There is nothing I hate more than being called into my publicist's office to be lectured. As far as I'm concerned I pay Ken to look out for my public interests and field all the calls I don't have the time to take, not to be my babysitter or my damn teacher. There are only a handful of people alive that I will let lecture me, and last time I checked Ken was not a parent or grandparent to me.

Or, okay, occasionally I might let Trace lecture me if I really screwed up.

I hate his office, too. It's so… sanitized. I suppose that comes hand in hand with what he does, cleans up his clients' public messes and shit, but it's way too sterile to be inviting. Everything is all white walls and bleached light wood. Even the paintings are all monochrome - I mean, damn, would a splash of colour kill you? The seats are all those thousand dollar things you see in those designer home magazines that might look flashy but are the most uncomfortable things ever. I notice that he doesn't sit in them; he has a normal office chair.

"Justin?" He says after a prolonged silence. "Are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening," I respond. "I just don't know what you expect me to do about it."

"She's your assistant, can't you control her?"

I nearly spit out the sip of water I just took. "Excuse me? Control her? She's not a fucking dog, Ken."

"We don't need this right now," he tells me stubbornly.

"Well this isn't her fault, she's not doing anything! Even if I wanted to order her around like a mongrel there's nothing she could do to stop this Ken! I thought you were supposed to be the big expensive publicist, aren't you supposed to get this shit better than I do?"

Normally I try not to swear around him - I find it's best to stay the right side of formal in business - but come the fuck on. I'm regretting even coming to him with this. I expected him to do something positive to contain it, but now I see all he wants to do is lay the finger of blame on Chelsea. Even Trace has confirmed that I am not just being blinded by the booty with this whole debacle - Chelsea is genuinely blameless.

Somebody (wish I knew who) has leaked the story that Chelsea no longer works for Sophie. I honest to God have no idea who it was. As much as I'd like to assume it was somebody in her camp, I have to be open to the possibility it was some asshole in mine. This wouldn't be such a problem, except that the tabloids have decided to make something out of this. Normally it wouldn't be such a big deal, but because Sophie and I are big names they want blood in the water and they want the next celebrity feud.

The problem from my perspective is that there are a few different versions of what has happened going round, and none of them are correct. Some people claim that I just stole her with no regard for Sophie, made her an offer she couldn't refuse. Some are claiming that Sophie fired Chelsea for being more concerned with me than her. There's some speculation that I'm sleeping with Chelsea and she quit to be with me, and there's a few other accusations going around of various things. None of these make me look especially good, which is what Ken's concerned with. He says it looks bad if I stole somebody else's assistant. I did not steal her Sophie dumped her, but Ken doesn't like that version of events true or not.

Chelsea doesn't like that version either. The problem for her is that she's screwed no matter which way people choose to take it, and it's seriously affecting her job hunt. It looks bad for her if she got fired, naturally, and it makes her look disloyal if she quit so she could defect to my entourage. The problem is that the only way for her to come out of this with any hope of a job is to tell the truth, and she won't do that to Sophie's reputation even if she is steaming mad at her. Plus, even then it's not guaranteed that somebody won't think she sold Sophie out to save her own skin and thus she's a liability.

And yet Ken thinks this is her fault? Like if she behaved differently they'd stop? She hasn't done a damn thing except pick up my dry cleaning and make my calls.

"What I'm concerned with, Justin, is what precisely is going on with you and Chelsea? If there's something there I need to know."

No he doesn't, he needs to know jack shit about my sex life. He's not supposed to comment on my private stuff anyway.

"Don't change the subject," I say to him (somewhat hypocritically considering that's exactly what I'm attempting to do). "I want to know where these stories are coming from. I also want to know what photos they have of me and Chelsea."

Here's the other big snag - OK is claiming to have some major pictures of me and her. They don't exactly explain why they're major, but I'm terrified it'll give the game away. I'm not particularly concerned if people know I'm with Chelsea, but I think she is and it'll send her running just as I think I'm starting to wheedle my way into her heart. Thankfully the pictures of us after our lunch were nothing more than us with an arm around each other walking, they could just as easily have been me and Mom, so there's plausible deniability there (my fans will do the hard work on that one for me, little do they know).

"Hmm…" My distraction tactic worked, because Ken's now frowning. "I've got people working on it. I'm just not sure if they're trying to make something out of nothing or if they've actually got something that reasonable people would give credence to."

"Do you think I should sit tight or maybe try and disappear somewhere?" I ask. "Memphis? Maybe if I'm not visible they'll let it go."

"No, don't run," he says. "Makes you look like you have something to be ashamed of. Hang tight, just try to stay low key."

