I don't know who said money doesn't buy happiness, but clearly he or she never had a decent shopping trip. I'm telling you, shopping has done what neither sex, chocolate or Starbucks could.

There is a down side to this great mood lifter - namely that I spent a fortune - but I officially don't care. A few hundred dollars is a small price to pay for feeling chirpier, right? I have new perfume, I have some gorgeous smelling bath lotions and potions to try, pretty new clothes and best of all shoes. I am now the proud owner of a beautiful pair of black satin Louboutins, so I laugh in the face of bankruptcy. I have pretty new bras, I have cute skirts and some fabulous smelling Stella McCartney so I have it all.

Well, okay, I don't exactly have a job right now but that's going to have to be a work in progress. At least Justin's still paying me in the meantime. It could be a lot worse; I could have been dumped on my ass with absolutely nothing coming in until I landed myself a new position. As it is I still have cash flow, there's a zillion TV and print interviews floating around in which my name has been praised and Justin has said he'll write me the most glowing reference ever if Sophie decides to be as much of a bitch about that as she was firing me (yes, okay, bitter) so at least it's not a total disaster. Heck, Paul Harless is even looking into the possibility of bumping my salary up to match Rachael's for the remainder of my time. They weren't that far apart, but do you see me turning down extra cash? A clue, no.

It was quickly decided by the Boss of Me (at the time Trace because the rightful Boss of Me a.k.a Me was having a slight crisis) that I was not allowed to feel sorry for myself. For a good few days there I ignored him and basically clung to Justin like gum to a sidewalk, but a little time has made me realise that was dumb. I mean, okay, it was nice to have all the manly hugs and comfort I could stand but being needy and whiny gets boring after a while- for me as well as everybody else. Even Justin was starting to get a little frustrated with my determination to stay down in the dumps, so I got up, shook myself off (not literally) and decided to get on with it.

Today I just needed a little retail therapy because other people are going to reap all the benefits of the dinner meeting I spent so long putting together.

Back to the point, I stood up and decided enough was enough. First on the list was staying in a bed that wasn't Justin's, so I insisted on removing myself back home. Apart from anything else our lack of status at the moment is not helped by me being on him like a bitch on heat - mixed signals and being a prick tease is not good - so I decided to step back and detach a little from him. I think he was also relieved, because like I said I was getting kind of clingy. Step Two has been me starting to dress like I care again, which for a few days there I didn't. It's weird how when I feel like crap I also want to look like it. It feels like outside should reflect inside. So today, outside reflects an improved inside; I'm sitting in this nice little bistro in a dress and heels and even some actual make up (I was letting the dark circles reign supreme for a moment back there).

Eventually, after keeping me waiting half an hour, my lunch partner arrives.

"Finally!" I whine. "I felt like a social outcast."

Trace smirks at me as I rise out of my chair to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Just like Justin, he waits for me to sit down first before making a move for his own chair. What I think is cute is that it's the briefest of pauses and I don't think either of them realises that they actually do it. I like the idea of having manners so well ingrained it's an unconscious reflex - just wish they could extend that to not burping in front of a lady. They're so gross when they do that. I bet those burps register on seismometers in Japan.

"Sorry, but even I can't get across LA in lunch time traffic in under half an hour."

"Ugh," I wave my hand dismissively and sip my Pellegrino. "It's not your fault. It's just that with Josie having to cancel on me last second I've been here an hour without ordering food. The waiters were starting to look at me like they didn't believe anybody was coming."

"Hmm." Trace turns his own water glass over and steals some H2O from my bottle. "In a 'she's been stood up and in denial' way or a 'she's crazy, nobody was ever meeting her' way?"

"Which one's worse?" I ask.

"Second one," comes his instant reply.

"Good thing it was the first one then. Now, hurry up and choose because I've had my order ready for like forty five minutes."

"Shit, woman," Trace ignores me as he eyes up the shopping bags at my feet. "How much money did you spend today?"

"Enough," I say.

