"It's not right again!" Jimmy yelled over the mic. "Fucking cut!"

I ripped off my headphones. "Bloody hell, we were just hitting our groove," I complained. "All bloody day with this."

"Gotta get the best sound," Hudson said, but his usual big, optimistic smile looked like it was fraying around the edges, just like the rest of us. Ewan's hair was sticking almost straight up from him anxiously raking his fingers through it. Niall was slumped almost in half, looking like he could fall asleep any minute now.

"Want us to take it from the top, Jimmy?" Hudson called over the mic.

But there was no answer from the booth. Frustrated, he reached for his big bottle of hot water with lemon and slumped against the carpeted back wall.

The door to the booth opened and a black-clad tech came bustling out. "Just gotta move some mics, guys," he said apologetically.

"Do what you gotta do, mate," Ewan said, gesturing.

He scurried from one kit to another, moving around a dizzying array of looping wires and hanging microphones. Each time he moved something, he glanced worriedly back to the sound booth to see if his adjustment met with Jimmy's approval, which was communicated by Jimmy stabbing his finger in the direction of the next mic to be moved.

Jimmy stabbed his finger towards me. "Oh shit," I said I clenched my fist as a tech made a minute adjustment to my kit. "Sorry," he mumbled as Jimmy stabbed his finger again.

Then he stepped over me, straddling my lap to reach the high hat.

His ass was directly in my face.

"Um." I leaned back as far as I could without falling off my stool. My nerves were frayed from eight hours of audio-tyranny, and the absurdity of being mooned by a sound tech was the last straw. I started to laugh, helplessly and I could hear Ewan trying to hold back his own laughter which only made it worse.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," the tech chanted, but did not move.

I glanced at Ewan and arranged my face into an expression of utter horror. "Little help?" I mouthed.

He went bright red. He pressed his lips together and shook his head, making little mmphing sounds.

Suddenly, a loud snort ripped from his mouth and he let out a huge guffaw.

"Did you just bloody snort?" Niall demanded.

Ewan was laughing helplessly, doubled over like he was in pain But somehow he managed, with great effort, to gesture for Niall to look over at where I was sitting with a sweaty bloke's ass-crack in my face. That's all it took for Niall to suddenly crack up as well.

"Yeah, um," I wheezed. It was an effort to get the words out. "Need me out of the way, mate?" I asked the tech, pushing up from my stool.

"No!" he barked, and physically shoved me back down. I laughed even harder as I gaped at him. "Sorry but in order to mic you properly, I need to have the correct distance from you chest.

"Are you going to buy me dinner when you're done?" I asked, wincing back as far as I could. "Usually when someone straddles me like this, it's after a hell of a lot of foreplay."

"I"m sorry, Mr. Spencer, I just need to..." he grunted and bent down even further. The hem of his vintage Slayer T-shirt rode up, exposing a strip of pimply white flesh. Hudson was rolling on the floor, helpless with laughter. Ewan was wiping his eyes. Niall wasn't making any sound at all, other than the occasional wheeze.

We were having too much fun. This had to be pissing August right off.

I twisted on my stool, peering around the tech's hip to see if she was ready to murder us all with her eyes.

But I couldn't see them at all. Her hands were clapped over her face, hiding them from view. For a second I wondered if she was crying, the way her shoulders were shaking.

But when she dragged her hands down to press her fingers to her lips, I saw that she was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down her face. I grinned and twisted back to talk to the tech, knowing that I was miked and she could hear everything I said.

"Mate, I'm concerned about the looks of this mole you've got back here. Might want to give your dermatologist a call." I glanced back at the sound booth to see that she had turned away, only the bright red of her curls visibly as her head bobbed in silent laughter.

Today was looking up.

"Okay, Mr. Spencer." The tech finally straightened up. "You are all set."

"Aren't you going to ask for my number?" I whined as he walked away. "I feel so used."

A booming voice piped into my ear. "Okay you limey bastards, cut the crap," Jimmy announced. "It's go time."

"Finally," Ewan muttered, straightening up a little.

"First, let me check all the levels," Jimmy went on.

"Again?" Hudson whispered.

"Jules!"

"Aye!" I raised my sticks.

"High-hat."

