I gave Vance a look wondering what he thought of al this.

Jules, again, had passed on the night out with the Rock Chicks, preferring to stay home and keep herself and her unborn baby safe.

This, I thought, was a good decision.

Vance had given up on his study of his boots and was now wearing a shit-eating grin and watching me.

Apparently what Vance thought about al of this was that it was highly amusing.

I rol ed my eyes.

His grin got wide.

Whatever!

There came a knock at the door and Vance went tense.

“Scout,” Hector’s voice said from the other side of the door and it was my turn to go tense.

“Scout?” Roxie breathed, her huge eyes swinging to me and al the Rock Chicks swayed with the excitement fil ing the room.

“I’m unavailable,” I said to Vance quickly but he ignored me and opened the door.

Damn it!

Monk walked in with Hector and a balding, middle-aged man who stil managed, even thin on the top, to look cool wearing jeans, a light blue col ared shirt and black boots.

“Stel a, beautiful, you’re on fire tonight,” Monk raved, clenching his hands together like a greedy, maniacal banker in a bad movie.

I stood and murmured my thanks, my eyes on the scout.

My eyes being on the scout had the added benefit of al owing me to avoid Hector, Vance, Monk and the Rock Chicks.

I took a pul from my beer, swal owed and asked, “And you are?”

“Dixon Jones. A&R. Black Fat Records,” he answered.

Oh.

Wow.

I’d heard of Black Fat Records even though they hadn’t been around very long. They were smal and they were choosy. They found good talent, they took good care of them and they had a kil er marketing department.

If I’d ever wanted The Gypsies to be signed, it would be with an outfit like Black Fat Records.

“Enjoying the show?” I asked like I didn’t care, which I didn’t. Not real y.

But then again, I did.

What the ef was wrong with me?

Dixon Jones smiled at me, it was genuine and it threw me.

“You write the new material?” he asked and this threw me too.

I shook my head. “That’s Buzz, my bass player. He writes the music. And Leo, my rhythm guitar. He writes the lyrics.”

“Those songs were tight. It’s good to see you branching out of covers,” Dixon commented and this threw me most of al .

“You catch a gig before?” I asked, doing my damnedest to stay outwardly calm.

“Anytime I’m in Denver, The Gypsies are playing, I come,” Dixon replied.

Oh my Lord!

“So why haven’t you ever met my girl here?” Monk pushed in and clapped Dixon on the back. It gave me the creepy-crawlies to be referred to as Monk’s girl, so much so, even though I tried to stop it, my lip curled.

Dixon looked down his nose at Monk and replied,

“Except when they’re playing The Pal adium. I usual y avoid The Pal adium.”

Monk got a little pale and stepped back.

I couldn’t help myself, I smirked at Dixon Jones. Al of a sudden, I liked him.

“Couldn’t miss tonight,” he said, lifting a copy of USA Today I hadn’t noticed he was carrying. “Rock ‘n’ rol in the face of certain danger. I figured it’d be good but shit. Gotta tel you, Stel a, you and your boys delivered beyond expectation. Your set list is inspired.”

Then Dixon snapped the paper open and turned a page to face me.

On the page was a grainy photo of me and Mace making out last night onstage. I didn’t look at the caption; I was too busy staring at the photo. I, of course, had never seen myself kissing Mace (or anyone) and I was weirdly fascinated.

The photo was probably taken by a cel phone camera. It didn’t look great but it didn’t look bad either. In fact, the way I was bent over Mace’s arm, the drums in the background, Mace’s fist wrapped around the neck of my guitar, my hands clutching his broad shoulders, our lips locked, it looked hot.

Smokin’ hot.

Shitsofuckit!

“Holy crap,” Indy whispered.

“USA Today?” Jet breathed.

“I didn’t see that one,” Daisy muttered.

“Great f**kin’ picture,” Al y observed.

I took a step forward, my hand coming out to take the paper but I didn’t make it. Vance got there before me, tagged the paper and took a step back.

“You need to focus on the show,” Vance said to me, folding the paper and tucking it under his arm.

I stared at him, shocked. So did Dixon Jones. The Rock Chicks al looked at each other and they did it knowingly.

Not good.

Something was up.

I turned to Vance. “What are you? My manager?” Vance looked at his watch then back to me. “For the next two minutes, yeah.”

“Are not,” I snapped.

“Focus, Stel a,” Vance shot back.

“We need to talk,” Hector said to Dixon and I turned angry, confused eyes to Hector.

Dixon was also looking confused.

I looked back at Hector and read his intent.

Oh no.

This was not going to happen!

“Don’t talk to him,” I said to Dixon.

Now Dixon was looking at me and he stil appeared confused.

The Rock Chicks huddled closer except Shirleen. She approached Dixon.

“Yeah, Hector and me and you, we all got to talk,” Shirleen said to Dixon.

Oh dear.

This was getting worse.

“And me!” Daisy pressed forward.

Oh no!

Even worse!

“No!” I shouted, trying to move but for some reason Al y and Ava had me in a death grip.

Dixon swung his gaze from me to Daisy to Shirleen.

“Who’re you?” he asked Shirleen.

He asked Shirleen but Daisy answered.

“Managers. We all manage The Gypsies. Just like any real good, smokin’ hot rock band, they’re a handful, comprende?”

“They’re not my managers,” I told Dixon.

Shirleen had her fingers curled around Dixon’s upper arm and was leading him to the door. She leaned in toward his ear and lied, “She says that three times a day.” I looked to the ceiling and silently said a short, pointed prayer.

My prayer went ignored and, with a bemused glance over his shoulder at me, Dixon Jones disappeared behind the door.

I turned woodenly and looked at Al y. “What just happened?”