The major problem with being a jet setting super star that had made it big before you made it legal is that you've seen and done everything. You've tasted the highs, the lows, all that's in between and a couple of other things normal folks wouldn't ever dream of. I've met practically everybody worth meeting (well, I mean in terms of rich and famous and politicians and shit, if we're talking people who are actually worth something I could make the list a lot smaller). I've bungee jumped and surfed and snowboarded and climbed Sydney Harbour Bridge and seen Paris and all that shit. I've packed more into my relatively short life than most people do before they're eighty.

All this means that I can't get through a game of 'I've Never' without getting shit faced drunk.

Let me explain the rules - everybody buys a drink and a few shots. Everybody takes it in turns to announce to the group that they've never done A or B or whatever they come up with. Anybody who has done it then has to take a shot or some of their drink. Like, if I said to the group right now that I'd never kissed a guy, Rachael and Chelsea would have to do some drinking for sure because they definitely have. It's a pointless game, but kind of funny. It gets funnier the drunker people get, too.

"I've never… skinny dipped," Matt finally says after an age. Funnily enough, Nick and Chelsea are the only ones out of the entire group who don't have to take a shot for that.

It's my turn now. "I've never… woken up and not recognised the person next to me."

"Does it count if you should have recognised them but were too hung over?" Matt asks as Nick, Eddie and Rachael all neck shots.

"Umm… yeah." I make the ruling and he takes a big gulp of Jack Daniels.

"I've never puked up anywhere public." That was Rachael's turn, and I am sad to say that I had to down some vodka for that. What? I was a teen pop star in an industry full of drugs and alcohol. It's lucky that a little al fresco puking was the worst I did.

The bar we're in is kind of a dive. However, it was just about the only place we figured the paparazzi might not think to look for me, because FUCK they're everywhere. Chelsea's been having a lot of whispered conversations down the phone with Trace, my momma and Ken Sunshine, and she's had a permanently worried expression on her face for the past two days. Her theory (and Ken kind of agrees) is that they're swarming because there's something brewing and they want to be in position. I don't see that to be honest; sometimes they just get the impression that I'm doing something particularly interesting and they get overzealous. Give it a week or two and it usually dies back down after they see how boring I am in real life.

Besides, I don't see what could be brewing because there's no woman around for me to be beating, I'm not working and I'm not dating. They have no idea I slept with Sophie Lumos's assistant (because that they would find interesting) and I'm not working. I really don't see what could have got them in such a tizzy that they all felt the need to be here, but Chelsea is adamant that they have something up their sleeves. She's paranoid, and I feel fine saying that because Rachael's been doing this shit as long as Chelsea and she agrees with me.

Still… better safe than sorry. Hence we're in a redneck bar with some very unattractive pine panelling circa 1974. I'm surprised there's no sawdust on the floor. I can't see any self respecting person wanting to step in here even to get thousand dollar pictures of me. I still don't get how pictures of me can be so expensive, considering there must be a billion of 'em that have been taken over the years.

"I've never…" Chelsea mulls this one over, pursing her lips a little. "Faked an orgasm."

Everybody busts out laughing for two reasons. The first is that our demure little Chelsea said that, and the second is that while Rachael was expected to imbibe some alcohol Eddie certainly wasn't. Heck, I didn't even realise men could (or would need to) do that.

"What? I was tired and she wouldn't shut up about it!"

"Or maybe our dear Eddie's just lacking something there," Chelsea says through fits of giggles, earning herself a faux strangling from Eddie.

"Next?" Rachel asks. It falls to Eddie, seeing as he's next in the circle.

"I've never slept with my boss," he informs us all. Nobody takes a drink, but the blonde's hand is twitching against her glass and Rachael picks up on it (sharp as a tack, that cousin o' mine).

"Chelsea?" She grins with a question on her lips.

She raises her eyebrows, toying with her last shot glass. "Not sure the gentleman in question counts."

"Surely that's something you should know straight off, right? I mean, if you're not sure you had sex somebody's gotta be doing something wrong," Matt jokes as he takes a drink of water. Water does not count as any kind of confession in this game, only alcoholic beverages count as an admission of wrong doing.

I'm watching her like a hawk right now. Actually, I should correct that statement. I'm watching her as much like a hawk as I am able without aforementioned scarily perceptive cousin spotting me; Rachael would twig in a heartbeat that I was the guy she was talking about. Wait, am I the guy she's talking about or is there someone else? Unless she had a Saturday job in high school that I'm not aware of, she's worked for Sophie too long and I would seriously vomit if she'd slept with Enrique. Seriously, that thought would put me off food for life.

