A/N: First day off in ages, so I'm having a bit of a de-stress.

I didn't listen to Alejandro whilst writing this, it was more Britney's B in the Mix version of "Touch of my Hand". Gorgeous as the remix, and the original, definitely check it out if you haven't before.

Hope you all enjoy! Tell me if it's gone dodgy please, or if I've done something stupid which completely contradicts chapter one in anyway. I did check, but I'm not very with it.

"And... CUT!"

She let out a breath she had been holding for too long, and immediately untied the back of her costume, finally able breathe normally, but still with a strange feeling of illness, like she felt sometimes when she'd been in the limo for too long.

"Okay people, that's a wrap for this scene!"

Oh, thank God. She bit her lip in anger as three men rushed over to her to remove the various ropes and latches attaching her to the ceiling. Her first scene was over, and in the interest of saving a couple million yen, instead of having CGI she'd done her first scene completely herself, without a stunt woman. True that she had been moved from the top of 'lamppost' to 'lamppost' slowly (it would be sped up later), but that didn't mean that she didn't feel horrifically travel sick.

It was the first day of the summer holidays, and instead of sleeping off a horrific celebratory hangover this Saturday morning, she was spending it in a dark warehouse, filming her first scene of this crappy movie. She had no idea why they'd even bothered to include this scene with the amount of fuss it had caused; the couple lines she'd said had only talked about feeling 'it'.

And she was feeling it. That bottle and a half of Dom Perignon had worn off, true, but she was still feeling the hangover that was whacking on the inside of her skull. She was barely concentrating, but managed to catch a few of the director's words that made her look up instantly.

"- filming his first scene later, but with his consistency in not showing up to anything, I wonder how long it'll take before he's recast..."

"It'll be fine, Urahara! Trust me. When have you ever had reason to doubt me?"

"Well, I did have a dream last night that you were a transvestite cat..."

"That's not not trusting me, that's being psychotic."

"Maybe we should have that written into the script somewhere..."

"Oh God."

A 5 hour nap and 2 hours in hair and make-up again later, Rukia was arriving on her second set of the day.

To be honest, the girl wasn't happy. Here she was, ready and waiting, and his Royal Highness, King Strawberry, still hadn't showed. And it wasn't the first time this had happened either. The worst part was that she actually hadn't properly met the actor yet, something which she – and her brother – found completely unprofessional. Kurosaki was supposed to be here over an hour ago, so that he'd have filmed his first few scenes in time for her to come in to finish the last few off, and they'd been done for the night.

The way things were going, if he turned up now they'd be lucky to be home before 1.

When a scared assistant told her this, she kind of broke a little.

Maybe it was that she had post-exam stress.

Maybe it was because she wasn't going to be able to spend her summer holidays on a beach in the Caribbean like everybody else was going to be doing.

Or maybe it was because her almighty pride had had enough of being stood up and ignored that she felt she had to do something about it.

She'd already made a decision though – she was going to get him back. No, she wasn't going to get him thrown off the movie. That was what he wanted. Obviously what he didn't want to do was to film this, which was exactly what the petite superstar was going to make happen. If he wanted to make her life crap, his would be pure, unadulterated torture.

She smirked as she got back into the limousine, slipping her driver a large wad of money to take her to Kurosaki's mansion.

Kurosaki Ichigo sauntered into his kitchen, his only clothing – thin, baggy sweat pants draped over his well built-hips – revealing more flesh than necessary as he opened his huge black refrigerator, pulling out a can of soda, opening it casually and drinking heavily from it as a knock sounded on his door.

He pulled it away from his lips as his face turned into his regular frown. That better not be the paps... If they knew where he lived, he didn't know if he could be bothered moving again. Taking his self-built image into his own hands, he opened the door to be immediately pushed aside, heels sounding on black, sparkling granite floor.

And there she was – Kuchiki Rukia, standing there in all her 54kg, 4'10", Vivienne-Westwood-purple-dress-clad glory, with her arms folded and a rather pissed expression on her face.

