Louis Elliott glanced up from the tidy stack of paperwork on his neatly arranged desk as Hollywood superstar Fitz Johnson strolled into his paramount studios bungalow.

"Hi, honey." said Fitz. "I'm home." He shut the door on the remains of a gloomy February day and pitched a faded duffel at the reception area sofa before heading toward the tiny office bathroom, shedding bits of wardrobe in his wake.

"Not again." Louis bit back a resigned sigh as he rose from his desk chair and followed. He'd spent four years as Fitz personal assistant before the actor had promoted him to associate producer for his new film production company. Four years salvaging bits and bobs of order and sanity from the chaos his friend tended to churn up wherever he went. "This is getting to be a bad habit."

"What's the matter?" Fitz twisted the taps in the narrow shower and adjusted the temperature of the spray. "Bad day? your date cancel out on you tonight? don't tell me you're not glad to see me."

Louis plucked a tuxedo tie dangling from the edge of the pedestal sink. "why do you insist on showering here several evenings each week? why don't you use the facilities in your dressing room?"

"Save time." Fitz dropped his pants and shot Louis a grin as he stepped into the streaming stall. "I can clean up and check in with you at the same time."

Louis tossed the tie on the crumpled black trousers lying on the tile floor and settled for a seat on the toilet lid. There was always business to discuss. now that he was fine turning the pre-production budget for Fitz personal project, a remark of the classic Western. The Virginian.