Italy was absolutely breath-taking.

Everything was so green and blue. The streets were pebbled, the stucco houses were expansive and white with red roofs. There were trees and bright Mediterranean plants all around. And almost completely surrounding us was sea. It was beautiful. I would have loved every minute of it, except at the moment, I was standing on set listening to Duke throw yet another diva fit.

"...can't believe you forgot my shirt in Hollywood! Are you good for anything besides failure?!" he was shouting. I had forgotten to pick up from the dry cleaners a shirt that he was going to wear to an interview he had in about two hours. Now he was throwing a hissy fit at me. I rolled my eyes.

"You have like fifty other shirts. Just wear one of those!" I exclaimed. He glared at me.

"That's not the point! I was supposed to wear that shirt! I was being paid to wear it! You've screwed everything up!" he yelled. I held my hand up in front of his face. He stopped yelling abruptly.

"You need to stop being so dramatic," I said calmly. "I'll find the same shirt here. We're in Italy and it was an Armani shirt, wasn't it? It can't be that hard to find," I added.

"Yeah and who's going to pay for it?" he asked.

"No one. If you're the big celebrity that you say you are, then they should give it to us for free," I answered. He flared his nostrils but didn't say anything.

"I don't care what you do. Just fix the situation," he hissed, his face dangerously close to mine. I poked him in the chest and pushed him away a little.

"Personal space. Watch out or I'll sue you for harassment," I snapped. His eyes flashed in anger and I walked away, takng my phone out and pulling up a Google search. I searched for a designer store and--just my luck!--there was one that was only a few miles away. I got into the shiny black rental Porsche and had the driver take me to the shop. I walked with authority, saying that I was Duke Starr's manager and needed a shirt right away. I described the shirt with as much detail as possible.

"...dark grey button up shirt with even darker grey thin vertical stripes. The buttons are the same color as the stripes. It's one of the newer shirts, so I don't know if you'd have it or not..." I described. The woman held up her hand.

"Tut, tut. Of course I have the shirt," she told me with a crisp Italian accent. I bet she was considered sexy by men's standards, with her long black hair and dark hazel eyes. By women's standards, she was just very pretty.

She went around the back and disappeared behind a door. I tapped my foot impatiently. One hour and twenty minutes until the interview...

My phone beeped, signaling that I had gotten a text message. I pulled out my phone, knowing already who the text was from without looking at the screen.

Duke: Where the hell are you?!

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

At a designer shop. The lady has your shirt.

A few seconds later, I got his reply.

Duke: Well hurry up! I'm already at the studio.

Chill out. I'm coming.

Duke: You're worthless.

You're ugly.

Duke: You're jealous ;)

Please. In your dreams.

Duke: You wish you were in my dreams.

Don't make me puke all over your expensive shirt.

It was a moment before he replied.

Duke: Just hurry the hell up.

I smirked to myself. I won.

Ever since we were forced to exchange numbers, he had been texting me non-stop, sending me orders and telling me things to do. And if he wasn't texting me his every request, he was insulting me. But I gave it right back to him, which I could tell frustrated him. Sometimes I wondered though if he enjoyed our little text-arguments.

"Here is the shirt you requested," the woman said, walking back out. Her black heels clicked on the shiny metallic floors of her shop. She held the shirt out to me and I examined it.

"Perfect! This is the one!" I exclaimed, grinning at her. "You honestly don't know how big of a life saver you are. I'll let Duke know where I got the shirt from so he can come here personally and thank you," I said to her. She smiled at this. Of course she would; it was free publicity for her shop.

I thanked her again and left the shop for the studio. I rushed into the studios after showing my pass and went to Duke's dressing room. I knocked and then entered when he opened the door.

"Finally. It took you long enough," he said, closing the door behind me as I walked in.

"She had to find it in the back stockroom. I think she steamed it, too. It was warm when she brought it out," I told him.

"Good thing she did. I couldn't wear a wrinkly shirt on international television," he said.

And without so much as a warning, he pulled off the black v-neck Lacoste shirt he was wearing, revealing his perfectly sculpted abs. I felt myself gape at them and then blush. I looked away, feeling embarrassed for the thoughts that were suddenly running through my head. But I had turned my gaze away a second too late. He had already seen the color rise to my cheeks. Now he was smirking as he buttoned the shirt up.

"Like what you see?" he asked. I composed myself and turned to face him again. I drew myself up to my full height, which still left me at about the bottom of his chin. He looked down at me, waiting for my response.

"Be careful about your ego. You might trip over it," I spat. His beautiful blue eyes flashed the way they always did. He wasn't angry; he appreciated my comebacks now.

"And you should be careful about your attitude. People might think you're a bitch," he said. "Oh wait...!" he added sarcastically. I rolled my eyes.

"Good one, loser," I replied. He silently mimicked my words with an exaggerated expression and then smirked as I sat down on his chair. "Can you hurry up and get ready? You're supposed to be out in like 10 minutes," I said. "You take longer to get dressed than girls do," I added.

"And clearly, you don't take long enough," he retorted. He leaned down over my shoulder and fixed his hair. Then he looked at me from the mirror. Our eyes met in the reflection and then he smirked cockily. "You're totally checking me out," he said.

"Really, I'm suffocating from the size of your ego," I said back. He laughed and stood up straight, putting his watch on.  We heard a knock at the door.

"Mr. Starr, you're on in 5," a voice with a thick Italian accent said.

"All right!" Duke replied. He turned to me. "I would ask you if I looked all right, but then I remembered I always look more than all right," he said, a playful smile on his lips. I couldn't help but laugh and shake my head.

