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Ok, so... What the hell am I doin' starting a new one with others unfinished? Well I'm not sure...shoot me.

This one has been inspired by all the recent Justin activity. I've actually had the idea in my head for some time now but with all the new stuff I just had to start writing it. It's been one of those things where it was bursting to come out so I started writing and couldn't stop. Thanks to Court (ialwayzbesingin), of course, as always, for helping with the inspiration and thanks to Megan (LilMissHonkyTonk) for your never-ending willingness to pre-read.

And yeah, so what...main girl's name is Meredith...get over it.

This story has 4 point of views. Be ready to commit to this one. I have 11 chapters already written, so I'm going to try and post pretty regularly with this one. Also I have outlined it and there shoudl be 44 chapters in total....so... I hope you enjoy...

Without further ado...

"But say today and she may look your way and lead you home..." -Iron and Wine

Look Your Way
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Chapter 1

42nd and Broadway, 1:03 pm

It's days like these that I have to remind myself why I'm where I am and who I am, who I am really deep down inside. These are the days that grate on my nerves and yet, oddly enough, Angie tells me they are some of the most important days of my career. Funny, I always thoughts those days were created in the studio or on stage. But then once again, I'm proved wrong. Like Courtney, she's proved me wrong countless times today. I think she gets some sort of sick pleasure out of it.

But that would make her too much like Leah and, and I don't want to go there.

No, this new chick is just uptight. She's the type of girl that always made me nervous when I was younger. She's on the ball, has a palm pilot and is constantly on her cell phone or reviewing a schedule. She's always dressed classy, not like a suit, but khakis and a button down shirt. Here I am in these too tight jeans and heels and this push up bra that makes my boobs ache and scratches my nipples. I mean, lace is pretty an all but really, if you're not sleeping with anyone it really serves no purpose but to scratch your boobs.

I glance over and she's on her phone. I think she's talking to Angie. She's probably telling her how it was my fault that I didn't answer my phone yesterday. I couldn't help it. I was still a bit jet lagged and tired from that club appearance I had to do the night before and wanted a nap on my break, just a one hour nap. But when I didn't meet Courtney down in the lobby and didn't answer the phone when she called to see where I was, I got in big trouble.

I was late, an hour late to an MTV interview. And I know, I know damn well you just can't be late for those types of things. But I didn't go to sleep thinking "ooo I hope I don't wake up and I'm late." I think she thinks that that's what I want, that I wanted to be late yesterday, that I wanted to rush and freak out, and that I wanted to not only miss an interview but almost be a no show for a live taping of TRL. She probably really does think that I just don't care about these interviews.

And ya know what? In a way I don't. Shouldn't the music just be good enough on its own? But I guess not. I guess when the world wants to know if you really are a party girl, or if I really do have a sexual relationship with my best friend then that's all that matters. Who cares if I have a number one single right?

I have a number one single.

I smile.

It's been number one for two weeks.

I smile even more and almost laugh.

I look over at her again and she's digging in her purse for something. It's like this grandma style purse, big and leather and ugly. I guess it's more like a briefcase or a satchel. Man, maybe she needs to get laid. I laugh. Maybe I need to get laid. What the hell am I talking about? I've never been laid in my life, I mean never like a wham-bam moment. I don't know why I keep thinking somehow I'll magically get a man. In this business I'll be lucky to get hooked up in the tabloids. Maybe Jake Gyllenhall. I think he's free. Hmm…that'd be hot. I can see it now: Jake and Mere, together in love on the cover of People. And I've never even met the guy.

God, if I have to hear that damn Fur Elise ring tone one more time I'm going to vomit. I look over and hear, "You have three more interviews this afternoon. If you are hoping for a break, pray that whoever this is will cancel." I roll my eyes and frown. Could she be more depressing?

I guess not. I guess she could pretend to be a friend and then sell some fake story to US Weekly. I frown. You're supposed to stop thinking about that. Remain happy, remain calm. No, Courtney's good. She's very professional, clearly great at her job. I know Angie wouldn't have picked her if she didn't think she could handle it. Hell, I think Angie wants her to handle me. But I don't need handling. I need her to get off my back, but this new chick has made a permanent home there and it's starting to really annoy me.

