Page 44 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Only because I absolutely refuse to look like I’m intimidated by square footage.

The hallway opens into a room so large and bright I physically stop.

“This is a kitchen?” I say.

Julian, who has already set the food out across an island the size of my first apartment, glances up. “Yeah.”

“No, I need you to hear how crazy that sounded. This isn’t a kitchen. This is a venue.”

It’s all marble and dark cabinets and industrial lighting softened by warm wood and a wall of windows looking out over the grounds. There are stools lined up at the island, fresh flowers on one end, some kind of built-in espresso machine that probably costs more than my car, and beyond that, open doors leading into what looks like a lounge area with deep couches and bookshelves, and, because apparently subtlety died here, a baby grand piano.

I point at it. “Why is there a piano in your living room?”

Julian follows my finger. “For piano reasons.”

“You say a lot of things that make me tired.”

“Yet you keep coming back.”

Gabe steps around me to set the card slip down on the counter. “You can charge the company card.”

“Tempting,” I say. “Do you think they’d notice if I added emotional damages?”

He glances up, green eyes sparkling. “How much are emotional damages for this particular delivery?”

I fold my arms. “At least three hundred dollars and one sincere apology for the fry theft.”

Julian laughs from the island. “That seems low.”

“Don’t encourage me.”

“Never.”

Gabe hands over the card.

I take it, looking only at the card and not at the hand holding it because I already know what these men are like. One is intense enough to make standing still feel like a confrontation, one is all weaponized charm and zero respect for boundaries, and this one…

This one is quiet in a way that feels more dangerous than either of the others.

I run the card through the portable machine clipped to my order board, hand it back, and hold out the slip for him to sign.

He signs without comment.

I glance down at the amount after he adds the tip and nearly roll my eyes hard enough to detach my retinas. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Julian looks up with interest. “How bad?”

I turn the slip toward Gabe. “What’s wrong with all of you?”

He looks at the number, then back at me. “It seemed appropriate.”

“It seems unhinged.”

“It’s a large order.”

“It’s six sandwiches and a family-size existential crisis.”

Julian leans over the island to see. “Mm. No, that’s fair. I might’ve gone higher.”