For just the briefest moment, Chelsea catches my eye. I give her what I hope is a challenging stare, and I guess it is because she immediately tosses her hair and takes a defiant shot of cherry vodka to the cat calls of the group.

***

"I don't know Chelsea… I mean, for all your conspiracy shit this is just what they do, you know? They get paid to stalk people like us."

I may not have spoken too well of Sophie lately, but I have to admit that she is definitely the woman to turn to when it comes to paparazzi. She has a reputation for dealing with them as well as anybody can be expected to - that translates to her only flipping them off every other month. Believe me, if you knew what the paparazzi were like you would be impressed by her self restraint. Generally speaking though, she's pretty level headed when it comes to the press. Her only slip ups tend to occur when there's a boyfriend or ex-boyfriend involved. Then all bets are off as she forgets who she is and where she is (namely, in public - see previous incident where Marco Lame-o rearranged my face).

Today, there was a first in my life. Today was the first time the paparazzi have ever engulfed me from all sides (and I mean in that way where you have to physically fight through them to walk) when I did not have a celebrity with me. It scared the shit out of me. I mean, being mobbed is never a fun feeling and it's often pretty hairy, but at least I always know it's not personal. They want Sophie or they want Justin, I get that. I pretty much hate it but I get it. Why the fuck does anybody want to crowd me for my own sake? I'm not special.

"I just… why else would they do that to me when he's not around?" Yes, okay, I'm paranoid, but I can't help suspecting nefarious motives. My spider sense is tingling.

"Chels," she tells me patiently, "you might tell them where he is or let loose a snippet, or else they can print a nice big picture of you and claim you're his latest fling. They just snap whatever they can get in case it makes a story later. I mean, heck, I saw a picture of you in 'Fab or Flop' today."

"What?!" My screech may not be audible to human ears, it's so high pitched. 'Fab or Flop' is a segment in one of the lamer trashy gossip rags where they print pictures of celebrities and rate their outfits. Most of the glossies do it too, but the rags are more vicious.

"Oh don't worry, they said you were snow bunny chic and I must have taught you well," she giggles.

I try to talk, but it comes out as a splutter. The numerous shots I did in that stupid game earlier don't help. "That's not the point!"

"Relax, honey," she tells me like I'll actually do that. "Justin… they're a lot nosier about him for some reason, and especially about women around him. That's all it is, they'll forget all about you when you come back to work for me."

To some that might sound like the ultimate back hander - I however know what she means and it's actually kind of comforting. For the first time in a while I see a perk to returning to the Lumos fold. "You think?"

"I do. I wish it would be sooner, I miss you chica. Sometimes it feels like he's going to keep you para siempre and I'll never get my Chelsea back! I love her and all but mi hermana sucks at the whole girly thing, we never have half as much fun as me and you do." If you didn't know, 'para siempre' is forever in Spanish. Sometimes she can be heartbreakingly sweet.

"But on the other hand, you're working right now and I'm being paid to go on vacation," I tease.

"You hate snow."

"Well next time I'm holding out for Hawaii."

Her tinkling laugh skips through the line, and I can imagine her giggling with a delicate hand to her mouth. "Apart from snow and asshole photographers, how is it?"

"Oddly fun, though I still hate snowboarding." Despite Justin's claims to the contrary, practice did not make perfect or warm me up to the sport.

"How's he?"

"Nice attempt at casual."

"I am casual! How is he?"

I'd almost have to laugh at her if her little crush didn't make me so nervous. It's extremely awkward knowing that a) I slept with him first and b) Justin really doesn't like her much any more. I still feel like that's my fault, like I've totally misrepresented her. I mean, okay, she annoys the shit out of me sometimes but she's like a sister. You know, she steal your shoes and drives you nuts but you love her and you'd be there for her in a heartbeat? Sometimes Kennedy annoys me too but I still like her - it's just that as my boss Sophie is in a better position to inconvenience and thus annoy me. I don't like the idea that Justin thinks she's some vacuous Hollywood doll just because I gripe about her sometimes.

"A little pissed at photographers, but apparently he actually likes snow so this place is all good for him."

Again she laughs and it makes me miss her smile. "Good, good. I get the impression he's annoyed with me."

What? How did she… umm, I mean, of course not. Ahem. "Why would you think that?"

"Apparently I call you too much."

"Why would you think he thinks that?"

"Mostly because that's what he replied the last time I sent him a text."

Oh SHIT that's not good. That's really not good. Wait, why is he sending mean text messages to my employer? For one thing, she's my friend, and for another she's still the boss of me and it is actually pretty nice of her to let him keep me when his ass doesn't actually need a PA now he's come off that tour. Well, okay, he still does have meetings and stuff so I guess he does need a PA, but he needs one less than she does. She's on full blown promotion right now, and for the first time in forever she agreed to attend a convention for Tomb Dwellers (the sci-fi show that made her famous).

