you five?"

"At least I'm not the little girl ordering half fat because he's afraid it'll go to his hips." I give him a swift elbow. Here's hoping Lynn didn't just see the look he gave me because it's a dead giveaway; the boy clearly still doesn't have a clue how to act around me.

"Okay… to business," Johnny says after a gulp of his coffee. Justin is the big cheese around here but there's never any question that Johnny runs this joint. I like his management technique, actually, it's all very calm and friendly but he means business and we all know it. It's definitely conducive to a productive atmosphere, because everybody knows where they are and what's expected of them. This man doesn't do bullshit or laziness, but he's not a total hard ass either. Enrique could stand to take a few lessons from him. "Anything we need to go over from this morning before I move on to this afternoon?"

"I think the only issues were the cars," I answer him as I pull a notebook and pen out of my bag. "What happened there?"

Randy answers my question, looking pretty annoyed about it. "Clearly we chose the wrong firm, because I must have personally given those guys the instructions about five times."

Let me explain something to you about moving celebrities around quickly and quietly - it's like a military operation. You need the right cars in the right place at the right second, and you need the drivers to be pretty slick. It's an awkward job that's often subject to last minute changes, so whoever you have chauffeuring you needs to be pretty with it. These guys weren't, because they were on the wrong street entirely when Justin's quick back door exit became a fan frenzy that the bodyguards had to barge their way out of to get Justin through the crowd. Since we had to stand around waiting, it gave the fans and photographers time to find him whereas if we'd have gone when we were supposed to they'd have been too late.

Justin was complaining that a lot of girls managed to land their ass grabs right on his bruise. He never answered Hannah when she asked 'what bruise.'

"Which firm did we use?" Johnny asks.

"Robertson," I answer. "It's too much hassle changing for this afternoon but do you want me to call somebody else for the airport ride tomorrow?"

"Sounds like a good idea Chelsea," he tells me and I make a note to do that. "Anything else?"

"Oh, that reporter we missed this morning wants to come on set for the shoot this afternoon," Lynn pipes up. The shoot's for her magazine anyway so I don't see that it makes a huge difference. "Is that okay?"

"Fine by me," Justin says after a gulp of his coffee. "Though won't she get in the way of the TV cameras?"

"Oh, I forgot." Johnny slides a piece of paper my way. "You need to sign the waiver for the TV show, Chelsea. You still happy to answer questions?"

"Sure." I pick up my pen and quickly scrawl my signature before handing it back. There's going to be cameras on the shoot and they might ask us for a few sound bites. I've done it with Sophie before, it's all pretty standard.

"But no, Justin, I already told her there's be a crew there," his mom informs him.

"Cool."

"So did everybody receive their checklists and does everybody know where they are and what they're doing this afternoon?"

We all nod in assent, but Hannah pipes up. "If it's okay Johnny, I need to run out for his Anaheim show outfits so am I okay to leave as soon as he's dressed?"

Johnny nods and makes a note. "Fine. Do you need a car?"

"I'll grab a cab."

"Oh, did we get the comp tickets fixed yet?" Justin asks. The comp tickets are the ones we'll be giving out to his friends and family and the celebrities who want to come. I still do not understand why they of the lots o' cash will be getting in free when fans that save all year to see a show will be paying two hundred bucks for tickets off some scalper.

"I faxed the list but didn't hear anything back yet." I pre-empted Johnny's question there.

You notice how we jump from topic to topic yet everybody knows what we're talking about without any explanation? That's anal retentive attention to detail, right there. Yeah, people think this industry is so glamorous and so thrilling and glitzy. These are the days of our lives - we plan and plan and get anal over the details all so we can get somebody's picture taken. The whole celebrity bubble really is like living on another planet. I just concentrate on my hot chocolate and scribble the few relevant parts that I need to know into my notebook. I'd fall asleep on Justin's shoulder (which is right there and looks very tempting) if it wouldn't make me look so bad.

***

If I may say so myself, I give good photo shoot. I know how to do moody and happy and cheeky and all that, I know what angles make me look good and I know how to turn it on for a camera.

The one thing I have never got about photo shoots is… well, the point. I know it garners publicity and I know it makes people go buy my music, but why do they care? It's not like you can see me while my song's playing in the stereo is it? Don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid and I know that my looks (for whatever weird reason) set a fire under some girls and it makes them pay out all their hard earned cash for my shows and shit. I am most grateful and I try not to question it; I just smile and pose like the good boy I am.