He smirked at her. "Welcome, Miss Kuchiki. May I enquire as to what you are doing here?"

"I could be asking you the same question." His smirk grew larger. Thank God that sugary-sweet voice she had on all her interviews wasn't real. He couldn't have handled that.

"I don't have a clue what you mean," he swaggered confidently back into his kitchen, back towards his fridge.

"You. Not being on set. At 5pm." Her violet eyes narrowed.

"Oh, was that today?" He pulled another soda can out of the fridge, and threw it to her. She caught it with ease. He turned his back to her, looking out the window over his garden.

"You know it was."

"That was actually me saying that I don't care." The can hit him on the back of his head with uncanny precision, spraying him with the liquid on impact. His face fell.

"I don't like being made a fool of, Kurosaki. Not everybody has such natural talent that winning an Oscar comes to them naturally."

The smirk reappeared. "What can I say? I'm blessed in every way." He turned just in time to see her face in confusion before it became obvious what he was talking about.

"Kurosaki-kun? Are you coming back to bed?" The unmistakeable shrill of Orihime's voice sounded, and Rukia's face fell back into an annoyed grimace.

"If you have any respect for your fellow actors, you'll be at the studios tomorrow at 5 ready for your scenes." She let herself out with the last image of his face thoughtful as she headed back to the car.

Ichigo thought for a moment. If he didn't do the movie, his Dad and sisters would be upset... but if he did, a lot more people would be happy.

And I'll get to see her cute-looking ass again...

"You know, sometimes I wonder if you do this to yourself on purpose."

A perfect eyebrow arched. "Excuse me?"

"You know, the whole 'make the stupid bastard hate you' thing?"

"Rangiku, I don't have a clue what you're talking about."

The red headed teenager sighed, and set herself upright; she'd been lying upside down on the leather chair, eating half-baked Ben and Jerry's. Saturday nights usually meant partying until dawn, but when Rukia had a project, she stayed in. And when this situation occurred, her two best friends joined her in solidarity, bingeing on calorific-snacks. The previous night had been an exception of course – it was the first day of the holidays. Or for Rukia, the only real night of the holidays she would have.

"It's just..." the curvy woman put her spoon in the tub, and tucked her legs under herself, facing her friend. Despite having a mud mask on, she looked quite serious. "Every time you have a leading hot guy co-star, you chase him off! He always ends up hating you in the end, and you always end up looking like the poor little victim!"

"I do no such thing!"

Rangiku scoffed. Rukia turned to her other friend, who was lying in front of the marble fire place, baking her mud mask. "Momo, you don't think that happens, do you?"

Momo slid off one of the cucumber slices covering her eyes, and stared at Rukia. "Hon, when did you last have a boyfriend?"

"What does that have to do with Rangiku thinking I chase off guys?"

The woman in question sighed again, and stomped to the crystal adorned mirror over the fireplace, pulling her friends hand with her as she went. She placed the smaller girl in front of her, and huffed.

"You. Are. Freaking. Gorgeous. And without a boyfriend. What does that say to you?"

"There are plenty of beautiful people without boyfriends!"

"Name one."

"... Cameron Diaz!"

"Isn't she getting back together with Justin?"

"No way! He's still with Jessica Biel, plus I heard he wasn't going to go to Britney's wedding in a couple weeks because he wasn't over her!"

"Cameron does bear a slight resemblance to her..."

"They're both blonde, that's it!"

"GUYS!"

Hinamori Momo was a calm, quiet girl. But there was a spark in her that let rip whenever she thought her two best friends' fame was becoming the central focus in their lives. Unlike Rukia, who'd spent most of her life rich, and Matsumoto, who'd always had a silver spoon in her mouth and Uggs on her feet, Momo was the only 'poor' one, attending their private school on a scholarship by proving herself to have one of the highest IQs the school – possibly the world – had ever seen. So they took her in, tempted by the promise of epic grades to bring up their average. Once there, she had remained the poverty-stricken outcast in the school, sitting on her own at lunch, no friends.

