The Stalked Assistant

Chapter 1

When I wake up in the morning and hear my alarm going off. The first thing I do is reach for my phone and hit the snooze button. I really just want to stay in bed for a couple of extra minutes and relax. I moved to New York many years ago to pursue my education in business, and today is the first day of my new job. However, despite my best efforts, I have not been successful in launching my own publishing company.

Due to the fact that I haven't spent any significant amount of time at home in recent years, my relationship with my parents is currently experiencing some strain. It's not that I don't want to, of course, I do. The problem is that I can't. The problem is that I have not been able to find the time to book a flight and travel all the way back to Texas.

It seems that none of the publishing-centric businesses are interested in hiring me. They are all completely staffed, and there are no plans to hire any new employees in the near future. My savings account is beginning to deflate like a balloon, and I realized that I needed to get my act together and find a job, any job. Sooner rather than later. When I went to get a newspaper from the vendor who set up shop around the corner from my apartment one day. I noticed that there was an advertisement looking for a personal assistant.

Even though it is not a publishing company, it is still related to the business world in some way. I grabbed the chance with both hands.

A few years ago, Ryder Claiborne, who is now the CEO of his father's company, took control of the business from his father. According to what I found when I googled him, he has worked with a number of different assistants over the past few years.

I was curious about my new boss, so I googled as much information as I could find. I am aware that his father is retired, but he continues to assist his eldest son with the business. Ryder has an older brother and an older sister in addition to his own younger siblings, whose mother has spent the majority of their marriage as a stay-at-home mother.

I'm sorry I can't go into more detail right now, but I have to get started on my day. I had my alarm set to go off at 5:30 in the morning, and I was aware that I had been thinking for approximately five minutes before it went off. It is currently 5:35 in the morning, and I have to report to work at 7:00 in the morning. That doesn't leave me a lot of time, so I quickly get out of bed and get ready for the day. Showering first thing in the morning is one of my morning rituals, but since I already showered late the night before, I should be good to go and can skip it today.

I am also grateful that I remembered to shave my legs the night before; I won't lie, there are times when I do not remember to do so.

As I make my way to the closet, I bring one hand up to ruffle my hair while simultaneously attempting to jolt myself awake by rubbing my eyes. I reached into my closet and pulled out the dress I had chosen the night before to wear on my first day. I wanted to wear something that was cute but also appropriate for work. I really don't want to give my new boss the wrong impression, especially at our first meeting. I would like to view the performance. It's nothing special; it's just a light pink dress, and it doesn't expose too much of my breasts.

I'm starting to get really, really nervous, but I've been trying to reassure myself all night that I'm capable of performing this work and that I actually have more experience than is necessary for a job like this. The fact that Ryder has gone through so many personal assistants has me scratching my head and wondering why he does it. This shouldn't be a problem.

When I first read about him, I may have assumed that he went through so many because he was an older, crankier man. When I looked him up, he was a good-looking young man, but when I first read about him, I may have made that mistake. You are probably familiar with the type, but let me assure you that is not the case.

I take the dress by its shoulders and walk into my bathroom, where I begin to undress and examine my reflection in the mirror as I remove my nightgown.

My hair is a tangled mess, and my curls are flying in every direction; it's likely that I won't be able to tame them well enough. Another hairstyle that I prefer to avoid is pulling my hair back into a ponytail. I make an effort to smooth it down and then spray a little bit of hair spray onto it in the hopes that it will hold the pieces in place.

I didn't do much after I finished applying my makeup for the last 15 minutes of my day. Simply apply a light foundation and some eyeshadow in a light brown shade. Because my eyes literally water for everything and because it takes a while to get the fake eyelashes in the right position. It was the damn fake eyelashes that caused me to take so much time.

I dash out of the restroom, make a quick pit stop at my bedroom, and grab my phone off the nightstand there before dashing into my cramped kitchen.

If you can believe it, I grew up on a ranch, which explains why my apartment isn't exactly the epitome of luxury. Neither of my parents has a lot of money. Even though I had the good fortune to be awarded a scholarship, I had to supplement my income by working as a waitress at a quaint restaurant down the street almost every day. After paying all of my bills and purchasing the things I required for school. I didn't have much money left over for other expenses. In point of fact, the dress that I'm donning right now was purchased from a shop called Roses which is known for selling attractive garments at prices that are literally unimaginably low.

Whenever I walk into my kitchen, the first thing I do is grab a banana from the counter and start munching on it. After that, I go to the coffee maker and start it up.

Seeing as how I am capable of performing multiple tasks at once, I should be an excellent candidate for this position.

In the time that it takes for the coffee to brew, I take the loaf of bread that's sitting next to the stove and begin to make two slices of toast for myself.

After my toast has been toasted and my coffee has been brewed, I make myself comfortable at the bar in my kitchen and start eating. I'm savoring the flavor of the coffee as it slides down my throat; I'm sure it will jolt me awake, and yes, I subsist almost entirely on coffee. Coffee is like crack to me.

I can't function without it.

Picking up my phone I just realized that it is already past six in the morning, and the new place of employment is at least a quarter of an hour's drive away. In the city, that is equivalent to an hour, so I finish my toast as quickly as possible and then dash to the door where I keep my shoes to put them on. Because I spent most of my childhood on a farm, I have a peculiar preoccupation with wearing shoes inside the house. My mother absolutely detested it whenever my father and I tracked mud inside on her newly cleaned floors.

I have quite a few pairs of shoes, but only two of those pairs would be considered "fancy." Which shoe, a pair of black heels or a pair of brown wedges, do you think would look better with the dress I chose for the day? I'm trying to take a moment to make up my mind.

It seems like a party or an outdoor event would be the appropriate setting for wedges. Because heels are associated with a higher level of professionalism, I chose them and slipped them on my feet as quickly as possible before rushing back to the cash register. After gathering my purse and cell phone, I say a quick prayer that today will turn out well for me and then I head out the door.