I tapped my cymbal once.

"Again." I could see Jimmy fiddling with some knobs, then leaning back to bark at the tech. Dutifully I tapped the high-hat again.

Jimmy shook his head. "Ewan, give me C-major."

Ewan started strumming but Jimmy clicked back on almost immediately. "Just once."

Ewan's eyebrows zoomed up, but he played the chord as instructed.

Jimmy shook his head again and leaned back. I couldn't hear what he was yelling at his tech and I almost wished I could because then we'd know what it was that was pissing him off.

"You see them fighting but you can't hear what they're saying," Niall sighed. "This is just like when my mum and dad used to fight in the greenhouse."

"Your house had a greenhouse in the yard?" Hudson asked.

"Nah mate, his estate did. He's a bloody posh tosser," Ewan reminded us all. He glanced expectantly in my direction.

I knew he was expecting me to jump in on the posh-Niall-bashing, as it was one of my favorite pastimes. But I was too busy watching Jimmy throw a soundless fit.

Our first album was recorded in three days. The engineer had us stand in the middle of an abandoned church that he'd wired up the day before. We played as one, no backing tracks, no overdubs. Just us, essentially live. It had been magic, and all the more so because it was our very first album. It'd been the culmination of our life up to that point, a young, scrappy bar band working the London circuit before we scratched together enough money to make the jump to New York. We'd captured lightning in a bottle with that album.

You'd think it would be even easier now. We were seasoned pros, with four albums and two world tours under our belt. But with each album, the standards we were held to - hell the standards we held ourselves to - they only got higher. While our first album took three days to record, the second took two weeks. The third was a month-long disaster. The fourth I barely even remembered because I'd made sure to be blackout drunk for most of it to avoid the worst of Killian's downward spiral. All I remembered was that the producer, Max Marple, was a total diva. Starstruck at the prospect of having his name in the credits for a Wrecked album, he'd driven us all to the breaking point with his perfectionism.

With a sinking feeling, I realized Jimmy was the same way. An audio genius who held the whole world to his own impossible standards.

I glanced over at Ewan. He shook his head, clearly on the same wavelength as me. "Shades of Marple, yeah?"

I nodded. "History repeats itself."

"Think she knew he'd be like this?" Ewan asked, lifting his chin towards the sound booth.

I looked where he was looking. August was sitting there, her chin resting on her interlaced fingers. Her face was perfect bland serenity, but there was something about the set of her shoulders that told me how tense she was, sitting there listening as Jimmy gesticulated wildly above her.

I shook my head and looked away. She'd hand-picked this guy. She should be perfectly comfortable with him and his perfectionism. And temper. They were kindred spirits. But she looked utterly miserable. I caught her gaze and felt myself give her a rueful smile.

At that, her face suddenly changed. All at once she sat up straighter, tossing her fiery curls. I saw her raise her hand, imperious, and then her pretty little mouth started making the shapes of some pretty forceful looking words.

"Ooh..." Niall sing-songed. "Jimmy's in trouble."

He sure as hell was. Jimmy Catanese - famous producer and constantly in demand sound engineer - froze in mid-tirade the second August Waverly stood up to stand eye to eye with him. She mouthed some more forceful looking words, with a slight curl to her lip. I had no idea what she was saying but I knew that look. I could hear that withering snarl of hers in my head. And I almost felt pity for Jimmy. Locked in a room with her like that. He was probably afraid for his life.

"Get him, lass," Ewan whispered. "Eat him alive."

She finished her tirade with a winning smile, cocking her head so that her curls danced prettily around her face. Then her smile hardened. She said something else, her chin jutting out ever so slightly.

Jimmy abruptly plopped down onto his stool.

August smiled and sat down as graceful as a queen.

I shifted and realized I was as hard as a fucking diamond.

Jimmy switched on the mic. "Ah, let's just have you play all the way through, all right boys?" He glanced warily at August who gave a barely perceptible nod of approval. He came back on the mic. "So yeah. From the top then and I won't stop you. I promise."

I looked up to where August was watching us. She caught me looking and gave a tight, proud little smile. "Nice work, love," I said.

Her smile widened a fraction of an inch. But I saw it and I smiled too.