Page 113 of Babies for the Big Shot
“Check it soon,” he says, his gaze lingering on me. The look lands heavy in my gut. “It doesn’t feel right.”
I don’t waste time. Head straight for my office, close the door behind me, and plug the flash drive into my laptop. My fingers tremble slightly against the trackpad, a reflex I can’t shake.
The folder opens.
Footage queues up.
And then I see her.
Not Rebecca. Not some tabloid intern.
A woman I’ve never seen before.
Slim. Pale. Big dark eyes. Nervous posture.
And I know, instantly, this isn’t a coincidence.
She’s standing outside my office door, dressed in a black blazer that’s too formal for her. Clutching a bag to her chest, her posture stiff, as if she’s afraid someone will notice her.
Not once. Not twice. Multiple times. Across several days. Watching. Lurking. Timing her entrance for when no one’s around.
And then, there it is.
She slips inside my office the afternoon after I got the gala photo. A quick glance over her shoulder, then she’s gone from view.
Four minutes later, she walks out.
The camera doesn’t catch her taking anything, but I know exactly what went missing. I know where it was.
The photo of me and Sara.
And whoever she is…
She’s the one who took it.
I rewind the footage. Freeze-frame her face as she passes a security camera near the stairwell.
She’s not someone I know.
But there’s something in her expression, eager, vacant, that twists my gut.
Who the hell is she?
And more importantly, who is she working for?
My mind races, matching the woman’s nervous, careful movements to the name that’s been rattling around in the back of my head since this whole mess started.
Isla Vale.The journalist fromEdge Magazinewho sent the note. The one who seemed to have every piece of this puzzle except for the one where I come out unscathed.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the screen, the weight of it sinking in. Whoever Isla Vale is, if thisisher, then she’s playing a game, and it’s far from over.
The photo of me and Sara? That’s just the beginning. If she’s been watching me this closely, then she’s not just after a story. She’s out for blood.
My phone buzzes on the desk, jerking me from the spiral I’m already sinking into.
It’s a text from Jonah:Board’s calling an emergency meeting this afternoon. They’re pissed. You ready?
No. Not even close.
