PRESENT
GRAYSON’S POV:
There was a buzzing in my ears that made it hard for me to listen to anything else.
Corey let the pause linger after his little speech—just long enough to tighten every throat in the room before slipping something from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. A crisp white envelope.
My world narrowed to that piece of paper held between his fingers. A thousand possibilities spiraled through my head, a thousand countermeasures for every accusation, every allegation.
“My apologies, truly,” he said, almost sheepishly, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed the act. “But I received something rather unsettling. An anonymous tip, delivered to my desk not forty-eight hours ago.”
Anonymous tip.
My eyes scanned the crowd once again for the midnight purple. The betrayal stung