It's a lot of bags, and I have to admit these are not exactly your standard shopping mall names on them. Well, I already mentioned Louboutin so that was probably a given. Still, I spent a lot of money on unnecessary designer shit today. I might feel better, but I had better not mention this to my father. He'll go on a 'you're only paying for the name' rant for sure. He claims there's no difference in quality; I disagree. Okay, you are mostly paying for a name but the clothes are much better quality. Not five hundred bucks a throw quality, but it's my money God damn it. It's not a scam if I know what I'm getting into.

Trace picks up his salad fork and twirls it absent-mindedly in his fingers. One eye in on the menu and one eye is looking suspiciously at me. "Didn't you tell me you were job hunting today?"

"Job hunting became shoe hunting," I say honestly.

"Chelsea…" he begins with a groan.

"Look," I say defensively, "not all of us are as thick skinned as you. I just got shit on by the two people I trusted most in the world and I just lost my livelihood. I need a minute to breathe before I pick myself back up, okay?"

"Okay, okay," he throws his hands up in surrender. "I just don't want days becoming weeks becoming months, is all. Sometimes it's better to just get it over with."

When precisely did what he wants become relevant? I thought this was my life here. Still, I know his heart is in the right place so I am graciously going to let that go. I may possibly file it away for later grudge holding but I'm evil like that.

When I don't answer him, he changes the subject. "So, tell me, did your doorman recognise you when you walked back in or had he forgotten what you looked like?"

"Oh ha ha." Trace is so not funny. He thinks he is, but he is so not. "It was like a week, he's not senile."

We're interrupted by the waiter, who looks surprised and somewhat relieved to see me with a companion. Thankfully Trace is predictable; he wants a steak and fries, while I'm plumping for the seafood linguine which looked particularly good to my rumbling stomach. After making Trace order his own water and getting the waiter to replenish mine, we're back in business.

"So we were talking about you sleeping over," he wiggles his eyebrows.

"Tell me, Trace, do you always live vicariously through your best pal?" I stick my tongue out at him playful and get a surreptitious middle finger back. We are in the middle of a nice restaurant, after all.

"Nah, I just wondered what was up."

"Don't you have said best pal to ask that?" I say as I take a sip of water.

"I'm not sure he knows either." If he wasn't just Trace talking in his Trace way, that could have been really accusatory.

Oh boy this topic just got awkward. Somebody needs to remind me why I called him to be my lunch date. Kennedy and Sophie are obviously crossed off the list these days but I have a sister and I have other friends and even a mother if I'm that desperate. Why was he so far up the list? I need to rewrite the list; clearly the balance of the list has been shot to Hell with the tandem betrayals.

"I don't know," is all I can say to him as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I'm breaking in a pair of new but less expensive shoes than the ones I bought today, and they're still kind of tight across my toes. They'll stretch, but it's annoying in the mean time. "Does anything have to be up?"

"You tell me."

"I hate cryptic trying to turn it back on me responses."

"Tough shit, you got one."

"We're just seeing how it goes," I tell him. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Unless seeing how it goes means different things for you and him."

"What does that mean?"

"You figure it out."

"What did I just say about putting it back on me?"

"You hate it. Again, tough shit." He shrugs affably and infuriatingly, before doing his Trace thing and changing the subject. "So have you talked to Sophie or Kennedy yet?"

"No," I say through gritted teeth. Trace is annoying the crap out of me right now. He's totally undoing all the good work I did with the shopping, too. I can just feel the tension creeping back in, starting from the base of my spine and slowly fanning outward; it's an unpleasant tightening sensation. "Not planning to."

"Really?" He asks. "I'd have to hear all the gory details before I told them to fuck off."

"I don't need to know much more than that Kennedy told my boss to fire me and my boss was stupid enough to do it."

"Will you keep glaring at me like you have been since I say down if I say I can kind of see Sophie's perspective?"

That really smarts, so he gets a triple strength glare for that. "Yes. How can you agree with her?"

