Page 64 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“Part of his charm,” Tommy calls from behind the bar.

There’s something disorienting about how quickly they start fitting into it, all three of them in their own ways. Julian likes people too much to stay outside a room for long. Gabe understands social dynamics like they’re another kind of business negotiation. And Xander… Xander doesn’t try to fit at all, which somehow makes people orbit him anyway.

I shouldn’t be noticing that.

I definitely shouldn’t be noticing the women at the bar who keep glancing his way and then at me like they’re trying to work out what exactly is going on here.

Because I don’t know, either.

At some point, Tommy swings by with another round.

“So,” he says, “you gonna tell me what finally dragged you home?”

Xander leans back, gaze flicking once around the bar before settling on Tommy. “Work.”

Tommy snorts. “Sure. I know the official story, but what else?”

Julian laughs under his breath.

Tommy jerks his chin toward the room. “You know half these people still remember you sneaking into this place underage and acting like I was stupid.”

Xander’s expression changes again. That same almost smile from earlier. “You were stupid.”

Tommy points at him. “See? That right there. Same kid.”

That gets a real laugh out of me before I can stop it.

Every eye at the table comes to me, and I regret my visible emotional response.

Tommy grins like he’s won. “There she is.”

“Please go away,” I tell him.

“Can’t. I own the place.”

He winks at me, then heads back toward the bar, stopping twice on the way because Bennett’s works like that. Nobody gets from one side of the room to the other in a straight line.

The music rolls on. Darren gives way to a girl from town with a voice like whiskey and velvet, and the room softens around her. People clap between songs. Someone near the darts gets too loud and gets shushed by three separate women over fifty. Bill Smith complains about the beer temperature, then drinks it anyway.

It’s all so familiar it almost calms me down.

Almost.

Until I start noticing the phones.

At first, it’s just one.

A woman near the front lifts hers subtly while laughing at something her friend says, but the angle is wrong. She’s not filming her friend. She’s filming the room.

Then another.

Then a third.

Not everyone. Not enough to turn this into a full-blown disaster. But enough to make me tense all over again.

Gabe notices too, because I feel his attention before he says, “You okay?”

I tear my gaze from a guy by the bar pretending to text with his camera definitely pointed our way. “You keep asking me that like the answer might change.”