"What the… The fuck. Isn't that the president?"
Harvey whispered loudly, his bald head swiveling toward the entrance of the fake street.
Leona, Mira, and Beatrice all turned to look, and to their surprise, it truly was the President. A brown-skinned man with dark orange hair, wearing a well-cropped suit, surrounded by bodyguards who looked too tense for their own good.
Well, of course, they would be tense.
"Don't stare," Beatrice muttered, turning back to her tablet before applying another nicotine patch to her neck. "It's rude."
"They're probably here for damage control," Mira said, her eyes shifting slightly, the pupils narrowing to slits for a brief moment before returning to normal.
"Ignore them." Leona simply folded her arms. "Piece of shit is probably just here for pictures. Sorry for my language."