Let me go on a tangent here to tell you how much of a big deal that is. Sci-fi fans love their conventions. They get talks with the guests, they get picture and autograph sessions, they get to party with the stars and it's a great experience for them. It's also a great experience and real job validation for the actors… until they get as huge as Sophie. Then it gets kind of dangerous. Sophie used to do the circuit all the time before she blew up, but then after a couple of goes around where she was getting mobbed and grabbed and molested we quickly worked out that she could not safely attend them any more. They're too open and free for all.

So I'm guessing she's more panicked than she's letting on about doing it again (she said because it's the fifth anniversary of the last episode and she wants to show appreciation for her roots she has to do it). It sounds like Enrique's running himself ragged organising the security, and apparently even the event organisers are nervous about meeting the fan demand for picture and autograph sessions and making sure she's well protected without totally cutting her off. She could really use me right now, but she's very kindly letting me stay with Justin.

So the ass needs to be a little more grateful and stop sending my friends rude text messages.

"Don't mind him, he's probably just kidding."

"I didn't get that impression…"

"No, I'm sure he is. He's just real sarcastic is all, half the time I can't work out whether he's kidding or not either."

"You two sound like you're getting pretty close."

Great, She's got me breaking out in cold sweat twice in as many minutes. "Umm, I suppose so."

"That's good. You know sometimes I worry about you honey, you got me and Kennedy and your family and that's about it, and it sucks. You hide your light under a tree…"

"Bushel," I automatically correct the rare English/Spanish flub up.

"Umm, I think the hiding being a bad thing is the more salient point," she teases. She also used a smarty pants word like 'salient' to remind me she's better at English than her occasional ignorance of such phrases might suggest. "Sometimes I just wish you'd get out there more, I think it would be so good for you."

"I'm on vacation with a whole bunch of people I barely know and still doing okay. Do I get points for that?"

"Hmm…" she pretends to ponder it for a second. "Yeah, that's good. Points for Chelsea."

"Perks of working with JT," I joke. "Boy can't cope without a ton of people everywhere."

I shouldn't have mentioned him, because she's back on that subject again. "Do you think he hates me?"

"What? No!"

She sounds unhappy when she answers me. "He's just been so off with me, even when all I'm doing is just passing on a message for you. I don't know what I did wrong."

Oh the guilt, the guilt. I can feel it seeping through my skin, seeping right into me, and let me tell you the damn stuff itches. I might as well have rubbed a bunch of poison ivy on myself, that's how uncomfortable I am right now.

"He can just be kind of crabby, don't take it to heart."

"It's hard not to."

"Because you have a crush on him?" I ask.

"No," she scoffs. "I'm a big girl, I can deal with a crush not liking me back. It's just…" Her voice softens again and it's just so melancholy. It's like I just popped some kind of downer. "I don't want anybody mad at me."

That's Sophie all over. Sometimes I think half the reason she works so hard at playing the nice girl and doing well in her films is that she can't stand it if she's not liked. She wants everybody to like her. It probably sounds vain, but I don't think it is; to be honest I think it's the opposite. I think she's insecure underneath all the pep and effervescence and her measure of success is other people liking her. Her rationale is that if you can befriend anybody and make them smile, you're doing something right. She says people appreciate friendliness and manners and if you can leave a room having left a good impression it's because you behaved well and you're being a decent person.

Hell maybe that's not insecurity, maybe that's good thinking. Possibly I should try that - I think I just leave a perfume smell when I leave rooms.

"He's not mad at you!" I insist.

***

Oh shit she's mad at me.

Chelsea hasn't spoken to me in two hours, but that's not how I know she's mad at me. Nick and Rachael haven't spoken to me in two hours either because they turned down the after party in my cabin for some shut eye, only Eddie and Matt are still here. We're just kicking back and having some more beers, nothing heavy, but the others wanted to sleep because we're hitting the slopes early again tomorrow. That explains why Chelsea not speaking to me is not how I know she's mad at me, because her not being here was not based on any sort of ire.

The text message asking 'Y the fuck r u b-ng an ass 2 soph' was the big hint that she was mad at me.

"Shit, dude!" Matt's yelling causes my head to snap up from my phone. It also makes Eddie nearly fall off his stool, that's how far he jumped out of his skin.

"What?" Eddie asks wildly, looking around him like Matt's just spotted a fire.

"I swear there was a camera at that fucking window!"

Heh. Now I'm mad too.