"Caramel mocha latte: one and a quarter shots of espresso, two and a thirds pumps of caramel, use low fat skim milk, searing hot, no whipped cream," I read from the binder that Patrice had given me.

"Sounds complicated," Denise remarked. I sighed, frustrated, pulling at my hair.

"She has got to be freaking kidding me," I groaned. I sat up and leaned back against the couch. "Does she really expect me to do all of this for him? What a little pansy! He can't even get his own coffee? He has to have it custom made?" I complained. "I mean really, low fat skim milk? Skim milk is already low fat!" I exclaimed.

"I can't believe you're complaining right now. You get to work with the guy that was voted hottest man in Hollywood last year. I would be thanking God on my knees for that opportunity," Denise said.

"Ummm, did you not hear what I just said? One and a quarter shots of espresso?! How the hell am I supposed to do that?!" I yelled.

"You need to calm down," she said to me.

"Don't tell me to calm down! It just stresses me out even more!" I cried. We both sat silently for a few moments as my anger went down a bit. I took a few deep breaths, steadying myself.

"There are over a hundred pages of things I have to know about him. It's absolutely ridiculous," I said.

"It's your job. Stop complaining," Denise told me. I glared at her.

"This was not what I signed up for!" I exclaimed. "I thought I got a job as a manager for some company. I didn't think I was setting myself up for the job from hell working for the devil himself!" I said.

"Well, you can't quit. It's a job and it pays well. Now you can hold up your end of the bargain," she said. I groaned and buried my face in one of the couch pillows.

"I'm not going to quit. That's what they want me to do. I'm not about to give them that satisfaction. And this way, I'll have time to plan my revenge," I said.

"Don't do anything stupid, Val," she warned. I grinned at her mischieviously.

"It won't be stupid," I said. "It'll be pure genius."

                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~

"Here's your coffee and your less than room temperature water," I said, handing the coffee and water to Duke after he had sat down in his chair on set the next day. He looked at me, his blue eyes full of judgment.

"Is that an expensive top?" he asked me, nodding at my Chanel blouse. I looked at him, confused and caught off-guard.

"What?" I asked.

"I asked, 'Is that an expensive top?' What are you, deaf?" he repeated. I glared at him.

"Yes, it is," I answered.

"Pity," he said, his eyes flashing, not in anger, but in malice. "If this coffee is as disgusting as it was yesterday, I'm going to dump it on you," he told me. Then he smirked evilly and took a swig. I watched his expression and stepped back a little. He smacked his lips a couple times, taking in the taste.

"You put too much espresso in this," he said. "Put since that was the only problem, I'll spare your expensive top," he added. Instead, he tossed the coffee backwards into the trash can by the wall, making a perfect shot. I gaped at him. He looked at me cockily and then he opened the bottled water. He took a sip from it and then closed the top. I braced myself for criticism.

"Maybe you're not a complete failure," he remarked. I let out a sigh of relief. I passed, but just barelly. I knew next time I screwed up his coffee order, I'd get it bad.

"What's your name?" he asked, not looking at me.

"Valerie Sparks," I replied. He made no acknowledgement of my reply. I stood there impatiently. What the hell was I supposed to do? Wait until his highness made his next request?

"Where's Patrice?" he asked.

"She went to get the script you forgot from her office," I answered in a snappy tone. He looked at me now, squinting his eyes slightly.

"Watch your tone. You're speaking to Duke Starr. Show some respect," he ordered. I raised an eyebrow, feeling anger rising inside of me. I calmed myself down and plastered a sarcastic half-smile onto my lips.

"I'll show you some respect when you show me you deserve it," I replied calmly. I saw his expression change to fury and smirked. That's right; mess with the Queen and you get your head chopped off.

I walked away, feeling victorious, as the make-up team arrived to put some finishing touches onto his face and hair. When I was a few feet away, I heard him blow up at them, shouting about how he wanted me fired right away. I smirked to myself. Tomorrow was Monday and his flight to Italy. My job was safe for now.

                                                              ~~~~~~~~~

"Could you please not aggravate him? He's already stressed about this movie," Patrice told me later that night in her office.

"That's no excuse to treat people like dirt. I'm a human being; not some thing to be yelled at," I replied. She sighed, clearly frustrated.

"It doesn't matter how he treats you. Your job is to keep him happy and that means taking whatever criticism he has to offer silently," Patrice said

"I'm not going to sit around and just let him degrade and berate me," I argued.

"Do you want this job or not?" she asked.

"I thought I already had it?" I questioned.

"You're not so permanent that we'll keep you around forever. You have to earn your place. Show me that you're willing to do this job. If not--and that's certainly the way it seems right now--you can just pack your bags and be unemployed again," she told me. I frowned.

"I want this job," I said.

"Then prove it," she replied, gazing intensely at me over her glasses.

I squared my jaw, accepting the challenge. I was going to show her that I was perfect for this job. But I wasn't going to do it the traditional way. No, way. I was going to do it my way.

No one tells Valerie Sparks how to act.

______________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Sorry it's short. Next one will be longer; I promise. They're going to Italy!!! Woooooooo!

Comment and VOTE, VOTE, VOTE!

XOXO