I just don't get it though. It's weird.

The whole experience is weird. It's weird to step into a room and have everything be about you. Every person in this room is here because of me: either to make me look good or to write about me. Sometimes I think that after all this time in the business it's stupid that I'm not used to this, and sometimes I think it's better if I never get used to it. Everybody fusses over me and everybody's asking me if I want anything and am I okay and is this all okay and whatever… except the person I actually pay to do that. Chelsea has gleefully taken the opportunity to curl up with a book amusingly entitled 'The Love Academy.' At a guess, it has to be chick lit with that title. She doesn't need to be doing anything for me when the rest of the room is.

The reporter for the magazine (who is constantly getting underfoot despite being warned about it) catches me looking over there and I know she wants to ask something. This woman is annoying. Most of the time with the more upscale magazines the reporters are plenty nice, not like the tabloid ones - this one thinks that because she's doing the interview it puts her in charge of the shoot, and she's pissing off all the photography crew who know otherwise. I wouldn't much care, I'm not here to make friends with her, but when she makes everybody in the room uncomfortable it makes the shoot uncomfortable and I worry that it'll show in the pictures or the quotes.

You'd be amazed how many rumours I can attribute to a bad atmosphere in the room when I was asked the questions. I seem to let out quotes that are much easier to twist when I'm uncomfortable. It's strange, you'd think it would be when I'm comfortable and my guard is down that I'd do that, but no. I seem to mess up just when I'm watching myself and trying not to.

"So how did Chelsea come to be your assistant?" She asks me tape recorder in hand. "She was working for Sophie Lumos, right?"

She and I both know that she knew who Chelsea worked for. "Yeah. I worked on the movie with Sophie, obviously, and I needed a PA to fill in for me for a few weeks and Sophie kindly let me borrow Chelsea." Hah, see? The answer's boring, lady, move on.

"So Sophie didn't fire her?"

"No. She'd be nuts to, Chelsea's great at what she does," I say loyally.

"And Chelsea didn't quit?"

"Chelsea is still very much employed by Sophie. I just borrowed her for a while." Anybody else would take my tone as a hint to skedaddle right away from this subject, but this lady clearly doesn't get it.

"And how was working with Sophie? Rumours had you too looking pretty close for a while."

See? She even sounds like a cheesy tabloid reporter, how'd she get a job working for these guys? I consider this magazine pretty good as far as the media goes.

"Sophie's a great actor and I learned a lot from her," I shrug as Hannah scurries over. She grabs the back of my pants and starts manhandling me, getting me into a suitably Memphis looking belt, but I just let her do it. She has seen me practically naked and in the quick change she's practically had to feel me up in order to get me in and out of costumes, so I'm past caring with Hannah.

"How about away from the set?" God this woman is pushy.

"We hung out a few times and she's a lot of fun, but it really wasn't what people seem to want it to be."

"And what's that?"

Sure, bitch, play dumb. I give her the evil eye. "I stand within twenty feet of a girl and people say I must be dating her. People must want me to be Casanova or something but I don't think I've dated even five percent of the girls people say I have."

"So between the playboy rumours and the rumours that you've been physically abusive, do you feel like the media misrepresents you when it comes to women?"

Hmm… the way she worded that I can't quite get if she's trying to throw me a bone here or if she's just being a bitch and slipping that woman beater thing in there to spite me. It's awful that I have to second guess every question I'm asked, but that's what I get for living in the Twilight Zone. Fame's an awkward thing; I never know how people are looking to represent me or what their agenda is. One thing I can tell you is that she made up her mind about me five minutes after she walked into the room and she will pick and choose which quotes she prints to back that up.

"I think that the media is looking for a good story," I say carefully, "and unfortunately the truth is usually too boring to be one so they have to make baseless assumptions and start rumours because they sound more interesting than plain old reality and it sells more copies. I know that I treat women respectfully and the women around me know that I treat them respectfully, it's just a shame that certain factions of the press want to claim otherwise."

"Chelsea?" The woman (I think her name is Andie) turns around on my poor innocent PA. Well, I say innocent, but she's actually a very savvy PA who clearly heard a good deal of that from the look on her face. "What do you say, does Justin Timberlake treat women respectfully?"

