Medical Center.
Adam's office.
"So why didn't you just ask the patient's wife about the bomb?"
Agent Jessie Paige was already sold on the idea that doctors here had some freaky sixth sense for danger—especially the ones at this medical center—but she still pressed him.
"Are bomb attacks really that rare in the U.S.?" Adam shot back. "When a patient's got a gaping hole in their chest, someone's hand is inside, and you're hit with this overwhelming sense of dread, I don't know what you'd think of first, but for me? Bomb. Only thing that fits."
"…"
Jessie paused, racking her brain for a comeback. Nothing. His logic was annoyingly airtight.
Back in 1995, the U.S. had a massive terrorist attack. Three guys—ex-soldiers—used a huge bomb to level a federal building in Oklahoma City. The reason? Pretty messed up.
The ringleader had a rough childhood—divorced parents, the works—and grew up obsessed with epic heroes. As an adult, that obsession shifted to real-life American soldiers. So, chasing that hero vibe, he joined the military in college.
He was damn good at it too. Protecting the weak, fighting for the people—that was his creed. But over time, the bigwigs in D.C. kept meddling with the military, chipping away at the sacred image he'd built up in his head. Then came the real battlefield: innocent people in other countries dying under U.S. fire, cities reduced to rubble, women and kids left with nothing.
Guilt hit him hard. Anger too.
Ehh, Adam figured the real kicker was probably coming home as a "war god" and not getting the hero's welcome—or paycheck—he thought he deserved. That's when the revenge kicked in.
He planned the explosion that shook the nation. Countless dead and injured, flames swallowing nearby buildings, debris raining down on innocent bystanders—it was brutal. And it wasn't a one-off.
Guns and bullets can kill, sure, but compared to bombs? Child's play. How could any American not be terrified of explosions?
In daily life, joking about guns or bombs isn't just taboo—it's a no-go. People take it seriously. Next thing you know, the FBI's at your door with the classic: "FBI, open up!" 😅
Firecrackers go off? Americans either hit the deck or sprint like their life depends on it. Habits like that don't form overnight—it's years in the making. Heck, it's even rubbed off on their allies abroad. Adam remembered a video from his past life: some African dignitary visiting an Eastern country, and when firecrackers popped, the guy's retreat was smoother than silk.
So yeah, in that moment earlier? Jessie thought it over and realized she might've jumped to "human bomb" too.
"Fine," she said, snapping her notebook shut and standing up. "I'll go talk to the others one by one."
Adam's explanation checked out, and she knew who he was. Before coming here, her boss had made it clear: soft touch only. A bestselling author and the youngest self-made billionaire? Not someone the FBI could just poke at without a good reason. This was routine anyway—Adam's early bomb hunch was a little weird, but everything else? Clean as a whistle.
Her boss sent her, the rookie, to keep it low-key—and, let's be real, her looks didn't hurt. A pretty face asking questions, even pushing a bit too far, wouldn't ruffle a guy like Adam. Classic move.
"Know what?" Adam stood too, leaning on his desk. He reached to take off glasses he wasn't even wearing, then just waved his hands instead, smirking at her. "You're doing great."
"Uh, okay?" Jessie stopped, giving him a puzzled look.
"I mean it," he said, straightening up and strutting over with a swagger that screamed I own this place. He leaned one hand on the desk, pointed at her with the other, and dropped his voice to a cheesy, flirty tone. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"
Jessie crossed her arms, staring him down silently.
"You're young, wild, full of life!" Adam was on a roll now, channeling Leonard's over-the-top flirting from another timeline. "How about I pick you up at eight? I'll give you a night you'll never forget~" 😏
He was curious—same words, same vibe, same target. Would Leonard's playbook actually work with someone else behind the wheel?
"Sounds tempting," Jessie said, flashing those killer dimples.
"But…?" Adam wasn't as clueless as Leonard would've been. He could already tell from her eyes this was going nowhere, so he dialed back the cheesiness and grinned normally.
"No 'but,'" she teased, her smile turning sly. "If you don't mind me bringing my bestie along, I'd love for you to give me—or, well, us—a night we'll never forget~"
"…"
Adam's mouth twitched. If this were Leonard, he'd blurt out, "Wait, really?!" all starry-eyed. But Adam? He wasn't that gullible. He smelled a trap instantly.
Her "bestie"? Eight-to-one odds he knew her…
"Just kidding!" he laughed, brushing it off. "You actually bought that? It's a dumb line my friend loves to use. I just wanted to see if it'd work. Guess I was right—it's a total flop."
"Oh, really?" Jessie's eyes screamed bullshit. "Which friend?"
"You wouldn't know him," Adam said, dodging. No way he was naming Leonard.
"Heh." Jessie smirked, like she'd just caught him making up a fake buddy. "Kate was right—you're a jerk."
With that, she spun around, yanked the door open, and stormed out.
"Kate…" Adam muttered, grimacing.
NYPD's finest flower knowing the FBI's rookie beauty? Not surprising. But Kate talking smack about him behind his back to Jessie? Yeah, that wasn't cool.
Ugh. Whatever she said, it definitely wasn't flattering.
He shouldn't have messed around with that tribute act. Now, thanks to this little stunt, whatever Kate made up about him was gospel in Jessie's eyes.
His rep was toast! 😖
No way he was letting this slide.
Tonight, he'd confront Kate. No—she'd explain why she was badmouthing him behind his back.
Nobody screws with him and walks away unscathed.
Nobody!
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