"I didn't say I agree with her," he says as he rips open his roll and starts liberally applying butter. "I said I can see her perspective. I know she's a little self-centred but she does actually care about you, Chels. If what Kennedy said was convincing enough to make her think that she was holding you back I can see why she'd do it if she thought it would help you."

"What, are you going to tell me now that you understand where Kennedy's coming from too?"

"Oh fuck no." He tears a great big chunk of bread off from his roll and at least attempts to chew a little of it before talking. His mouth is still half full as he speaks though. "I can see why she'd want to talk you into quitting but I don't know how the hell she'd think getting you fired would be helpful."

For some reason, talking about Kennedy sobers me up. The anger suddenly zooms out of me. I feel like somebody put a pin in me and I'm deflating. "God I hate her right now. I just don't understand why the fuck she did that."

"Me neither," Trace shrugs. "Of course, that'd be why I'd talk to her."

"Trace, I know you might act like a woman sometimes but you're not one and you have no idea how girl stuff works," I say snippily.

"Clearly. I'm not used to things that have no logic."

I'm about to toss down some money and flounce out of here with my bags. I don't know what has got into him today but it seems like he's purposely trying to push all my buttons. To be fair, I'm in a crappy mood anyway (who was I kidding, shopping is but a fleeting joy) so I'm reacting when normally I'd be able to resist, but he is just being a bastard today. What got his panties in a bunch?

He is only saved by the fact that Justin and his mother have walked through the door. Justin's too busy staring at the décor to spot me, but I see his mom catch sight of me and look happily surprised, tugging at Justin's arm and gesturing at me. He meets my eye and gives me a smile, following his mom over to our table.

"Well this is a surprise," Lynn says as she reaches the table and gives me a quick squeeze around my shoulders. "How are y'all doing? When did you get here?"

"I've been here a while, Trace just joined me a few minutes ago," I answer. I'm still angry but I have to smile at her, because she's nice and doesn't act like a prick to piss me off (mentioning no names, especially not that of Ayala). "Do you guys want to join us? We only just ordered."

"Love to!" She exclaims. We're at a table for four anyway so this is not much of a problem. At the time I hadn't understood why they seated what was supposed to be a party for two at a table for four when there was a table for two open by the door and bigger parties than mine were still waiting, but I never understood restaurant logic.

As it turns out, this works. I'm happy to be saved the inquisition - I felt I was being grilled more than the food was going to be. I give Justin a wry grin as Lynn quickly and without subtlety sits herself down in the chair next to Trace. This leaves Justin with no choice but to slide in next to me - funnily enough, I'm up against the wall so the seats here are not separate chairs but a bench, and we're sitting more together than just next to each other. Hmm, I wonder why she did that?

I guess Justin really does tell his mother everything.

***

I can't help thinking that something was happening between Chelsea and Trace before me and Mom got to the restaurant. Not in a romantic sense, far from it. It's just that there was a real atmosphere between them and try as my mother might to be the life and soul of every gathering, even she couldn't mask all of it.

It must have looked really convenient that we just happened to show up there, but I swear I had no idea. I knew Trace was meeting Chelsea for lunch but though I wondered for a moment why she asked him not me, I still just waved him off and said 'see you later.' I never asked where he was going. Possibly Chelsea picked this place because I kept saying we'd have to go some time - I love it here. They have a really wide range of stuff so it's one of the few restaurants I don't have to be in a particular mood to go to. Sushi places are all very well, but you have to be in the mood for Japanese. It's the same with Indian or Thai places, but this place does a pretty good mix.

It was just weird -I kept catching them eyeballing each other like something had been said that couldn't be taken back. I think whatever it was must have come from him though. My only proof of this is that while she looked irritated he looked wary, but that's my theory and I'm sticking to it. Doubtless next time I speak to my mother out of earshot she'll have it all decoded. She has that weird Mom intuition thing; I don't pretend to understand it but I do respect its accuracy rate.

