Page 80 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Julian looks past me toward the booth and lifts a brow. “Okay, fair.”

He drops into the chair near the back wall, long legs stretched out in front of him, still carrying that restless energy he gets when the day’s gone well enough to leave him with too much charm and nowhere immediate to put it.

I know him too well not to notice it.

And I know Gabe notices, too, because his attention shifts there for half a second before returning to the live room.

That irritates me.

The take finishes. Better.

Not perfect, but close enough to build on.

I press the talkback again. “Again. Keep that entry. Lose the hesitation on the bridge.”

Noah nods. The band resets.

Gabe sets his coffee down. “I’m going to check on the contract revisions for Cicada before legal starts pretending they’re confused.”

Julian tips his head back against the chair. “Tell them I believe in them.”

“I won’t.”

Gabe leaves the room with that same unhurried, expensive composure he brings to everything, and then it’s just me, Julian, and the music bleeding through the monitors.

I don’t look at him right away.

I don’t need to.

I can feel his mood. It’s too loose. Too pleased with itself.

It gets under my skin.

Inside the booth, the band starts another take. The first verse lands cleaner this time. The drummer finally stops anticipating the fill. The guitarist digs in harder, finding a necessary meanness in the progression.

Julian spins the pick across his fingers once, twice. Then he says, too casually, “Saw Willow today.”

Every muscle in my body goes still, but I keep my eyes on the glass. “Did you?”

“Mmhmm.”

His tone alone is enough to bloom an ugliness inside me.

I don’t ask the next question. That would imply interest I have no intention of handing him.

Julian doesn’t need encouragement. He keeps going anyway. “Stopped by the diner.”

I lean one hand harder against the console. “For food?”

“For Willow,” he says lightly. “Food was the supporting act.”

I turn then.

He’s smiling. Not smug, exactly. Not yet. But pleased. Amused. Carrying the bright, careless look he gets when he’s walked straight into a situation he knows he shouldn’t enjoy this much.

A dark flicker immediately moves through me.

I keep my expression flat. “Amazing. A house full of musicians and you’re still the loudest thing in it.”