June

"Mr. Grande?" I blurt, stepping back as his hand slips gracefully from my shoulder.

His gaze drops, and mine follows — straight to my drink in his other hand.

How long has he been standing here?

"Mr. Grande, what… what are you doing here?" My brow shoots up.

Seriously. What is he doing in my space?

He told me to fuck off not ten minutes ago, and now he’s here.

"What are you doing here?" he counters, scanning the place like it’s a museum exhibit.

Well, yeah. It’s called ...