At least, until the superstar Rukia Kuchiki graced the school with her presence. You would have been forgiven for believing Rukia immediately became the most popular girl in school. In fact, to begin with, she was more of an outsider than Momo. And so, that first horrible day Rukia had endured had only been reasonably ok by her new friend. Walking into the cafeteria and having no one to sit with, she'd seen the beautiful Momo sitting on her own, reading a book whilst munching on a spicy beef burrito – that day had been a particularly bad day, so her stress was taken out on carbs – and had sat across from her.

"...You don't mind me sitting here, do you?" It was the first time in her life that Rukia had ever been nervous. And the last, as Momo smiled brightly at her, dropped her fork, held out her hand and introduced herself. Rukia had smiled back, shook it, introduced herself and asked her a question about her book. They'd been practically inseparable ever since.

How Matsumoto had joined their group was a story not referred to often, being a rather embarrassing experience for the girl in question. Originally, Rangiku was the ringleader of the most popular girls, and therefore the girl who, though not actively carrying it out, was the one who made their lives hell. She directed her army of bitches to do her bidding – when she was thirsty; they got in trouble cutting class to go to Starbucks for a chocolate cream frappucino. When she hadn't done her homework, she took it off one of them, and wrote her name at the top. When she was bored, they made the superstar and the poor outsider's lives hell for her entertainment.

The end of Matsumoto's reign as Queen Bee had been signalled when she drunkenly slept with her loudmouth, blonde, second-in-command's boyfriend, her defence being "well, you weren't going to do it anytime soon, and it was such a waste..." The group of about 15 girls then went on to yell about how sick and tired they were of Matsumoto treating them like pieces of shit, and she was then kicked out of the party she was at when she had gotten drunk again and blurted out what she had done.

The next day, before lunchtime Rukia and Momo had heard so many horrible stories about Matsumoto, that despite her treating them apparently in the same manner as her friends, they felt sorry for her. And so, when Momo had spotted Rangiku sitting on her own, she hadn't felt obliged to do anything until she'd noticed a beef burrito on her plate. The rest was history. The three hadn't become ridiculously popular until Rukia stared in a movie with a particularly handsome guy, and her two best friends had done cameos. By then however, it was too late for anyone who wanted to be a hanger-on. Rukia had chosen her friends, and they had chosen her.

Momo had always been the mother in the group, and getting back to the problem at hand, sat her friends down. "Rukia, you are beautiful. And it is strange that you've never really had a boyfriend. But, Matsumoto shouldn't have brought it up, because she can't say anything about relationships with boys. So there you have it. You're both messed up. Any questions?"

Looking like two small children who had just been told off, they sank into their seats. Momo sat back and sighed. Moulin Rouge was on, and there'd be hell to pay if she missed any more of her favourite film.

Behind her back, Matsumoto and Rukia stuck their tongues out at her.

It was about 6 o'clock when Rukia received the call that rendered her speechless. Ichigo Kurosaki had gotten into the studio about 3 hours early, completed his scenes, waited about half an hour for Rukia to show up even though he knew full well she wasn't scheduled to for at least another 2 hours, complained about her unprofessionalism, and was now expecting her to show up at about 6:30.

She wasn't amused.

Grabbing her script, throwing on 7 for all Mankind jeans, Chloe flats and a fuchsia FCUK off the shoulder top instead of the curry-stained Juicy Couture tracksuit she had previously adorned, she scrambled out of the mansion, dived into the limo, and was busy pulling her mess of hair into a French twist when she arrived on set. She was immediately thrown into the costume she'd worn the day before, her hair was salvaged by some of the best people in the business, and her tired, unprofessional-looking face was painted.

