"How do you do these things?" I marveled as I followed August back to the quiet, roped off area in the back.

She shrugged and sat down. "I just talked to the booking guy," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Explained that you work for Anthem..."

I grinned and shook my head in awe. Being friends with August was a never-ending lesson in chutzpah. Sometimes I wondered if I would have turned out like her if I'd grown up differently. Everything was always handed to me, so I'd never needed to bother asking for it. "So you name dropped? I thought you were above that."

August grinned over her drink. "I didn't tell him who you were. I just told him you were an A&R scout for Anthem and he practically fell over himself to accommodate us." She stretched out in her chair, pointing and flexing her toes and fluffing out the mane of red curls that bounced on top of her head like it was alive and had a mind of its own. "I could get used to this."

I smiled, looking out into the cramped general admission area. The place was about three-quarters full and I silently wondered if August's boyfriend's band really had this kind of drawing power. Were these Sinister Affinity fans or were they here for the terribly named headliner? "Hey!" I shouted over the sudden sound of applause as the houselights dimmed. "Who is Noah opening for again?"

But at that moment, August jumped to her feet, loudly whistling as her boyfriend and his band slumped their way onto the tiny, cramped stage.

I sat back in my comfortable chair and tried to mentally prepare myself to approach this with an open mind. No matter how annoying Noah was on a personal level, he had somehow managed to draw a crowd. I needed to approach tonight from a business frame of mind. Maybe there was something about Sinister Affinity that I had missed.

August shot me a grin, her eyes full of wild, drunken love and I raised my drink. "Woo!" I shouted, nodding at her. "Rock on!" Her enthusiasm was infectious and I started clapping like they were the second coming of Led Zeppelin.

But the second they crashed into their first song, the grin died away from my face.

"Oh," I muttered under my breath. "Oh my god this is awful."

The three guys onstage shambled their way around a cover of a Ruthless tune, rendering it nearly unrecognizable. They were a half a beat off from each other, and whoever set up their sound system seemed to only worry about getting them as loud as possible. They sounded like a muddied, mishmash of noise and even August's rapt expression of adoration became strained.

Up in the front, only the drunkest fans were slam-dancing. The rest of the crowd stood as if rooted to the spot. I saw a few little clumps of people turn away from the disaster unfolding in front of them and slink towards the exits.

Dear God, if this mess was the opening band, how terrible were the headliners? Twat Yacht? What was I thinking coming here tonight?

"They sound a little off!' August shouted worriedly in my ear.

"I think it's the sound mix," I said charitably.

I could see her face crash down into irritation. "I told Noah they needed a new sound guy like yesterday," she yelled.

"I take it he didn't listen to you?"

"He says it's fine," she said, sounding more pissed than I would have expected.

"He should have listened to you," I told her, trying to stay diplomatic.

Her brown eyes blazed in the dark of the bar. "Yeah," she said, turning back to glare at the stage. "He should have."

"I'm going to go get more drinks," I said, backing away. She nodded, still fixing Noah with a look that should have killed him on the spot.

The bar was in the far left corner, under the balcony, and mercifully shielded from the worst of the noise onstage. I ordered one of the sloe gin fizzes that August was currently obsessed with. "And just a shot of Johnnie Walker Black, for me," I told the refrigerator-sized bartender.

He raised one eyebrow and I knew what he was thinking. My petite size was just one more roadblock in the uphill battle to be taken seriously that I fought on a daily basis. I knew I looked like a kid and that along with my status as "Ricky Silver's little girl" meant I was forever feeling like a twelve-year old playing pretend in the grown-up world.

"Can I see some ID?" the bartender asked.

I sighed. His other eyebrow went up as I slid my hand into my bra to retrieve my license. I lifted my chin in challenge as I held it up for him to see. "I'll be twenty-three next month," I declared. "See?"

"Okay Cecelia."

"Just Celia."

"You're a Virgo," he said.

I laughed. "You're trying to trick me. You think it's a fake? August 16th. I'm a Leo."

He grinned and nodded. "Fair enough. One shot of Johnnie Walker Black, coming up."

There was a deafening crash from onstage that set my teeth on edge. "Better make it two," I called.