I mean, she's nice and all, I think, but she just needs to live a little. She doesn't even think my jokes are funny. Ok, so most of the time my jokes aren't funny, but still.

She's on the phone and I know it is someone wanting another interview by the way she sounds. I hope to God she doesn't pencil me in. I already have a full schedule and I can only fake smile and fake peppiness and fake enthusiasm so much. Thank God the people at my last interview were fairly laid back about everything.

"No, I'm sorry Miss Craven is booked all afternoon. If you give me your name and number I will talk with my client and see if I can schedule a meeting some other time this week."

She calls me Miss Craven on the phone? The last time I was called Miss Craven was in 11th grade by my math teacher Mrs. Swallsby. She was 75 and wouldn't retire.

I hear her repeat a telephone number and it sounds familiar, but I don't know where to place it. I flip open my own phone and see there are no missed calls and no messages. Dammit Megan, you were supposed to call me and let me know how your date went last night. I smile to myself, she better not still be on the date. Little @#%$.

"Ok, thank you Mr. Ayala, I will call you back as soon as it's convenient."

My head shoots up and stare at her. Did she just say…

"Mr. Ayala?"

She snaps the phone closed and places it in her lap. She has a piece of paper in her hand. I know what's on that paper. It's what I wanted so bad to ask for two months ago, what I was too chicken to ask for. I stare at it. "Yes, a Mr. Trace Ayala wanted me to pencil you in for a meeting with his client today and I told him you were too busy." She stares at me hard. "Because you are. You have no time for anything extra."

"Well make time!" I panic. She can't just…no! I almost laugh. It's been too long and I'm not going to just let this opportunity slip by. How did he know I was in New York? Wait, how the hell did I not know he was in New York! I shake my head. I wonder how he got my number and I wonder if maybe he's had it all along. I bite my lip and stare at that paper some more. "You have to call him back and do something for me Courtney, you just have to."

"And you have more interviews and have to get ready for that big party tonight. You have to go, and I don't care what you say. Angie told me you have to stay the entire time. No skipping out."

I plead with her. "Please, just call him back."

"No."

I glare. And then @#%$ the paper from her hand before she can file it in her traveling rolodex.

"Meredith!"

I dial the number as fast as possible and smile to myself before she can do anything about it. I swear to God if she snatches the phone from my hand I'll sue her and make Teddy throw her out of this car.

It rings and I hear a sigh "This is Trace…" He sounds annoyed, tired.

I laugh, "What up, mutant?"

He laughs deeply, "Is this @!#!%?"

"Don't call me that!" I hate that nickname. Actually I don't mind when Trace calls me that. Anyone else who says it makes me hate them for life. But I guess I have a good reason.

"So, who was that @#%$ on the phone?"

"That's my new assistant. And don't call her that, she's just doing her job." I glance over and she's glaring at me. Ok, so maybe she's a little bit of a @#%$.

"Who found her? The label?"

"Angie picked her."

"Well tell Angie to unpick her. She's way too uptight and I only talked to her for five seconds."

I laugh. I love Trace. He's so great. I wish I had an assistant like him. He's always relaxed and laid back and yet knows how to work, when to work and when to just chill. And he gets things done. Prompto. Angie said Courtney had a lot of experience. Yeah, maybe in plain white toast land but down here in this world we like jelly and butter, none of this hard and dry crap. "She's only been working a couple of days."

"This might seem odd, but please, if you're gonna talk about me do it behind my back and not in my face."

I look away and roll my eyes as we crawl through New York. You'd think it wouldn't take that long to get a couple blocks down the street. It probably would have been quicker to walk. Yeah, I'm sure Teddy would have loved that. I clear my throat and realize that Trace is just hanging on the other line and he probably knows what I'm about to ask. So, I go ahead and ask it, "Anyway, um…is Justin around?"

