Johnny Be Good

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If your boss was the hottest rock star on the planet, would you mix business with pleasure? I'm Meg Stiles. This is my leaving party. And that song we're making a mockery of? That's written by one of the biggest rock stars in the world. And I'm moving in with him tomorrow. Seriously! I am not even joking. Well, maybe I'm misleading you a little bit. You see, I haven't actually met him yet ...No, I'm not a stalker. I'm his new PA. His Personal Assistant. And I am off to La-La Land. Los Angeles. The City of Angels - whatever you want to call it - and I can't bloody believe it! Celebrity PA to wild boy of rock Johnny Jefferson, Meg's glam new life in sun-drenched LA is a whirlwind of showbiz parties and backstage passes. Cool, calm Christian, in town to write his famous friend's biography, helps keep Meg's feet firmly on the ground. But with Johnny's piercing green eyes and a body Brad Pitt would kill for, how long will it be before she's swept right off them again? About the Author PAIGE TOON grew up in Australia, America and England - thanks to her much-travelled Le Mans winner dad Vern Schuppan. For over seven years, Paige has worked at heat Magazine as Reviews Editor. Paige is married and has a son born in September 2007. She lives in north London. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Prologue 'Sing! Sing! Sing!' No. I can't. 'Sing! Sing! Sing!' No! Stop it! And for God's sake, cut that bloody music! 'SING! SING! SING!' Argh! My palms are so slippery I almost dropped the mic. I'm in bad shape. I can't sing. I can NOT sing. But they won't stop. I know they won't stop until I deliver. And I shouldn't disappoint my audience. Okay, I'm going to sing! Here comes the chorus... *I'm locked inside us And I can't find the key It was under the plant pot * That you nicked from me That's not my song, by the way. And when I say I can't sing, I mean I really can't sing. When you're as drunk as I am, you could be forgiven for thinking that if only Simon Cowell were in the room, he would say, 'Girl, you've got the X Factor.' But I'm under no illusions. I know I'm, in his words, 'distinctly average'. As for the audience...Well, I'm not singing to a 90,000-strong crowd at Wembley, but you've probably guessed that by now. I'm in the living room of my flatshare in London Bridge. And the music comes courtesy of my PlayStation SingStar. The person who's just grabbed the mic from me is Bess. She's my flatmate and my best friend. She can't sing either. Jeez, she's hurting my ears! Next to her is Sara, a friend of mine from work. And then there are Jo, Jen and Alison, pals from university. As for me? Well, I'm Meg Stiles. And this is my leaving party. And that song we're making a mockery of? That's written by one of the biggest rock stars on the planet. And I'm moving in with him tomorrow. Seriously! I am not even joking. Well, maybe I'm misleading you a little bit. You see, I haven't actually met him yet. No, I'm not a stalker. I'm his new PA. His Personal Assistant. And I am off to La-La Land. Los Angeles. The City of Angels -- whatever you want to call it -- and I can't bloody believe it! Chapter 1 Ouch. My head hurts. What sort of stupid person has a leaving party the night before starting a new job? I'm not usually this disorganised. In fact, I'm probably the most organised person you're ever likely to meet. Having a leaving party the night before I had to board this plane to LA is very out of character. But then I didn't have much choice. I've only just got the job. Seven days ago I was a PA at an architects' firm. My boss, Marie Sevenou (early fifties, French, very well-respected in the industry), called me into her office on Monday morning and asked me to shut the door and take a seat. This had never happened in the nine months I'd been working there and my initial reaction was to wonder if I'd done anything wrong. But I was pretty sure I hadn't so, above all, I was curious. 'Meg,' she said, her heavy French accent laced w