Page 45 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

I stare at him.

He pops another fry into his mouth like the conversation has nothing to do with him.

“Why are you like this?”

Julian grins. “Natural talent. Tragic upbringing. Great hair.”

I open my mouth.

Then close it.

Because, irritatingly, that’s funny.

Gabe takes his card back and slides it into his wallet. “You can argue about the tip if you want,” he says, “but we’re not changing it.”

I prickle.

Maybe it’s the calm certainty.

Maybe it’s because all three of them have some variation of I’ve decided a thing and now it is true in their personalities and it makes me want to throw objects.

I tuck the signed slip into my board. “You know, it’s very weird how comfortable you all are making decisions for other people.”

Julian points a fry at me. “Counterpoint: if we didn’t, you’d never stay anywhere long enough for anything interesting to happen.”

I level a look at him. “Interesting for who?”

“Yes.”

I hate him a little.

I shift my bag up higher on my shoulder. “Anyway, now that I’ve delivered your food, been verbally harassed in a kitchen the size of a church and watched one of you commit theft in broad daylight, I’m going to leave.”

Julian brightens. “No.”

I blink. “That’s not how leaving works.”

“It can be,” he says. “You haven’t seen the studio yet.”

I go still.

His smile turns smug in a way that makes me want to preemptively object to whatever he says next.

“I totally see it,” he says lightly.

I frown. “See what?”

“Curiosity.”

“I’m not curious.”

Julian just stares at me.

From somewhere deeper in the house, faint but unmistakable, a guitar riff curls through the place. Not loud. Just enough to catch. Enough to remind me that there are rooms beyond this one full of people and sound and whatever exactly it is they’ve built here.

My eyes flick that direction.

Julian sees it and lights up like Christmas. “Oh, you’re definitely curious.”