A few desultory whoops and a smattering of applause, most of it coming from the direction of August's roped off section, and the aural assault of Sinister Affinity ground to an awkward halt. "Good night New York!" Noah screamed into the mic like he was closing down Madison Square Garden. I cringed and rushed back to August's side.

"Here," I said, holding out her too-sweet drink.

She looked vaguely shell-shocked. "Thanks," she said and proceeded to knock back half. "Didn't you get one of your Hank Williams drinks?"

I grinned. August claimed I had the same taste in drinks as a grizzled old country singer. I held up two fingers. "It's called Johnnie Walker, not Hank Williams, and I've had two shots thank you." I swayed a little, enjoying the relative silence as the set changed. "Got a nice buzz going on for Twat Yacht," I said, wincing at the name.

August wrinkled her nose. "You wanna stay for them? I mean, Noah's probably backstage, we can head back there and hang out."

The idea of being trapped in a tiny green room with Noah was distasteful on a good day. Having to sit there and pretend for August's sake that the show had been anything other than an unmitigated disaster was something I couldn't even contemplate right now. "Let's just see what they're all about," I said, pinning a big enthusiastic smile on my face. "I mean, aren't you at least a little curious about who the heck would name their band Twat Yacht?"

August seemed a little relieved. "Oh for sure," she said, settling back into her chair. "They're probably a bunch of kids who think they're clever." She shot me an evil grin. "You know you want to sign them."

"Please," I cried, rolling my eyes. I was feeling more than a little buzzed by now. "I'd rather die. Can you imagine me walking into Anthem right now and trying to get them to sign Twat Yacht? I'd be shooting my career in the foot before it even started."

August was snorting into her drink. "What the hell kind of name is that?" she wondered, shaking her head. "I'd like to meet their manager."

"To smack them in the head?" I asked. But whatever answer she was about to give was drowned out by the cacophony of applause that suddenly roared up from the front.

"What the hell?" I muttered, standing back up and craning my neck. Everyone in front of me was on their feet, shouting and pogoing in place and completely blocking my view. I couldn't see who had walked onstage.

But all at once I could hear.

A pure wave of sound hit me full in the face, traveling down my spine to make my toes curl in my boots. I felt my mouth fall open as the music began to build...

"Is this...?" August shouted into my ear, just as the tune was starting to become recognizable. "Are they playing...?"

"Wrecked," I agreed. "It's a Wrecked song, but they're not..." I trailed off as I listened. The unseen band onstage was playing a song off the first Wrecked album but they were playing it...different. Tighter, leaner. Instead of the soaring harmonies of Killian Ness and Jane Doe, there was only a one male singer growling out the lyrics in a snarling undertone. His vocals blended into the music in a mumbled bass, almost disappearing, but the music...

The music had me on my feet. Swaying. Shouting along the words I knew. I looked over to August who was staring openmouthed. "Can you see them?" I asked my taller friend.

"A little," she said, bouncing on her toes. "The drummer definitely looks like Jules Spencer. I mean, he's got the hair anyway. And the bassist is tall as hell, like Niall Penrose is, but...I can't tell..."

"Are they a cover band?" I wondered. But even as I asked that I was shaking my head. This was no cover band, cranking out cheap imitations. This was — somehow — the real deal. But Wrecked was over! I was there when it ended! I lost my job because of them, and because of Ewan Boyd being a dickhead out for blood. Roger had needed a scapegoat and his intern was a convenient one. Turned out he fired me for no reason, as the guys had left Crux Records that very afternoon. It should have been comforting, but it wasn't.

I jumped in place, trying like hell to see who was playing right now. I caught a glimpse of the guy at the mic, but his face was obscured by a tangle of dark hair. The Wrecked cover ended and they immediately crashed into another song, but this one I didn't recognize. It was a lean, spare, almost punk sounding three-chord assault. Deceptively simple, it was the kind of polished perfection that got under your skin immediately. I knew I'd be singing this song for the next week.

"Holy shit," I shouted to August. "Is it me, or are they really fucking good?"

She nodded, wide-eyed. "Imagine what they'd be with a better name?"

"Or with a label behind them?" I said slowly.

August turned and I could see the wheels turning in her brain so fast her ears could start smoking. "Get them, CeCe," she hissed, grabbing my arm tightly. "Go. Before someone else poaches them from you. Twat Yacht is your discovery." My heart started pounding. "This is exactly what you need. Let's go sign them."