Page 6 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Maybe both.

“Enjoy your food,” I say, already turning away before any of them can decide they need more.

“Willow.”

I stop, though only because pretending I didn’t hear him would probably create more trouble than it’s worth. When I turn back, I lift one eyebrow in what I hope reads as controlled patience rather than the homicidal frustration I’m currently feeling.

“Yes, Xander?”

He holds my gaze, then glances down at his mug. “Coffee.”

I look at the cup. It is, at most, half empty. “You’re halfway through.”

“I like it fresh.”

I smile, though I suspect it looks more like a warning than anything friendly. “I’ll alert the media.”

Julian laughs again, Gabe hides his smile behind his hand, and Xander doesn’t react at all. But there’s a fire in his eyes now. A ragged edge of interest, as if this conversation has become more entertaining than he expected it to be.

I refill his cup anyway, because regardless of how irritating he is, I do still need my job.

The next twenty minutes pass in a blur of refills, shouted orders, and trying very hard not to think about the fact that table nine has somehow become a situation.

Because they don’t just eat and leave like normal people. They hang around. Julian asks whether the pie is homemade and then insists I rank them in order. Gabe asks about the town in a way that feels more sincere than I expected. Xander asks nothing at all.

He just watches.

Every time I pass that booth, I can feel his attention land on me again, impossible to ignore. It feels like standing under a spotlight I never agreed to step into, like he’s waiting for me to slip up somewhere, and I resent how aware of it I’ve become.

Which is why it feels especially cruel that, not ten minutes later, I do.

I’m carrying a tray of fresh drinks when table four calls my name. I turn too quickly, my foot catches on the edge of a chair that I swear wasn’t sticking out that far a second ago, and everything goes wrong at once.

The tray tips.

A glass slides.

My balance goes with it.

And before I can stop myself, I stumble straight into their table.

The tray jerks in my hands, one plate skids, and a full serving of eggs, bacon, and hash browns lands directly in Xander’s lap.

The whole diner goes silent.

I stop breathing. Everyone else seems to stop breathing, too. Even Bill pauses mid-chew, which is how I know this is bad.

I stare down at the wreckage, the food, the grease, the smear of yellow across what’s obviously a very expensive black jacket, and I feel my entire soul leave my body.

“Oh no,” I say out loud, because apparently my internal monologue has given up on boundaries.

Julian is staring at me. Gabe is staring at me. Half the diner is definitely staring at me.

And Xander looks down at himself, then lifts his head and looks back at me.

I set the tray down with a clatter and snatch up a handful of napkins.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I blurt, already reaching toward him. “I didn’t mean to… I caught the chair and the tray slipped and…”