Page 3 of Giving Chase

I spot Bess, my assistant, waving frantically from a table near the stage. Her wild red curls are impossible to miss, even in this lighting. I navigate my way over, nodding to a few familiar faces as I pass. Jerry from Sony, Mick from Universal – we're all here for the same reason. The hunt for the next big thing.

"You made it!" Bess grins, practically bouncing in her seat. At twenty-four, she's closer in age to the crowd around us, but her enthusiasm makes her seem even younger. "I was worried you might bail for that charity gala everyone wanted a ticket to."

I slide into the seat beside her, signaling the waitress for a drink. "And miss the chance to see the band you've been raving about for weeks? Not a chance." I don't mention that I've already been to three shows this week, each one a disappointment. Inthis industry, you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince.

"Trust me, they're worth it. Incendiary Ink is going to blow you away."

I raise an eyebrow, accepting a glass of overpriced white wine from the waitress. "Big words, Bess. Let's hope they live up to the hype." I take a sip, savoring the crisp taste. It's my one indulgence tonight; I need to keep a clear head.

“Just wait until you see and hear the lead singer, Chase Avery. Then you’ll get it.”

My internal cynicism smirks. “If you say so…”

As the lights dim further, I feel a familiar surge of anticipation, tinged with a hint of something else. Wariness, perhaps. Or maybe it's just the echo of a lesson learned the hard way. The last time I felt this excited about a new act, it ended with a gold band on my finger and a crying baby in my arms. Don't get me wrong – Justin is the best thing that ever happened to me. But his father? Let's just say mixing business with pleasure in this industry rarely ends well.

The band takes the stage without fanfare, no dramatic entrance, or flashy effects. Just three guys with their instruments, looking for all the world like they've just rolled out of bed and onto the stage. But then the lead singer steps up to the mic, and I feel the air leave my lungs.

He's beautiful in that disheveled, rock-and-roll way that is infuriating and irresistible. Dark hair falls in his eyes, which are lined with just a hint of smudged kohl. His lean body is clad in torn jeans and a faded t-shirt that's seen better days. But it's his presence that captivates – an effortless charisma that draws all eyes to him.

I've seen a thousand singers just like him. I've signed a few, and broken the hearts of many more. I've learned the hard way not to mix business with pleasure, no matter how attractivethe package. The diamond-less ring finger on my left hand is a constant reminder of that particular life lesson.

And then he starts to sing.

His voice cuts through my cynicism like a hot knife through butter. It's raw and powerful, with an emotional depth that belies his young age. The lyrics are sharp and clever, cutting through the noise with a clarity that's rare in the current music scene.

I find myself leaning forward, completely engrossed. For the first time in years, I feel that spark, that excitement that drew me to this industry in the first place. It's the same feeling that led me to Justin's father all those years ago. The thought should be a bucket of cold water, but somehow, it's not enough to douse the heat building inside me.

As the set progresses, I watch the other members too. The drummer, a big guy with arms like tree trunks, plays with an almost alarming ferocity. The tall guitarist, lanky with a shock of bright blue hair, provides a steady counterpoint to the lead singer's energy.

But it's the singer who plays bass so expertly, but it feels like an afterthought – Chase, if the screams from the audience are anything to go by – who holds my attention. There's something about him, a star quality that can't be manufactured or faked. The same quality made me fall for Justin's dad, but there's something different here. Something more.

I know I'm witnessing something special by the time they finish their set with a haunting ballad. The room erupts into thunderous applause, and I'm on my feet before I realize it, clapping along with everyone else.

I turn to Bess, not bothering to hide my excitement. "Find out everything you can about them. I’m going to try to get a meeting set up for tomorrow."

She grins, already tapping away on her Blackberry. "I told you they were good."

"Good doesn't begin to cover it," I mutter, my eyes still fixed on the stage where the band is packing up their gear.

As I move through the crowd towards them, I can already hear the opening lines of my pitch forming in my head. But underneath the professional excitement, there's something else. A flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with the way Chase's t-shirt clings to his lean frame as he bends to pack up his guitar.

I push the feeling aside. I'm here to sign a fucking band, not to fall for a pretty face and a voice that makes my knees weak. I've been down that road before, and I have the emotional scars and a precocious eight-year-old to show for it.

But as Chase looks up and our eyes meet, I have a feeling things aren't going to be that simple. Not this time. And despite every hard-learned lesson, every late night with a crying baby, every bitter argument with my ex, I can't bring myself to look away.

God help me. I think I'm in trouble.

As I approach the stage, I square my shoulders and put on my most professional smile. Up close, the band looks even younger, barely out of their twenties. The blue-haired bassist notices me first, nudging the drummer, who's busy breaking down his kit.

"Can we help you?" the guitarist asks, a hint of wariness in his voice.

"I hope so," I reply, pulling out my business card. "Eliza Kerr, Head of A&R at Blackmore Records. I'd love to set up a meeting with you guys."

Their eyes widen at the mention of Blackmore. It's a reaction I'm used to – we're not the biggest label out there, but we have a reputation for nurturing unique talent.

"Seriously?" The drummer abandons his cymbals, moving closer. "That would be amazing, right Chase?"

And there he is. The lead singer turns, and I find myself staring into eyes so green they put emeralds to shame. Up close, he's even more striking – all sharp cheekbones and full lips curved into a crooked smile.