Page 20 of Can't Stop Watching
I pull up Milo's contact and type quickly, fingers moving with precision despite the chill:
Dane: Find out all you can about Lila Marks. Possible NYU student. Bartender at The Old Haunt.
I stare at the message for a moment, watching the little dots appear as Milo reads it instantly. Of course he's awake at this ungodly hour. Guy probably mainlines caffeine instead of blood.
There's a twisted comfort in committing to this path. No more wrestling with my conscience, no more pretending I'm better than I am. The line between protector and stalker blurs so easily when you've been trained to hunt.
8
LILA
The lecture hall empties like a sinking ship—everyone fleeing Professor Miller's three-hour seminar on media ethics that felt more like media medieval torture. I rub my eyes, still seeing blue slides burned into my retinas.
"I swear, if I hear the phrase 'journalistic integrity' one more time today, I'm going to throw myself into the Hudson." I stuff my laptop into my bag, nearly crushing my notebook in the process.
Tessa snorts beside me, somehow looking freshly pressed despite sitting through the same grueling class. "At least he didn't do his weird Nixon impression again."
"Small mercies." I follow her into the hallway, weaving through clusters of students. "So what's your plan? You applying to Pulse?"
"God, no." Tessa flips her perfect hair over her shoulder. "I'm aiming for Catalyst. Their investigative team actually wins awards that don't come from cereal boxes."
"Aren't they the ones who only take like two interns a year?"
"Three, actually. And I've already networked with their senior editor at that charity gala my parents dragged me to." She shoots me a sympathetic glance. "What about you? Still thinking Tribune?"
"I was, but now I'm leaning toward Veritas." I fiddle with my ear cuff. "They actually pay their interns, which is revolutionary in this industry apparently."
"No shit? How much?"
"Enough that I could quit slinging drinks to drunk NYU losers who think tipping means slipping me their phone number with a winky face."
We push through the double doors into the October air.
"Seriously, Lila. You should do it. The Old Haunt is a cesspit."
"My old place was worse. This isn't so bad. I need to pay my undergraduate loans," I counter automatically, though I'm building more debt getting the masters degree. "But yeah, after that incident with the frat boys..." I trail off, not wanting to revisit that night, and all it unleashed. "I'm ready for a change. Something where I don't have to smile while some finance wannabe mansplains bourbon to me."
Tessa links her arm through mine. "I can already see your byline: 'Lila Marks, award-winning journalist and woman who no longer smells perpetually of beer nuts.'"
"The dream." I laugh, but there's an edge to it. "Though with three hundred other students applying, my chances feel somewhere between winning the lottery and dating someone who actually makes me feel something."
"Please. You've got talent. Real talent." Tessa squeezes my arm. "And unlike half these trust fund babies, you actually have something to say."
"Speaking ofsomething..." I slow my pace, toying with the strap of my bag. "Remember that guy I told you about? The one who went full Jason Bourne on those frat boys?"
Tessa's eyes light up like I've just offered her front-row seats to Fashion Week. "The hot ex-Marine? What about him?"
"He came back last night." I try to sound casual, but my voice betrays me with a slight wobble. "Asked me to dinner."
"Holy shit!" Tessa stops walking entirely, grabbing my shoulders. "Please tell me you said yes to Mr. Dangerous-But-Heroic."
I wince, already anticipating her reaction. "I said no."
"You—" She blinks rapidly, processing. "Lila Marie Marks. A gorgeous man who actually has enough testosterone to fight off predatory assholes asked you out, and you declined? Why?"
We start walking again, slower now. Students rush past us toward the subway entrance.
"He's not a student. He's in his thirties. And he told me he's a private detective, for god's sake."
