Page 99 of Can't Stop Watching

But that voice sounds suspiciously like the one that whispered 'He's just being nice' when Mr. Colton first texted me after hours.

"Actually, I need to leave," I say, turning toward the door I came through. My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the handle.

It doesn't budge.

"Is there a problem, Lila?" Brian's voice is smooth, reasonable, the same tone Mr. Colton used when I questioned why his office door needed to be locked during our 'special coaching sessions.'

I rattle the handle harder. "This door's stuck. Can you open it, please?"

"We haven't even started your interview." He steps closer, cologne wafting toward me—expensive, subtle, suffocating. "I thought you were serious about journalism."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "I am, but I need to reschedule. Family emergency." The lie falls flat even to my own ears.

"You seem distressed." His concerned expression belongs on a pharmaceutical commercial about anxiety medication. "Let me get you some water."

"I don't want water. I want you to open thisgoddamndoor." My bartender voice slips out, the one I use when assholes try to argue their way into another shot after I've cut them off.

Brian's perfect eyebrows lift slightly. "There's no need for that tone. I'm trying to help you."

I press my back against the door, putting maximum distance between us. "Then help by opening the door."

"Lila, you're being unreasonable." His smile tightens at the edges. "This is standard procedure for our final candidates."

Standard procedure my ass.

"Let me out now, or I'm calling for help." I dig in my purse for my phone, remembering too late that I turned it off. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Brian walks calmly toward me as my dig in my stupid purse, finding nothing but pens.

"My boyfriend is waiting downstairs," I lie. "He knows exactly where I am."

"Dane, is it? No, he's not. I made sure you arrived alone."

The floor seems to tilt under my feet. How could he know about Dane?

I freeze for moment.

"Yeah, I know about him. Private Detective Dane Wolfe. Ex-marine. Currently surveilling me for my wife." He adjusts his cuffs, still approaching.

My mind races, remembering my conversation with Dane this morning. The missing freshman girl! Oh, God!

"Open this door right now," I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds despite the terror clawing up my throat. My hand finally connects with my phone inside my purse. I press the start button and pretend to rummage some more.

Brian's eyes flick down to my purse, his expression hardening like he knows exactly what I'm trying to do. Screw this. I pivot, slamming my foot against the door repeatedly, my heels making a satisfying thud with each hit.

"LET ME OUT! SOMEONE HELP ME!" My voice echoes through the room, throat burning with each scream.

Nothing. No running footsteps, no concerned colleagues. Just silence and Brian's irritating sigh like I'm some toddler throwing a tantrum in the candy aisle.

The receptionist. Of course. She knew exactly what she was bringing me into. What kind of woman sets up another woman like this? What kind of sick operation is Veritas running?

"Nobody can hear you," Brian says, all pretense of charm evaporating. "This room is soundproofed for... sensitive interviews."

"Fuck you, asshole."

"Look, the sooner you calm down, the easier this will be."

I dart around the conference table, putting solid mahogany between us. Brian's lips curl into a wolfish grin. Not the good kind of wolf, like Dane. The rabid, needs-to-be-put-down kind.