I smiled as I dotted the 'i' in my name. I can't beleive it. I have a job. A good job where you have to sign a contract. A whole one-year contract. You know, those things that they say are impossible to get fresh out of college. Well, I got one! (I don't think 5 months out of college is 'fresh' out, but that's besides the point). I know being a personal assistant to some babied celebrity wasnt my big dream when I was up so many nights until 3 a.m. studying for my Corporate Communications tests, but still. This will pay the bills.

Even the big ones.

This gig payed alot. No, I won't be able to pay off all of my fees and jet off to Barbados next month. But I will be able to make some major payments on my loan, rent, clothes and all that jazz. Basically, I was living every college graduates wet dream. Graduating with honors and getting a job.

I felt really good when I put that pen down and handed the contract over to my new employers. Like I accomplished something. Something my mom had told me since I was little that I wouldn't be able to do. I, Lauri Fastern, was making something of myself. I wanted to call her right now to gloat, but I resisted the urge. Leave grievences in the past.

Before I left the meeting, i was going over what the expectations were from me for this posistion. They weren't quite diffrernt from what I thought being Nick Carter's personal assistant would be. I had to arrange meetings, pick up his laundry, put his car in the shop; menial, boring stuff like that. I was to meet him on Monday at eight a.m. and get straight to work. Before I left, everyone was telling me how great, how sweet, how funny and nice this guy was, like he was some sort of god. Whatever. I'll fawn over him, too, as long as I'm getting a paycheck every two weeks.