I lifted a hand and tipped my sunglasses down. The corner of my mouth curved.
I still couldn't stand watching him put on a show.
So I handed the tabloid press a parting gift.
Fifteen minutes into the exam, the silent testing hall erupted.
A staffer, face drained of color, fought through the swarm of reporters and whispered something in Oliver's ear.
He shoved everyone aside and charged into the exam hall.
But the instant he reached the doorway, one glance inside locked him in place.
The hall was empty.
An unidentified man was pinned to the floor by bodyguards.
He looked desperate, clutching a digital voice recorder, his voice cracking with panic as he repeated himself over and over: "I'm only here to deliver something for Miss Swanson, I swear..."
Oliver's eyes narrowed to slits. He stared the man down, then slammed the play button.
And when he heard what was inside—
Oliver Vance, the man who never broke composure, shattered.