I feel my face burn. God, I'm pathetic. I can't even keep a simple crush a secret.

"Yeah, he's just in the other room. What time you want me to tell him you're coming?"

I sigh and just adore how he assumes I can drop everything and go hang out. I wish I could. I wish I didn't have interview after interview after meeting after dinner party after interview after gag me. But I do. "I don't know if I can..."

"You sound sick, Mere. You need to rest." I hear laughter and this time I think I can hear his laugh in the background. Well dammit, if he's not in the other room let me talk to him, you dumb mutant.

I laugh again. God, it feels good to laugh. Like really laugh. Not that fake laugh you do with interviewers and not me having to laugh at myself in front of Courtney to see if she'll crack a smile. A real laugh. "You're horrible, Mutey." I don't know why I call him that. I guess it's 'cause when I spent that week recording with them in LA everyone called him midget and I felt bad for him. He's not that short. He's taller than me. So instead of midget I call him mutant 'cause at the time he wouldn't shut up about that X-men movie. Of course he'll say it's 'cause I'm obsessed with his mutantly large penis.

And no, I don't know the size of his penis and I don't really want to.

"Yeah well...boss's idea. You get sick and he gets to wear his nurse outfit."

"Hmm, I don't know. Short white skirt, keds and a little hat seems worth it." I laugh at the image. "Maybe you're right." I clear my throat and start to cough and then try my best to sniffle.

"Oh no you don't."

I glance over and she's not even looking at me. Just staring at her palm pilot with a scowl. God, it was a joke. A joke lady! I make a mental note to find out where she comes from and make sure never to visit there.

"So, where are you guys at?"

"The Ritz, baby! Where else?"

I suppress the urge to squeal. It's the best damn news I've heard all @#%$ day. I use to stay at the Marriott, a nice suite and all, but now that I'm making big bucks, or whatever those people up Sony say, they've upgraded me. "Really?!" Ok, stop it Mere. That kind of was a squeal.

Trace chuckles, "Of course."

"Well, me too."

"You serious, girl?"

"That's what happens when you have a number one single." I'm not trying to brag. I'm just so excited. My first album, well, I'll be honest. It was pretty much crap. I mean, everyone was like, ooo up and coming new artist but no one really bought it. Yeah it had a couple of decent hits but it was a factory record. I had little say on it and most of the songs were generic. And then I was out in LA with my best friend looking to buy me my first house and we went to this club and I met this guy who happened to be best friends and the personal assistant to a very, very famous entertainer. Then the @#%$ hit the fan and the little session he had scheduled had to be canceled. I had to deal with the mess that was my life and my career and hope and pray that I wouldn't be drop kicked back to Georgia.

But about a week or two later I got this phone call, a phone call from that entertainer himself, apologizing, though he had no reason to, and rescheduling. We clicked in the studio, got along really well. It was a perfect mesh. We worked all week, for insanely long hours on three songs, one that's on my album and two that he might put on his. He got me the connections and introduced me to a lot of people, people who made it possible for me to have a number one single and a hot up and coming album.

And of course I developed a little crush along the way. But hell, who wouldn't in my shoes? He's attractive and kind and he helped me out when I was, quite honestly, pretty depressed. My world was flipped, my career almost ruined and he brought all that back for me.

"I heard about the single. It's a jam girl. It's hot." That makes me really smile. "We're on the fifteenth floor, 3012, come up when you get the chance." I love how he doesn't even question it. He knows I'll come up. He knows I'll figure out some way to come see them. It's not that I'm some pathetic teen who swoons over every hot guy. I think Trace knows that sometimes you need a familiar face once in a while in this business. I also think he understands how important it is for a girl like me to have someone that I can talk to, who's been there before, who has the same type of pressures I have and knows how to handle them. I mean really, he's a veteran in this business at 25. And even though I'm only a year younger, I'm just starting out. Plus, I'm pretty much certain that Trace knows I have the hots for his best friend.

I sigh and look at the clock. I haven't even had a decent lunch yet and it's almost 1:30. I bet I won't even get one today. "It probably won't be until late. My slave driver says I have back to back interviews until this schmooze fest I have to go to tonight. I don't wannnaaa..."