"What's Sophie said to all this?" I ask.

I know she's been trying to get hold of Chelsea but Chelsea, naturally, is even less inclined to talk to her than before. Same goes for Kennedy, actually. She's been hanging with Rachael a lot now she's back and every other day she's telling me about a date with some friend she hasn't seen in years, but I know she's overcompensating. It got to the point where every time Kennedy or Sophie would leave a message or text her she would just kind of stare at her phone for five minutes after. It was so obvious she wanted to call them back. I think if this media drama hadn't happened to open the wounds back up, she'd have called them by now. I'm guessing the fact that they landed her in this mess and have now made it impossible for her to get another job has kind of set their cause back.

"I actually had a meeting with her and Eliza yesterday afternoon," he informs me. "Eliza's not sure how to handle this either. Problem is that even a statement just wishing Chelsea well begs the question of why she's gone, and we can't come up with a spin on it that doesn't make somebody disloyal."

This is just great. This is the magic problem solving genius that I pay all that money for? Rip off.

"On the bright side," Ken says as he shuffles some papers far too loudly, "at least this has got them off the subject of girlfriend beating."

***

After a sucky day of meetings with people who aren't fixing things like I pay them to, it's somewhat of a relief to be driving into Chelsea's lot. Trace is already at her apartment with Rachael, we're having dinner and a movie. She even told me the sneaky route round the back, so I could avoid the photographers at the gate. I can see why they'd never find it, it's tucked behind all these back streets and lock up garages. Chelsea said she only ever used it when bringing Sophie back, trying to sneak her in, but it's doing a good job of sneaking me in.

This is only going to be like the third time I've been in her apartment - the first was that still amusing encounter with the pizza boy and the hair rollers. It'll be the first substantial time I've spent there too. Part of that is just that my house is bigger and it's further away from prying eyes, but part of it I think is Chelsea holding back her own space, and I take the invitation as a sign that she's slowly letting me in.

Yep, I admit it, I'm infatuated. Love is too strong a word, but I really dig this girl and I do care about her a lot. Her holding me at arm's length the way she does is understandable, but it is a little bruising. I know she's had some drama in the past but I don't think I've given her any reason to doubt my intentions. Heck, I treat her like a fucking queen and in a town where a lot of personal assistants get treated like shit, I think I'm deserving of a little more credit than I'm getting.

It's a good job her name is on her buzzer, because I totally forgot which apartment she is. It takes a second, but soon a crackly voice tells me to come on up and the door releases. I stride up the stairs two at a time, wanting to get safely behind closed doors as soon as possible. Whenever the media get on my case like this I feel very exposed in open areas. That sucks, I'm a citizen and I have rights like everybody else, but the paparazzi seem to think I sold them for a recording career. I think that's all kinds of bull shit but apparently my opinion don't count.

"Hey cousin," Rachael answers the door with a spoon in her hand and a smile on her face. She gives me a one armed hug before disappearing back into the apartment and leaving me to guide myself in.

"Hi!" I call out as I make my way through. A short hallway opens out in the living room, where Trace is sprawled out on the sofa arranging bottles of soda, wine and Jack Daniels.

"Dude," he greets me casually as he sets out coasters for the tall tumblers Chelsea has put out.

"T," I answer back. I see now I'm inside that the living room expands out into a small kitchenette, the dividing line being where tiles meet carpet. The kitchen's just big enough for the necessities and a table for maybe four or six. It's all very neat and tidy, but the décor is a little… well, eclectic. It looks like she just bought a bunch of stuff she liked and didn't stop to think if it all quite went together.

Hey." I sidle up behind Chelsea and wrap my arms around her waist, peering at what she's doing. In one pan she's stirring an odd green concoction, and in the other she's spooning salsa over some nachos. I guess that's why Rachael is grating all that cheese. "Something smells good," I tell her.

"Thai green curry," she tells me. Excellent, it's meant to be green; I was worried for a second. It does actually smell good though, hint of coconut - makes me wanna go to Hawaii or something. Actually, given the day I've had, that's tempting.

"Did you make that from scratch?" I ask her as I ignore Rachael's pointed looks in my direction. Naturally Rachael saw the sexual tension a mile off, so I confessed to the whole Chelsea situation. Rachael thinks I'm being a pussy and I should just sit her down and make her have 'the talk' whether she wants it or not, but I think if I force her Chelsea will just tell me where to go.

"Will you still think I'm a domestic goddess if I say no?"

I loop a strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. "No."

"Then yes I did," she lies. I laugh, give her a light smack on the butt and then turn my attention to the table of beverages. I'm parched.

"You ladies want drinks?"

