Page 177 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

A woman walks inside wearing a cream trench coat and sunglasses that probably cost more than my car. Dark hair. Bright lipstick. Expensive handbag. Confident smile.

Definitely not from Redemption Falls.

She scans the diner once before her gaze lands directly on me.

Oh no.

The woman walks toward the counter with the focused determination of someone who has already decided she’s getting what she wants.

I consider fleeing into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Lara sees her too, and Lara loves drama almost as much as Grace Holloway does.

“Willow,” she calls far too loudly, “customer for you.”

I plaster on my customer service smile as the woman reaches the counter.

“Hi,” she says brightly, extending a hand. “Caitlyn West.”

Every instinct I possess screams danger.

I don’t take the hand. “Caitlyn. Hi. Let me show you to your seat.”

“I don’t need food.”

I narrow my eyes. “I see.”

“I’m actually hoping we can chat.”

“No.”

She blinks once, clearly not expecting immediate rejection. “I think you might want to hear what I have to say first.”

“I really don’t.”

Around us, the diner has gone suspiciously quiet.

Now everyone is openly listening.

Caitlyn leans casually against the counter like we’re girlfriends catching up over brunch instead of strangers seconds away from a homicide. “I’m doing a feature on Redemption Records.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“It really is. Three former rockstars disappearing into a tiny town in upstate New York to build a mysterious label? The public loves that kind of thing.”

I grab a stack of menus aggressively. “Well, the public should get hobbies.”

Another amused smile. She’s enjoying this.

“But lately,” she continues smoothly, “interest has shifted a little.”

I freeze. Shifted. Toward what?

“Okay…”

“Toward you.”

My stomach drops. I laugh because surely not. “That’s embarrassing for everyone involved.”