"Get outta here," I said. He chuckled and walked out of the door. I followed him to the edge of the curtains just as his name was called out.

An eruption of cheers emerged from the crowd as he stepped onto the stage, striding confidently over to the host of the show. She kissed him on both cheeks and told him how handsome he looked. He told her he was nothing in comparison to her, which made her giggle shrilly and blush. I rolled my eyes; she was clearly too old for him.

I pulled my phone out and texted Denise while the interview went on. To be honest, the thick Italian accents were driving me nuts. I needed to tune them out. Also, the host kept flirting with Duke and he kept making corny jokes that the audience just couldn't get enough of. It was all so fake and disgusting. It made me sick.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, the interview was over and they cut to a commercial break. Duke stood with the host and took a few pictures with her and then answered some fan questions. After that, he walked off stage towards me. I sighed in relief once we were back in his dressing room.

"God, that was excruciating," I complained.

"You're such a bad liar. I know you loved every minute of it," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. This time, I busied myself with my phone so that I wouldn't look at his amazing body.

"There must be something wrong with those eyes of yours, then, because I'm totally not lying," I shot back. He pulled his black v-neck over his head again and fixed his hair. He picked up his phone.

"Is the car ready?" he asked. I checked my messages and nodded.

"It's out back," I answered, putting the shirt he wore back in the bag. "Just so you know, I told the woman I got this shirt from that you'd go to her shop to return the favor for her letting you take this shirt," I told him as we made our way to the back of the studios. He put his shiny grey aviator sunglasses on.

"God, why do you have to sign me up for such mundane things?" he complained.

"Why are you such a jerk?" I replied. Even though I couldn't see it, I knew he rolled his eyes.

"You have to shield me from the paparazzi. Can you handle it?" he asked me when we got to the door. I could chatter and noise outside. I knew there was going to be a hoard of people out there waiting to bombard Duke with questions and photos.

"Where are your security guards?" I asked.

"I told them to sit this one out. I'm testing you, you see," he told me, a wicked grin on his face. I glared at him. I was for sure going to get pummeled out there. I might act like I was strong, but I was thin and slender and not muscular at all. But I couldn't give him the satisfaction of saying I couldn't handle it.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, shielding my eyes with one arm from the flashes of light and with the other, pulling Duke's arm. I dragged him towards the car with difficulty. People's hands were flailing and I could hear shouts in my ears. Duke wasn't making it any easier; he kept stopping to wave at his fans and sign autographs. I grabbed onto his muscular arm and with a great surge of effort, pulled him into the black Escalade. I shut the door behind us and breathed in relief.

I looked up to see Duke smirking at me. I hit him in his rock hard abs. He didn't even flinch.

"You're an ass," I told him.

"I'm impressed you got through that," he said. "I remember my first assistant got scared off by the paparazzi and quit after her first experience," he recounted.

"You're still an ass," I said bluntly. He laughed and raised his eyebrows at me, his eyes flashing giddily. I sighed and relaxed my tense muscles, sinking into the soft leather of the car. Duke leaned back next to me. I pulled my phone out and responded to the message I had received from Denise. We were having an intense text-discussion about Jared.

Tell him from me that if he does anything to hurt you, I'm going to get one of Duke's security guards to beat him up.

"Who's Denise?" Duke asked, reading over my shoulder. I nudged him away.

"Wow, creeper much?" I responded. He looked at me blankly. "She's my best friend," I told him, turning back to the phone as it beeped. I expected to see a response from Denise, but instead, Brandon's name flashed onto the screen. My eyes widened slightly. Brandon!

Brandon: Hey, want to get drinks Friday night?

I frowned. I was supposed to be in Italy for two weeks.

Can't. In Italy.

Brandon: ????????

I'll call later and explain.

I realized that Duke was still reading over my shoulder.

"You know, Duke, I realize that my life is very fascinating. But you don't have to act like a creeper," I said. 

His eyes turned from my phone to my face. He had been leaning in, so his face was quite close to mine. I realized that he had thick, black eyelashes framing his blue, blue eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows at me, a sudden smirk on his face.

"Is Brandon your boyfriend?" he asked me. I pushed him away from me.

"You really have personal bubble issues," I said to him, deflecting the question. He looked at me expectantly. I sighed in frustration. "He's not my boyfriend," I answered.

"Fiancee?" he asked.

"Do I look like I have a ring on?" I asked back.

"Distant lover?" he questioned.

"You're stupid," I replied.

"Crazy stalker?" he asked.

"No, that would be you," I answered. Now he smiled.

"You're a lot of fun, I'll tell you that," he said to me. I felt my lips turn up slightly at the corners and shook my head.

"And you're just too easy," I told him.

"Please, I'm off my game because I'm tired," he said.

"Excuses," I coughed. He shoved me into the side door and I laughed. He shook his head and turned it so he was looking out the tinted windows. I know he was trying to hide it, but he was smiling.

I smirked to myself. Maybe this job wasn't so bad afterall. Duke had gotten past getting angry and riled up at my attitude. Instead, now he gave it right back to me, which I enjoyed. And now, I was beginning to suspect that he was starting to enjoy it, too.

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A/N: Woooo! What do you guys think of Duke? Do you like him and his diva-moves? What about Valerie? Do you like her spunky attitude? And what do you think of their back-and-forths?

Leave me a comment. And don't forget to VOTE, VOTE, VOTE!!!

XOXO

Also, if you're wondering what I mean when I say 'Duke's eyes flashed', watch the video I put in my sidebar. That crazy (and amazing) eye thing that Ian Somerhalder does! Swooon!