Page 55 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

But Xander isn’t arguing with me anymore, that’s the problem. He’s not trying to convince me I’m wrong. He’s not brushing it off or acting like I’m overreacting. He’s just standing there taking it, calm and direct in a way that feels sincere.

And Gabe somehow made it worse by giving me an actual choice.

Stay angry.

Leave angry.

Either way, nobody’s blocking the door.

Julian is already halfway through the fries like this entire conversation is just background noise to him, and the tension in the room shifts, becoming something less overwhelming. Less cornered.

Underneath the irritation, underneath the instinct to protect myself from men exactly like this, there’s something else.

Curiosity.

About the house, the label, them. And maybe that makes me an idiot, but apparently not enough of one to walk away yet.

So, instead, against every instinct built by years of common sense and a healthy distrust of men with too much money, I walk over to the island and sit on the stool Gabe indicated.

This isn’t forgiveness. It’s a temporary lapse in judgment.

I pick up the drink and take a sip.

Damn it. It’s good.

I glare into the glass like that might change things. “I hate all of you a little.”

Julian beams. “That’s basically a declaration of friendship where I come from.”

“I don’t care where you come from.”

“Oh, Redemption Falls really has changed me,” he says to no one in particular.

Xander takes the stool across from me, not right beside, but directly opposite. He leans one forearm against the island and watches me over the spread of food like I’m somehow more interesting than the fact that Julian is currently arranging sauce cups in a line like they’re tiny employees.

I try to focus on the food in front of me, but my stomach does a little twist at the thought of eating.

It’s not that I don’t love food, I do. The problem is, I don’t always feel comfortable eating in front of people.

Especially men who have everything together while I’m just me. Curvy, soft, with hips and thighs that are anything but runway-model thin.

There’s a brief second where I just sit there, forcing myself not to pick at the fries too much, and I feel myself getting a little self-conscious.

This is stupid.

I tell myself to stop thinking about it, to just eat and move on. So, I do. I pick up a fry and take a bite.

Julian points a chicken tender at me. “So. Since you’ve accidentally become part of dinner, tell us something useful.”

“Such as?”

He gestures around vaguely. “Town stuff.”

I arch a brow. “That’s insultingly broad.”

“I’m a broad guy.”

“I’m assuming that’s your subtle way of saying you want the inside scoop on Redemption Falls,” I say, forcing myself to focus. “Fine. Let’s see…”