"Oh, get me some rosé please!" Rachael responds. Chelsea just shakes her head, so I go attack the wine bottle for my cousin.

"So what was Ken's verdict?" Chelsea calls back from the kitchen.

Oh shit. "Umm, he's working on it."

"Translation?" She asks knowingly.

"He's got jack."

"What do you even pay him for?" She asks crossly. Funny, I was asking myself the same.

So anyway, people," Trace calls from the sofa. "Did we pick a movie yet?"

"I kind of like the look of that Fracture thing Ryan's in," Rachael says.

"No." That was me, I have to veto it. Ryan and I go way back and the dude's cool as hell, but I cannot watch my childhood buddy in sex scenes. It's just weird. It's almost as bad as watching my sex scene with Christina in Black Snake Moan back - God I go crimson whenever I see that. I know objectively it looks hot as hell but that's ME naked all over the joint. It's weird looking at it.

"I still want to watch that Elizabeth DVD I bought but apparently costume dramas are not for such big manly men as the munchkin," Chelsea snorts.

"HEY!" The yell comes from Trace.

"Well are we in the mood for murder and intrigue or action or romance?" Rachael asks.

"Not romance," Trace and I answer her as one.

"You know, this is my apartment and my TV," Chelsea says thoughtfully as she tastes a little of the rice, checking whether it's done and then peering into the oven to see if the cheese is nice and melted on the nachos. "I could just put Dirty Dancing on and you guys would have to deal with it whether you like it or not."

"Meh, I never saw the big deal with that movie." See, this is why I love my cousin. She's a girl, but she's not totally caught up in the predictable girly shit.

"Get out of my house," Chelsea mutters darkly as Rachael sticks her tongue out at her.

To our surprise, the buzzer goes off. I don't know why, it was just supposed to be the four of us. Immediately a glance shoots between us all, wondering if one of the paparazzi has got bold. It wouldn't be the first time. I've had the bastards dress up as delivery men before. These days I'm more careful - anyone delivering anything has to inform me when they're coming, anyone who wasn't expected gets told to deliver to the gate house on my community and I'll go pick it up from there. The guards who look after it know what the paparazzi are like so they're cool about it.

"Hello?" Chelsea says quizzically.

"Thank God," the voice comes through the buzzer. "Can you let me up chica, por favor? The bastards saw me and the flashes are going off like crazy."

Chelsea's hand comes off the intercom and she looks white. I can't say I'm too comfortable right now either. I suppose it was inevitable Sophie would just turn up eventually, she's not a woman to take no for an answer, but this is awkward. It'll certainly ruin the nice friendly evening we all had planned.

"Shit. What do I do?" She asks, looking at me. I shrug helplessly. I probably wouldn't let her up - I hold grudges. That's awful and I know it though, so I don't want to be the asshole who tells her to be cold.

"If they've seen her you're going to have to let her up, unless you want it all over the tabloids that you won't even see her now." Rachael, as ever, is the one to come up with the sensible advice. "Even if all you do is make her arrange to get escorted back out, you're going to have to let her in."

"Fuck." Chelsea angrily tosses the spoon back in the pan before reaching out and pressing the intercom. "Okay, but you better not let any of them through the door with you." She pushes the button that will unlock the door and let Sophie Lumos into the building.

She takes the pan off the heat and then mechanically starts straining the rice. Sophie couldn't have had worse timing - she's going to ruin our meal. Rachael quietly shuts off the oven and starts dealing with the nachos, but the atmosphere in the room has just disappeared. Before we were all laughing, now we're all quiet and nobody wants to say anything. Trace is fidgeting, his leg jiggling against the couch. Rachael has shown just how much of a relative of mine she is - all the women in my family get busy when they get uncomfortable. She's taken over dishing everything out and making herself useful. I could never work out if it's genetic or just something they pick up by example.

Chelsea… Chelsea's just rigid. She's staring down at the sink like somehow the plug hole will spit out some answers. I move behind her and try to massage her shoulders a little, do something to reassure her, but I don't think it's helping much. It seems like she's ignoring me, almost. I can't lie; it stings, even if I don't blame her for her mind being elsewhere. It just… I wish she'd let me in.

Then comes the inevitable knock on the door. Chelsea rips herself away from my hands and stalks over to it, much as I imagine a tigress stalks over to some dumb animal that's pissed her off and is about to know it. Wordlessly she throws open the door, and Sophie doesn't get so much as a greeting. She just immediately turns her back and moves back into the apartment, to all of us, while Sophie is left to trail in awkwardly behind.

"Oh… lo siento, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company. Hi guys."