I see a wry grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, though she doesn't quite let it show. With a shrug of her shoulders, she tucks a strand behind her ear and puts her hands out, palms up as if to say 'what can I tell you.' "Anybody who thinks Justin Timberlake would ever treat women disrespectfully has obviously never met his momma. She'd kick his ass all the way back to Tennessee before she let him behave that way."

Okay… I really want to laugh because Andie or whoever just got owned, but at the same time I kind of wish she'd said something a little more heartfelt and earnest to defend my honour. I was all nice about her when the bitch reporter was trying to malign her, after all.

"Damn straight," I try to play it off with a grin. "My momma raised me better than that."

"You're close to your mother, aren't you Justin?" Andie asks.

Finally, a nice boring line of interview question - I could answer this one in my sleep.

***

"Chelsea?"

Justin has finally spoken. It surprises me, because he's been deathly quiet through this whole car ride. The photo shoot went fine, bar this evil reporter who thought she was much smarter and more subtle with her questions than she was. I saw the polaroids and they looked pretty good, I'm sure the girls will go nuts for him as usual. The TV crew was pretty cool and they got some pretty funny moments: my personal favourite being 'Justin Timberlake with his head stuck in a sweater sleeve.' That was hilarious; he just could not understand how he'd done that.

"Justin?"

"Do you feel weird about last night?"

Oh, I wondered when he'd finally come out with this. I've known him a while now, and with the last few weeks I've got to know him in a fairly intense way (due to the constant proximity). This guy has to work up to talking about what's bothering him. You'll see it written over his face an age before he finally asks but it's like he has to think through how to say it first. On the bright side, it's always a good idea to think before speaking, but there is such a thing as too much thought.

"No," I answer truthfully. "I take it you do?"

"It's not weird to you that we slept together and now we're acting like everything's normal?"

I'd never be stupid enough to say it, but it's interesting how instead of answering 'yes' straight out he got defensive and basically suggested that mine is the wrong reaction.

"Justin…" I sigh and put my head back against the head rest. It's a good thing these cars are comfortable - Randy's standing guard outside while the driver is inside the gas station. I personally think Randy is drawing more attention to it that way, but who am I to argue with the professional?

"I'm sorry; it's just weird for me. I've never done this before."

"I presume by that you're not trying to claim you're a virgin…" okay, at least I got a chuckle, "so do you mean that every time you've slept with a girl it's been a big deal after?"

"Well… no… well, kind of. Like, it was at least acknowledged that something had happened, that it makes things a little different."

Sometimes it's hard to decipher him, I tell you. I think I know what he means, but he doesn't make it easy. "I don't see that a lot is different. I stopped thinking that sex was this huge deal pretty much… the second I first had any," I joked.

This was not the right way to go, because he now looks stony faced and clearly just took this as an affront to his manhood.

"Look, JT…" I sling an arm around his shoulders in an attempt at being conciliatory. "I think you're a great guy and if it's not too presumptuous a great friend. I thought that before last night and I still think it now. I don't feel awkward about sleeping with you exactly because I'm comfortable with you and I know you'd never do anything to make me feel weird about it. So I don't."

Call me optimistic, but I think his expression softened a little. His mouth doesn't seem so hard set and his brow has relaxed a little. He still doesn't look thrilled, but this is what happens when your PA has a talent for sticking her foot firmly in her mouth. Pretty blue eyes are much prettier when they don't come with a scowl.

"I just… you can't deny this changes things a little."

"Well…" I say slowly. "It means you'd better not piss me off or I got a story to tell the Enquirer."

"I got the confidentiality agreement signed, sealed and delivered."

"Dang. That was my back up plan for if Sophie ever fires me."

The joking finally seems to relax him properly, as he slouches back in his seat instead of being so rigid. "I just… there's a line, we went over it, and I don't know what to make of it is all."

I feel an odd rush of affection for his over-contemplative self, and I lean over to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't worry."

***

Don't worry? Don't worry?

What the hell does that mean? What the hell does any of that mean? She sleeps with me, her employer, she acts like it's as significant as a… not significant thing… then she gives me a speech about what a great friend I am and how comfortable she is with me. She gives me totally mixed signals with acting like it's no big deal but then kisses me on the cheek and cuddles up to me. She gives me no hint whether I'm still firmly in the Friend Zone or if by telling me she's comfortable she means comfortable with things taking a turn in the sexual direction, and she tells me not to worry?

I hate women. I need to call Trace.