He clears his throat and says, "Hang on a sec…" I can hear him talking to someone and he soon comes back over the line "Justin wants to know what time is your schmooze fest over."

God, I wish I could just talk to him myself. I hate this middle man @#%$. I mean I love Trace and all but…I shake my head and say, "hold on…" pulling the phone back from my lips. I look over at Courtney. "What time do you think we'll be done tonight?"

She groans and rolls her eyes towards me. "Late."

"Just tell me the time." She crosses her arms. Don't make me do it. She ignores me. @#%$, I don't want to whine but I @#%$ guess I'll have to. "Come onnnn, what timeeee Courtney! Just tell me when we'll be done tonight."

She seems disgusted with me and smacks her hand down on her satchel. "There is no set time, Meredith. It's a dinner party, an important one. Midnight, maybe? One a.m.? I don't really know. But I know there's no time to go have a party with those friends of yours."

She makes it sounds like we are a gang of hoodlums. It's Justin and Trace. Big @#%$ deal. We'll probably just watch TV like we did those late nights, or I guess early mornings, at the studio when we'd take a break and end up just @#%$ around. "I just have to make an appearance, right? You know, talk to people, kiss ass, etcetera."

"Angie said you stay from start to finish."

I groan. I hate this @#%$. They are the worst things ever, these stupid parties where I have to go and suck up to people who know nothing about me and think they know something about music 'cause they sit behind a desk and look at marketing strategies. Whatever. They better have a good caterer. "But I have to be well rested for my interview at Z100 tomorrow morning, right Court?"

"Exactly, and that's why you are going to go to this party until I say so and then you are to come back and go straight to bed."

I shake my head and wave my free hand, "Sure, right. So what time will it be over?"

"Meredith…" She rubs her forehead. Geez lady, get a grip. I'm not that annoying! I wanna ask her if she needs some Aleve or ibuprofen but she'll probably just get more pissed off at me.

"Just tell me. Like 10 or 11?"

"I'm not telling you."

I growl and say "fine" and move the phone to where I can talk to Trace. "Let's say 11, ok?"

"Sounds good, Lessy."

I smile and roll my eyes. "See ya mutant." I hang up the phone. This should be a happy moment. I should be ecstatic that I'm going to see him, and I am. But the mood is still dampened by Miss Priss beside me who's acting like me seeing some guy for an hour is gonna cause the Lord to flood the earth again. She's probably making a list right now of which animals she still needs to get two of. "See, that wasn't so hard."

"What the hell is all this about Meredith?"

Damn, she seems so mad. I try to think back and see if I said anything offensive to her or about her. I can't remember. I even told Trace not to call her a @#%$, even though she is one. "Nothing."

"You can not go out and party!"

Sometimes I wonder if she thinks the tabloid stories are true. This whole week, ever since I met her she's mothered me. The first night together I just wanted to order a glass of wine, just one @#%$ glass of wine with my stupid room service of pasta and she flipped out and told me I was going to get drunk and get a hang over and be unprepared in the morning. Ya know, I think I figured it out. The @#%$ is nuts. "I'm not going to party. I going to go up two floors to see a friend I haven't seen in a couple of months. Get over it."

"You mean to have some party in their hotel room!"

"I don't think so." I think about it. A party with Justin? Nah. I mean he knows how to party, I'm pretty sure. But after that week with him out in LA, cooped up in the studio for long hours I bet he'll be on the couch watching a basketball game or playing play station or something. Probably in his "jammies."

I feel my face burn and I bite my lip and look out the window. He always looked so cute and comfortable in his sweat pants and a white t-shirt. And his muscles always looked so @#%$ awesome in that shirt.

Then I hear her groan, again. This chick is getting old. Maybe I should call Angie. "Why are you blushing! This isn't the time to have some love affair with some guy you use to know. You're too busy for that!"

