Page 48 of Can't Stop Watching

"That's... very kind of you to say." I edge toward the opening elevator doors.

"I have a good eye for talent, Ms. Marks." His gaze drifts from my eyes down to my mouth, then back up again, so quickly Ialmost miss it. "And I think you could go very far at Veritas. With the right... mentorship, of course."

The elevator dings impatiently.

"Well, I should go," I say, stepping backward into the elevator. "Thank you again for the opportunity."

His smile never wavers. "I look forward to seeing more of you, Lila. We have more interviews to conduct, but I doubt anyone will even come close."

As the doors close between us, I let out a breath. Something about the way he said my name makes me want to take a shower.

But hey—at least someone on the panel liked me, right?

The elevator glides smoothly downward as I lean against its cool metal wall, letting the adrenaline of the interview drain from my system. Twenty-two floors to decompress.

But instead of relief, I feel that odd prickle crawling up my spine again. Brian Langford. Something about him just felt... off. Like finding a hair in your food after you've already eaten half of it.

"He's just an investor," I mutter to myself, rolling my shoulders to shake off the feeling. "You'll probably never even see him if you get the job."

IfI get the job. The thought sends another wave of anxiety through me. I need this. Bar money barely pays for my undergrad loans and rent in this city. No matter how many extra shifts I pick up, I'm often short.

As the elevator reaches the lobby, I straighten my borrowed suit and exhale. Despite the vibe from Langford, I can't help but feel a spark of hope. This internship could be my ticket out of pouring shots to financial solvency.

"Bye-bye, perpetual broke bitch status," I mutter, pushing through the revolving door.

The New York air hits me, carrying the promise of possibility. For once, my future doesn't seem like a hazy mess of studentloans and late-night shifts. Maybe, just maybe, I'm on the verge of becoming the hard-hitting journalist I've always dreamed of being.

"Watch out, world," I grin. "Lila Marks is coming for you."

16

DANE

I've been watching Langford's office building entrance for over two hours, and the bastard's a no-show. The marble lobby sits empty except for the security guard flipping through his phone and a cleaning lady polishing the already spotless glass doors. First rule of surveillance: patience beats persistence. Second rule: sometimes both fail you.

I check my watch—1:45 PM. Even rich assholes have to eat.

"Where the hell are you, Langford?" I mutter, opening Milo's hack of Langford's electronic calendar on my phone. The screen shows a single, cryptic entry: "Interviews" with no location, no details. Convenient.

I slam my palm against the steering wheel. Goddammit. Sloppy. I'm getting sloppy.

Should've checked his calendar first thing this morning instead of thinking about Lila's goddamn green eyes and what she looks like when she sleeps. Such bullshit. I'm thinking with my dick instead of my brain.

"You know better than this," I mutter. "Focus on the mission."

Funny how the Marine Corps stays with you. Ten years out and I'm still hearing drill sergeants in my head.

A memory flashes—Lila's calendar showed her interview at Veritas today. My stomach tightens. Just a coincidence. Has to be.

Why didn't she answer my text?

I shoot Milo a text.

Dane: Need location on Langford. Calendar says "Interviews" today. Dig deeper.

The three dots appear.

Milo: One sec.