Page 132 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“A while.”

“A while,” I repeat. “Very helpful. Very specific.”

He folds his hands on the desk. “A few months.”

I stare at him. Months.

“You’ve been talking to Xander’s estranged brother for months,” I say, “and you thought maybe that didn’t need to come up?”

“That depends how useful it was going to be.”

I laugh then, because wow.

“Useful,” I repeat. “Amazing choice of word.”

“It’s an accurate one.”

“No, it’s a Gabe one.”

“Those overlap more than you imply.”

I drag a hand through my hair and pace once toward the window, then back. The room feels smaller now. More airless.

“You’re managing communication,” I say, more statement than question.

“Yes.”

“For who?”

He doesn’t blink. “Both of them.”

That stops me short. “What?”

He exhales, patient in a way that always means he’s about to say something infuriatingly rational. “Xander doesn’t know it’s active communication. Dylan reaches out. I don’t always respond. When I do, I keep it narrow. Business. Updates. Temperature checks.”

I stare at him. “Temperature checks?”

“You’re mocking the phrase because it’s clinical.”

“I’m mocking the phrase because you’re talking about two brothers who would rather bleed out than admit they miss each other and you’ve apparently turned them into a risk assessment.”

His expression doesn’t change. “That doesn’t make it inaccurate.”

“No,” I say. “It makes it bleak.”

Gabe stands and comes around the desk. Not aggressive. Just removing the furniture between us because he knows this conversation has moved past casual.

“I didn’t tell Xander because there was nothing useful to tell him yet,” he says.

“That’s a hell of a sentence.”

“It’s a practical one.”

I throw my hands in the air in frustration. “There you go again.”

He ignores that. “Dylan’s band is at risk of circling the drain.”

I go quiet, because that part, at least, I know.