David
I see him.
Before I hear a word.
Before Bella even finishes talking.
I see this fucking executive prick in the lounge across the way from the recording room, where I set Hilary up before I took Bella and a bunch of sound guys in the booth to work—and this arrogant douche is standing like he belongs here.
But that’s not what has me gritting my teeth.
Nah.
It’s the fact that this guy is way too fucking close to my girl. Smiling like he belongs in her space.
Like he earned it.
Something in me goes cold.
Then hot. Then sharp.
Possessiveness fills me. And it’s instant.
I don’t even question it anymore.
“Thanks for setting up the food,” I say, voice smooth, even, controlled. “Tell Franco we’ll be back in the studio in half an hour.”
I don’t look at him again.
I don’t need to.
Because that wasn’t a suggestion.
That was a dismissal.
He hesitates.
Of course he does.
His eyes flick to her—my Sunshine—like he’s debating whether he’s got a shot.
My jaw tightens.
I lift my gaze just enough.
Meet his eyes. Hold them.
There’s no threat in my expression.
No raised voice.
No posturing.
Just certainty.
You don’t belong here.
He feels it.