She was only 5 minutes 'late'. But she'd never been late for anything in her entire life before this. She glared at her co-star's smug face, before readying herself for the first scene. As a Kuchiki, at least she'd be keeping her dignity.

After they had finished their scenes – Rukia's favourite part being when she got to draw on Ichigo's face in permanent marker – the tiny woman was in front of the mirror in her dressing room, her robes untied at the front, revealing a corset she wasn't sure her brother would think appropriate but not really caring anyway because she was tired and on her own, hands resting on the marble tops, staring at herself in the epitome of clichés – the bulb-lined mirror. She blinked, and sighed, sinking down into the tall stool positioned behind her. She moved her attention to staring at the rows of make-up and hair products adorning the surface, and felt genuinely sorry for herself.

There were some days that were like this, when all she could do was pop the prescription pill, put on a happy face, and leave her room with it painted on until she got back into bed. It wasn't anyone's fault; it was just her life sometimes. Her friends thought she had an amazing life. She did, but it wasn't amazing for a teenager to have her problems laid out on tabloids for all to see.

She heard a soft knock on the door, and answered for them to enter without thinking. She squeezed her eyes shut, readied herself to turn around and do whatever she needed to do to keep her image up, be it her brother or PA, and found herself face to face with Ichigo Kurosaki. She rubbed her eyes to devoid them of sleep, and sighed again.

"What do you want?"

He smirked the same, annoying smirk. "That's not a nice way to greet someone. Didn't your brother-in-law teach you better?"

"You better have a good reason for being here, Kurosaki," she bit back a yawn.

"You visited my house yesterday, I thought I should return the favour." He stuck his hands in his jean pockets.

"So you don't have a reason?" She stared blankly at the wall, her body language showing her anger.

His smirk dropped, and he looked thoughtful. "Nope."

She paused for just a couple seconds, just long enough to make the man think he'd gotten away with it. Then she picked up a nearby, large vial of Elizabeth Arden perfume, and hurled it at his head, screaming. It smashed against the wall, inches from her target, leaving a stingingly strong scent as it dripped down the beige wallpaper. Her chest heaved, and Ichigo's face was a picture of shock... mixed with just a little bit of respect.

There was silence for a couple minutes as they just stared at each other. Neither noticed the time moving. Rukia retained her anger. Ichigo's face was now uninterested.

She moved first, but only shifted from one foot to the other, glancing to the floor. In this second or two, the taller boy was stood right in front of her, staring right at her again, inhaling deeply, and... smelling her?

'What the fu-'

"See you tomorrow, Kuchiki."

She nodded slightly, swallowed, and noted the sudden decrease in heat when he had left the room, an exit she hadn't noticed.

Retaining as much dignity as she could, she sat back down and examined herself. It was only then she released her inappropriate underwear had been on show the whole time, and was probably the reason he stayed after his initial annoying her.

"Shit..."

She sighed just once more, found some clothes, sleep walked to her limo, fell asleep, and was carried to her bed by her bodyguard after neither he nor her sister could wake her from her comatose state.

"So... Is it enough?"

"I'm not sure. I thought we agreed more?"

"That was the full amount. This is only the bargaining chip. You'll get the rest after the plan has been completed, and you have done your part. Deal?"

He chuckled. "Your offer is hard to refuse. Can you guarantee I will have everything at my disposal that I'll need?"

"Guarantee? Nothing can ever be guaranteed. But this plan has been designed around you and your part, so it's almost certain."

"Excellent. I'll be seeing you soon, then... Sir."

The guy behind the desk smiled. "Have fun."

Ugh, edit document's being a cheese prick. Sorry if the page breakers aren't in, it's not cooperating.

Sorry it's shorter than chappy 1, and it might not make sense in parts, but it will when I explain things as we go. Plus I have writer's block, so it might just be... wrong.

Hope you enjoyed, if not tell me, and I'll redo it. Just for you. Because I love you all. :D

(Btw people, which is better, Nintendo Wii or Sony PS3? I can't choose!)