Page 81 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

He laughs under his breath. “Touchy.”

I say nothing.

His gaze narrows a little. Enough to tell me he’s aware he’s hit me hard. Not enough to make him stop.

“She was in a mood,” he says. “Actually, no. That’s not fair. She’s always in a mood. It’s kind of the appeal.”

My jaw tightens.

I look back toward the booth before I put my fist through something expensive.

The next take starts, but now the music is background noise to the image that’s already forming whether I want it to or not.

Willow behind the diner counter, dark hair tied up, painted mouth, those hazel eyes flat with irritation right until they catch on something that matters. Curves wrapped in denim and cotton and defiance. Looking at Julian.

Laughing at something he says.

Letting him stand too close.

The thought hits.

Mine.

It comes in hard enough to make me grip the edge of the desk.

I hate the word the second it arrives. Not because it’s wrong, because of how right it feels.

Julian is still talking, too unaware or too entertained to recognize the line he’s brushing up against. “We ended up going to the bookstore where her sister works.”

I turn my head. “The bookstore?”

He shrugs, still sprawled in the chair like this is harmless. “It’s not as exciting as you’re making it sound.”

“That depends on what happened there.”

That gets his attention.

He tilts his head, watching me.

“We talked,” he says. “I annoyed her. Grace and Nina had a field day. Standard small-town drama.”

I hold his gaze. “And?”

“And she was cute when she was pissed off.”

The room goes very, very still.

Even with the music running. Even with the engineers moving in the hallway outside.

Julian’s smile fades a notch. Not fear. He knows me too well for that. But caution, maybe. Enough to make him sit up a little.

I keep my voice level because anything else would say too much. “Careful.”

His brows lift. “About what?”

About her.

About the fact that I still think about the night at The Lamb after she walked out on me. About the way she looked across my table with all that suspicion and edge like she’d rather set herself on fire than give me an easy inch. About how she stood in my house like she belonged there and made every room feel too small after she left it.