Well, it would help if she called first. Then again, I suppose Chelsea's not exactly taking her calls. Maybe I shouldn't say this, but she looks like hell. Even the 'superstar' aura she always emits is having a tough time masking the dark circles or the strain in her face. The hair is perfect and the finger nails buffed, the jeans and the Burberry jacket impeccable, but she still looks kind of haggard. I think it's the eyes.

"Hi." Trace, Rachael and I all mutter the greeting lamely as one. We're all passing looks between us like we think we should leave them alone but it'd look way too obvious if we did.

"It crazy down there?" Naturally Trace is the one who cracks first. He's not good with awkward silences.

"God, yeah," Sophie says with a shudder. "I don't know how they knew I was coming. I even used my sister's car so I wasn't so obvious."

"They didn't know you were coming, they've been camped out on my door step for a week," Chelsea finally says with a bitter tint to her voice. There's an accusation in there, one of self absorption and one of getting her into this mess. Sophie doesn't miss it.

"Oh. I'm sorry. What can I do to fix it?" She asks awkwardly.

Chelsea's looking at her incredulously, and we all know what she's thinking. It's something along the lines of 'well if you hadn't fired me in the first place…' Still, I find myself feeling surprisingly bad for Sophie. It's obvious she's here to mend some bridges and she can't do it because we're all in the room. The question remains unanswered and being in here is like being in a stuffy room on a boiling hot day when you can't open any windows.

"I'll call Diego and get him to come get you out of here."

That didn't sound like much, but it was a direct rejection and we all knew it. Sophie has kind of crumpled into herself, looks like she wants to cry. She's fiddling with her overpriced designer bag like it's a lifesaver ring and she's drowning. Chelsea crosses the room to get to her phone and by doing so lands herself next to me. I brush my fingers against her arm and she looks at me, her brown eyes meeting mine. I thought I'd see anger but I just see someone very wounded. I raise an eyebrow, silently asking her if she's sure she wants to dismiss Sophie so fast. She gives me a tiny shake of her head and it dips down towards the phone, her hand trembling as she dials the number. My hand brushes her arm again, this time just to tell her I'm here and that I'll help.

When I look back up there's a new expression of Sophie's face. I can't quite read it. She looks half confused and half annoyed, and half like she's fighting with herself. Okay, I know that's three halves and that doesn't add up, but just go with me here. My eyes flick over to Trace who just seems confused, and then to Rachael who looks grim. I'm guessing whatever this is it takes a girl to know it, so I can't say her looking so worried fills me with confidence.

***

"Okay, what?" I turn on Rachael the second Diego has bustled Sophie out of here. We all just kind of ate our food in silence and Sophie sat awkwardly at the table, clearly trying to fight the urge to break down crying or to throw herself at Chelsea's feet. Sadly for her, Chelsea made it quite clear she would not be talking by taking her food to the couch, sitting with her back to her and becoming silent. Trace and I had to fill the silence with random football talk.

"What?" Rachael gets a wary grimace on her face.

"I know you saw it too. What was it about?"

"What was what about?" Chelsea asks.

"That weird expression Sophie had on her face when she was looking at you dialling Diego's number," I answer.

"What?" Chelsea just looks confused, twisting a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

Rachael shifts uncomfortably on the spot, folding her arms before tossing her dark hair back with a sigh. "I think she picked on the vibe with you two and she wasn't impressed. Though she kind of looked like she wasn't sure if she was just being paranoid."

"What's it matter to her?" Trace asks.

Okay, now Chelsea's getting a funny look on her face. First it was Sophie with her look and now it's Chelsea with her look, what is it with these women and their looks? Why can't they just look normal? You know, sometimes I feel like asking Lance if being gay saves you from this kind of shit or if it's not just chicks.

"Were we giving out a vibe?" Chelsea asks while chewing on a nail.

"Not like blatantly obvious 'we're screwing' vibe but our JT is a little touchy feely," Rachael snorts.

"Hey, why we trying to pin this on me?" I ask indignantly. I was just trying to offer some support, damn it, isn't that what concerned boyfriends are supposed to do? I mean, okay, not officially a boyfriend, but I might as fucking well be. Sheesh.

"Look, guys…" Chelsea rubs her hands over her face, suddenly looking about ten years older. "I'm sorry but this has just put me totally out of the mood for this whole evening. Can we re-schedule?"

"Hey, we got our food out of it, that's all we came here for anyway." Trace's joke doesn't lighten the mood any, but I think we all appreciate him trying.

Rachael and Trace says their goodbyes and leave together, since they both came in Trace's car. He'll drop her home, but I hang around because I still want to question Blondie over this whole thing. The whole situation doesn't feel right. I feel like there's something she's not telling me and it's yet one more thing she's holding back from me and I'm starting to get really cheesed off with the whole scenario. All this hot and cold shit has got to stop some time.