I almost laugh. Love affair? Wow, hello drama queen. But I don't laugh. I wish it was a hot love affair. But I'm sure he sees me as just another sweet girl. I mean it was nice enough for him to call me up here in New York. That's gotta count for something, right? I shouldn't get my hopes up. I mean, yeah, we really clicked back in LA. And maybe we flirted a little. But we didn't kiss, though I wanted to, and I think he was dating someone at the time anyway. So, whatever. For all I know he might be married or something by now.

God, I hope not.

"It's not just some guy and it's not a @#%$ love affair. We're just friends!" I sigh and grab her arm. She looks at my hand and then me like she wants to say 'you've got to be kidding me'. "Come on Court, I don't get to have a lot of friends with my kind of schedule. And the few that I do have I barely get to see. Can't you just give me this rare opportunity to see one of my only friends? Please."

So it's a bit of a lie and a smear of a stretch. I have a bunch of friends but not a lot of close ones, or ones that I'm super comfortable with. And I do get to see them, but not very often and not for very long periods of time. And, well, dammit, this isn't just any old friend. This is Justin.

"Ugh, you aren't gonna shut up about this are you?" She snatches her arm away quickly and pulls her phone out all disgusted. "Ya know what, I can't believe I'm going to do this, but why don't I give you that one hour with him this afternoon and then tonight you can go to the party and forget about him and do your business."

I stare at her. For a second I assume she's joking by her sarcasm, but then she actually flips open the phone and presses a few buttons. And then I hear, "Yes, hello, this is Courtney Dawson I spoke to you earlier about my client Miss Craven. She seems to have an open spot around 4:30. Would that be a good time to schedule a meeting with your client?" She pauses and I smile. "What do you mean am I serious? Of course, I'm serious. Ok, fine then. It's settled. We shall see you then."

She snaps the phone shut and doesn't look at me when she says, "When we get back to the hotel after interviews you will have one hour, that is it. Then you have to be in our room to let Shanda get you ready for your dinner."

"Really!" I want to hug her.

"After these next few interviews, yes."

"I think I might ask Shanda if she can just bring her supplies up to their room and she can do me up there. He won't mind. Will you call her and ask her for me?"

Courtney gives me a skeptical look. "Are you sure your friend doesn't mind?"

"Please…Justin? He won't care."

"Justin, who?"

I suck in a breath and look at her. I hope she's not like Leah. I mean she's @#%$, but she can't be really cold hearted and evil. She just can't. I mean, if she is then maybe, maybe this wasn't meant to be 'cause bad luck like that just isn't right for anyone to have to handle. I swallow the lump in my throat and look outside. My face feels like it's burning but this time I'm not blushing. "Just Justin."

If she keeps groaning like that Teddy is going to think she's getting off back in here in the backseat and I don't need anyone else thinking I'm a lesbian. "Now isn't the time to be getting involved. You know...if something goes wrong, it's going to be my neck on the line, not yours. So I guess I can understand why you don't give a damn."

"Courtney, what's wrong? Are you ok?" I look at her hard. She wasn't this bad yesterday. I mean she was pissed about the nap thing, but still. Maybe she got her period. "I mean it's just an hour and just my friend. That's all. Nothing big."

"Yeah, just like your little nap the other day wasn't big. You missed those appointments and whose ass got chewed out by Angie? I don't think it was yours."

I shrug and play it off. I really was sorry about that. And I told her that, like five thousand times yesterday. But if she keeps bringing it up like this I really am gonna stop caring. "Well, you were supposed to wake me up."

"What do you think the constant ringing was? Just in your little head? It was the damn phone!"

"But I had it on vibrate." It was the truth. I always have it on vibrate cause if not I'll forget to turn the ringer off in recording or interviewing. The car starts to pull to a stop in front of some radio station and I watch her as she gathers all her things and snaps them shut in her little case.

She looks up at me and glares, "That's exactly my point."

Now what the hell does that mean? Dammit, all this fighting with her has now given me a headache and I didn't even have time to listen to my ipod and relax a little before this radio station starts tearing me apart and asking me the same damn questions.