We're walking back to the cars now. We're all in different lots and going to different places, so I probably won't see Trace or Chelsea again until tomorrow now. After a most excellent week of her being in my bed next to me every night, she said it was time for her to go home. Part of me didn't want to let her, but a bigger part of me was kind of tired of her moping and understood that Stella needed to go home for a while to get her groove back. Hopefully she'll be back soon enough - or maybe we could try her place. For all the time she's worked for me I've seen little of the place.

Trace and Mom are walking a way in front, talking about his Mom and what she's doing to her living room now she's redecorating. Chelsea and I are quieter, only exchanging the odd word, but I don't give a shit because she's actually holding my hand right now. She is holding my hand and in public, too.

"So did you do any job hunting today or did you get sidetracked?" I tease her lightly, lifting the bags I'm carrying for her in my other hand. For a second she bristles, but she seems to relax when she sees the smile on my face.

"I needed the shoes. The shoes called to me."

"Not like there's any rush, you can stay with me long as you need. Oh, speaking of which," I tell her, "I talked to Rachael and she said she'll be back next week."

"Oh?" Chelsea asks, looking a little nervous to my eyes.

"Don't worry," I reassure her. "She's ecstatic about the job sharing, says she'll still need some free time to sort her remaining shit out so you being around is perfect."

"Oh thank God," Chelsea breaks out into a grin, finally relaxing and admitting it. "I was scared for a second."

"Relax, you're golden."

I swing our joined hands a little as we fall back into a more amiable silence. There may or may not be some checking out of her butt, which I was very pleased to see in William Rast. Thank you, thank you - yes I do rock, you're far too kind. I'm still not sure how she managed to get around all those stores in those heels though, much less keep up with me while we walk. I'm taller than her and my stride is longer.

"Justin?" She asks.

"Yep?"

"If you were in my position would you be taking calls from Kennedy or Sophie right now?"

"Hell no," I shake my head. "I'd be too pissed."

"Do I think I'm being unreasonable?"

I'm not ashamed to admit it; I'm looking at her like she has two heads. "Where'd you get that notion?"

"Just something someone said." Then, to my unequalled surprise, she looks down at our fingers and changes the subject. "Are we on the same page?"

"Not really, I have no idea why you're feeling guilty about those two when they screwed you over."

"No, I mean you and me. This." She gestures between us with an index finger, the bags she's still carrying rustling together in her hand. Now I'm even more confused, what the heck was in that water she was drinking?

"Well, we're… just kind of getting closer and seeing how it goes, right?" I ask nervously. I hope that was a good answer. Questions like that are so frickin' loaded - if you go too far down the commitment route you scare them off being too much too soon, but if you're too laid back they think you just don't give a shit. I really HATE questions like this.

I'm taking her slight sigh as one of relief and not frustration. "Yeah, good. Just checking."

Chelsea continues walking but I've involuntarily stopped, so she's halted by my lack of movement, jerked back a little by our still entwined hands. My brows are furrowed and my lips pursed in an obvious 'what the fuck' expression, and she's looking sheepishly back at me.

"We alright?" I ask suspiciously.

"Yeah, yeah." She nods compulsively. "I just… I just thought of it for a second there is all. It's no big."

I don't believe her for one solitary second, but still I wrap a conciliatory arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her head before starting to walk on again, pulling her with me. It takes her a moment to reciprocate, but soon we're back to our comfortable stroll - though we've now fallen behind quite a way.

"Shit… did you see a flash?" Chelsea asks me out of the blue.

"No, where?" My eyes are immediately skirting the surroundings for paparazzi. There are a lot of them around this town and I really hope they didn't catch that kiss or the hand holding. Slinging arms around each other can be friendly and thus deniable, but kisses on the head and walking around with your fingers locked together screams for headlines: 'Justin's New Girlfriend!"

"God I hate this town," she mutters as we pick up our pace - now she is struggling to keep up in those shoes.

"Me too," I tell her.

"Between backstabbing actresses and climbing career ladders and paparazzi, sometimes I wonder why I still live here."

"But what would you do without me?" I joke lamely.

For just a brief moment she touches her head to my shoulder, just a little nudge (I like to think an affectionate one), but she doesn't answer me.