It took him seventeen rings to answer, I counted. And for every single ring, I had a different way of greeting him – each new one was too high, or too low, too formal, too colloquial. I was completely caught off guard when he did eventually pick up the receiver. And by the time he'd finished introducing himself, my mind had gone blank of everything I'd prepared anyway.

"Hi there, this is Paul Slater, a representative of the Artists and Repertoire department here at Juice, Incorporated. May I ask who is speaking?"

My lips had gone numb, and the first line I mumbled was completely incomprehensible. "Yes, Suze, I'm Simon. Er, Suze. Suze Simon. Suze Simon!" I shook my head, inwardly cursing. If he hadn't hung up after all of that, it would be a miracle.

There came a throaty chuckle. "Susannah Simon? From Saturday night?" Hallelujah!

"Yes!" I gave a sigh of relief, before instantly melting into a puddle of teenage girl goo. I had no idea what to say next. My mind was boggled – filled with cheesy chat-up lines I'd overheard from Brad that just would not be acceptable in this situation. I pressed my lips shut and tried to push them all to the back of my mind, praying that one wouldn't slip out of its own accord. "I was wondering if we could talk?"

Thank God for something normal.

Paul's voice sounded a little smug as he replied. "Ah," he said. "So I was right. You couldn't resist me." He had that right. "Well, sure. We can talk." There was a pause, and I glanced back at Mr. Petrelli, who was scuttling around in the classroom, setting up for his next lesson. I wondered if he could hear our conversation. "How soon can you be in Monterey?"

I pulled a face as I saw students begin to make their way back into the main school building, ushered by Sister Ernestine and several other nuns. Lunchtime was clearly over, and I was due in next period. My stomach did a somersault as Sister Ernestine came closer to the window, and I ducked out of sight, the phone still clutched to my ear.

"Suze?" A shiver ran down my back as Paul spoke my name.

"Um." I re-adjusted the handset before I made up my mind. "I can be there by two."

-x-

I blew off the rest of the afternoon. It was easy enough, once I had made sure the hawkeyed Sister Ernestine was out of sight. I'd skipped lessons occasionally – despite my faultless report card, I was hardly a model student – for female reasons, or due to the fact that Brad was skipping, and I wouldn't have had a ride home come half past three if I hadn't have left with him . But today I was skipping for completely selfish reasons.

And it felt good.

The bad side was, of course, that I'd had to walk all the way home – seeing as Dopey and Doc were still in school, and I didn't have the keys to the Land Rover – but I managed that in twenty minutes, despite the blistering heat. A quick change of shoes – because I had enough blisters already with my mules – and I was on my way to Monterey in my mom's Volvo faster than you could say Paul Slater.

It was stupid how excited I was. I had fantasies already of the two of us being snapped by some paparazzi and the pictures appearing on a gossip site and in every magazine in the country. After all, Paul was pretty famous, I learned after our first encounter that Saturday night. On the first page of Just Jared there were three different articles of him appearing on the red carpet of glitzy events I couldn't even begin to remember the name of.

I arrived in Monterey fifteen minutes early, zooming past the Welcome sign with my heart in my mouth. I found a space in a parking lot and practically ran to where I was supposed to be meeting him. To my relief, he was already there, coffee in hand, which he handed me with a nonchalant smile.

"It's good to see you again," he said, and he grazed my cheek with a finger. My cheeks – which were already pink from the running – burned with embarrassment. He placed a protective arm around my shoulder – cue more mortifying spasms of the heart – and led me into a small café with a view over the bay. The place was nearly empty, which made me suddenly nervous.

"You said you wanted to talk," Paul reminded me, but thankfully he didn't leave me to explain. He probably knew as well as I did that anything that would come out of my mouth would be incoherent. "About Juice, Incorporated, I'm assuming?" I managed to nod, just once. He grinned. "Great, Susie. That's great."

The casual slip in of the nickname from my mom that I detested didn't even bother me. I sat there across the table from him besotted, unable to take my eyes off him. He continued to talk and I watched with a fluttering heartbeat how his perfect lips formed every word.

Halfway through Paul's speech, a waitress appeared at our side, clutching a notepad. I half-expected her to hand it to Paul to autograph, but instead she asked, her perky ponytail flicking from side to side as she spoke, "Can I take your order?" Paul turned to me first.

"What would you like to drink, Susie?" Again with the Susie, but I didn't mind. I opened my mouth, but the inside was dry. So instead I lifted up the untouched coffee cup Paul had greeted me with, and he pressed two fingers to the side. "It's cold!" he exclaimed, shaking his head at me. He turned to the waitress. "Two sodas, please." And he wafted five dollars at her before I could even reach for my purse.

"No worries, Suze," he said as I sat there, stunned. "I'm looking after you now." I blushed. "So what do you think about joining our label?" His eyes were on me, his eyes flashing like fire. My voice was unsteady.

"Are you serious?" I asked, eyes wide. "I mean, I'm just Suze Simon. From Carmel-by-the-Sea. What would a big corporate business like Juice want with me?" The corners of Paul's mouth lifted up in an easy smile.

"Oh, Susie," he said, and he reached across the table for my hand. I flinched at his cool touch, heart working over time. I even couldn't help thinking Oh my God. He touched me! "We want you because you're a very special girl." My eyebrows rose in disbelief despite the cliché. "We could make you very famous."

And with those six little words, visions of my future flashed before me. Sold-out concerts, duets with teen heartthrobs, a designer wardrobe to die for…

"Really?" My voice rose several octaves higher than its usual tone, and about a million higher than Paul's low rumble. I blushed. "You really mean that?" Paul squeezed my fingers.

"Of course," he murmured. "I can't wait to work with you. You're the next big thing, I really believe you." Eyes still level with mine, he stretched further to tangle a hand in my hair. "Join the label, Susie."

Unsurprisingly, my voice was pretty much gone when I spoke next. "My mom…" were the only two words I could force out. I was a mess – a pile of crushed-out girl pieces. I didn't recognise myself at all. I had never been this much of a fan-girl before…

"Your mom," Paul echoed, thoughtfully. "Will be no problem. She'll recognise your potential, I promise." Paul made a promise to me…

"But-" I started to argue, but Paul pressed a finger to my lips to silence me. Disentangling his fingers from my hair, he caressed my cheek.

"Susie, Susie," he said, soothingly. "Just promise me you'll try and convince her, O.K?"

And that was it, really. There was no other choice. Not with him looking like that within such close vicinity, and his fingers on my skin. I couldn't argue with him.

So instead, I said, "Of course. I promise."

And I really meant it. I would have promised him anything.