They'll ask me about the tabloids and they'll ask me to describe the single and the album, and they'll ask me what I've been doing in New York and they'll ask me about the people I worked with and I'll give them pretty much the same damn answers I've given everyone else today. But maybe it'll be different. Maybe they'll ask me some off the wall questions. Maybe they'll ask me about Justin. They'll ask me how it was working with him, what we worked on together, how he is in person.

And I'll be honest, and I'll tell them he's amazing. I'll tell them he's sweet and hilarious and such a talent. He was amazing with me in that studio. He could push me where no one has pushed before. God I wish he could have done my whole album. Maybe we'd know each other better. I wanna get to know him so much better. He was incredible to work with, incredible to be around. Something about him calmed me, settled my nerves, enabled me to get over any outside @#%$ or to use it as fuel to spawn creativity.

I find myself biting my nails as we walk into the building, I know I shouldn't but I can't contain my excitement. I wonder what he looks like now, how his hair is, it wasn't long but wasn't shaved when we were in the studio. And he'd always wear that damn Green jacket. And I remember one day when we were recording I made fun of his beard calling him a lumberjack and the next day he came in with a baby face all clean shaven and smooth. I…I remember him telling me to feel his face and we were alone in the studio and close and I was hoping he'd kiss me. I remember him licking his lips and looking like he was going to, looking like he wanted to.

But he didn't.

And now he's looking me up in New York and I don't know what that means. I want to think that it means more than just a friendly chat. I want to think that maybe he's missed me. But I know he's probably just being polite, probably just wants to know how promotion is going. But that's something and I'll take it. I'll take anything.

"You keep biting your nails, Polebutt up there is gonna get pissed at you."

I giggle at the nickname Teddy has given her. He's convinced she has a pole up her butt and I'm starting to believe that theory. Sometimes I wish Teddy was my personal assistant. He'd probably be horrible at it. He'd always making fun of me and if I asked him for something he'd just give me this look or say something like, "Until your legs get chopped off in a freak helicopter accident, your tiny ass can get it cha self." He's been with me since the beginning and I trust him with my life.

He was there for me when Leah morphed into a psycho @#%$ and he was there for me when I got really sick. And that time that guy got into the floor of my hotel room and practically jumped me, he was there, right there to protect me. It's amazing how I have all these people to do things for me, to protect me, to keep me in line, keep me grounded, to be a shoulder. I have a team of professionals around me, Angie, Courtney, Shanda, Teddy and lots of others, not to mention Megan who, well if it weren't for her, some days I wouldn't be able to keep my head up.

And yet, there's something missing and probably fifteen minutes ago I wouldn't have realized it. But now, knowing that I'm going to see him and unsure about what that means makes me realize that I really, really miss that. It's been years since I've had a boyfriend and just as long since I've even kissed someone. And it's been about as long since I've liked someone, like really truly liked someone. Not just found them attractive but to completely melt when they look at you. That's what Justin does for me. I should be over it. I should've been over it long, long before. But I'm not.

"You're gonna get to see Tiny today. You know, Justin Timberlake's bodyguard." I say quietly to Tiny as Courtney has now met up with someone who's leading us back further into the building.

"For real? I haven't seen T-man in a while. You gonna hang out with your man?"

I gasp a little. I wish he were mine. "My man?"

"Girl, don't play that coy @#%$. I know you want his junk." I smack him in the arm but it doesn't do anything more than make him laugh. As much as he can annoy me and pick on me like a big brother, I'm so glad he's here. Without him I don't think I'd be able to handle the days with this new girl. I still haven't figured her out and I'm still pretty sure I'm not gonna like her. She's so good at her job, almost too good and she has me doing a whole lot of stuff I've never had to do before. I mean, I know this album is supposed to be a bazillion times better and bigger than my old one, but still…

I look a head of me and see that she's turned around staring hard at me. "You need to hurry up, they're about to put you on the air!"

I want to say something back. But I don't. I just smile and nod my head and then roll my eyes when she looks away. I think I'm going to have to call Angie. I hate to do it. But this new chick is just not going to work.