"Do you think I should've talked to her?" Chelsea finally says after a few moments of silent tidying up. She has a dishwasher and the girls cleaned the dirty pans while they went along, so there's not too much shit to get. I helpful pick up the soda bottles from the coffee table and start putting them back in the fridge. My momma taught me well.

"If you'd been alone I would have said yes, but with us there it was bad timing," I shrug. "So what's the real deal with that look thing?"

She lets out a deep sigh, fiddling nervously with her camisole as she thinks about what to say to me. For a moment I'm distracted by its thin straps and the amount of skin on show, but then I manage to focus again.

"Sophie has no idea anything happened between us, at all. I guess she just picked up the vibe and was surprised." What am I, like her dirty secret? When precisely is she planning on telling people that we're involved? (By people, I clearly do not mean the tabloids or the general public. I don't need the world knowing, but it'd be nice not to feel like her sordid little clandestine affair).

"Why would she look so pissed?" I ask.

She gives herself away with a facial twitch. She tries to shrug, but I give her the eyebrow that tells her I'm not buying it. With a loud exhalation of breath, she gives it up. "The reason I didn't mention it is that she kind of has a crush on you."

"She what?" Well fuck me sideways, I had no fucking idea. Kind of an ego boost that somebody considered that hot digs me, but I really can't say it's reciprocated. That's awkward. Though also kind of shitty of Chelsea not to tell her, now I think about it.

"She… GAH." She throws a wooden spoon violently into the sink. "She broke up with Marco the Bastardo and said she had a thing for you. But then she got back with Marco and seemed to forget you existed. In the meantime, she dumped me onto your tour without asking me and then you and me happened and I figured since she was all loved up with Il Creepo again it wouldn't matter to her. Except before I could mention it she dumped him and decided she liked you again, which put me in kind of an awkward position since I'd already boinked you by then, not to mention I knew that you weren't so fond of her."

Okay, I can't help it, I bust out laughing. "Boinked?"

"Shut up." She tosses a nacho at my head - thankfully a dry one that didn't get any salsa or cheese on it. "I just… fuck, Justin." She buries her head in her hands again and I have to admit I'm so amused by the girly drama of it all that I've kind of forgiven her for the secrecy. I stride over and wrap her up in a hug, and she swaps her hands for my chest. "I just didn't want to lose my job if she got huffy."

"Little late for that." I get a smack in the bicep for that one.

"I don't know what to do about anything any more," she sighs hopelessly.

"Well you don't have to figure it all out right this second," I tell her as I stroke her back. Monica once told me it was very soothing when I did that - here's hoping it's universal.

"True. I think I must just hit the hay and sleep on it," she says. "You staying?"

"Am I?" I ask her before thinking about what it sounds like. She pulls back from me, looking up at my face with a worried expression.

"What, you thought I'd kick you out?"

To this I can only shrug. I find it really irritating when people do what I'm doing right now, but I started something I'm not sure how to finish and now I'm coming off like I'm doing this on purpose to be infuriating. "I don't know. I'm not always sure where we are."

"Justin…" Chelsea's gaze is cast downwards, and she pulls right back from me, hands lingering on my chest. She kind of claps them against me, sighing. "I know what you want, and I know you've had a lot of patience with me, but…"

"I need to have a little more?" I ask with a sigh of my own. She nods earnestly, apologetically at me.

"I've been alone a long time and now all this with the jobs and back stabbing friends… it's a head fuck. I'm trying though, honestly. I mean, hey," she perks up a little, like she's found the perfect anecdote to placate me. "You know you're going to be the first guy I've had stay in this bed, ever."

"Really?" That did pick me up for a second, but then I narrow my eyes at her. "Is this the part where you tell me you only bought the thing a month ago?"

She gives me a laugh and shakes her head. "No, it's just that every guy I've been with since Will I stayed with them but didn't invite them here. So you should feel privileged."

"Wow. Way you're talking this up I'm expecting like the most miraculous bed ever in there. Real high thread count too."

Okay, so I started making lame jokes to try and diffuse the situation. Obvious tactic, I know, but it got me out of there. The funny thing is that for all the urging Trace has made for me to instigate this talk and all the whining I've done about when we'll have it… it seems to me like the talk was starting off right there, Chelsea was delving right in without hesitation and I'M the one that's pulled back. For all the on and off crap she's pulling, I'm the one that didn't want to go there - wasn't sure I was going to like what she said, if I let her say it.

Guess I'm not as sure as I thought as I was that I'm getting under her skin.