Chapter 33

Oliver Moss was young—or he looked much younger than his years. At first glance, his face wasn’t at all attractive. His nose was too long, his mouth too hard, his eyes too small. But there was something about it that drew a person’s attention again and again. His brown hair was perfectly cut, and somehow even the way it gleamed beneath the lights spoke of the money he must have spent on it. He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo over his compact body, and Darren knew there wouldn’t be a single inch of fat. It would all be muscle. Darren wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Oliver spent at least two hours at the gym every day. When he smiled, his teeth were perfect and white, but the expression lacked any depth or sentiment. His eyes lacked depth, too. Everything about him was shallow. Why were so many people falling for his act? Darren only saw a slick snake-oil salesman.