The Stalked Assistant - Book cover

The Stalked Assistant

Hailey D Bonnette

Age Rating


Country girl Isabella moved from Texas to New York to pursue her dreams. Finally, she's landed a new job at a big corporation. It's not long before she butts heads with her boss, Ryder Claiborne, the demanding yet sexy CEO. But the budding workplace sexual tension is the least of her worries as a mysterious stranger starts to text her with compromising pictures and sinister demands that threaten to ruin her career, her friendships, and her romance. Will Izzy be able to escape her stalker's clutches, or will she fall prey to his twisted games?

Age Rating: 18+

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Chapter 1

When I wake up in the morning and hear my alarm go off, the first thing I do is reach for my phone and hit the snooze button to stay in bed for a couple more minutes. It’s the first day of my new job.

I moved to New York many years ago to study business. I had always wanted to find a job with a publishing company, but despite my best efforts, I haven’t been successful so far.

Because 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. I just haven’t been able to find the time to book a flight back to Texas.

None of the publishing-centric businesses seem interested in hiring me. They are all completely staffed, with no plans to hire any new employees soon.

My savings account is beginning to deflate like an old balloon, and I realized that I needed to get my act together and find a job, any job, and soon.

One day, I picked up a newspaper from the vendor who set up shop around the corner from my apartment and noticed that there was an advertisement looking for a personal assistant.

It wasn’t a publishing company, but it was still related to the business world in some way. I grabbed the chance with both hands.

A few years ago, Ryder Claiborne, the company CEO, took control of the business from his father.

I was curious about my new boss. According to what I found when I googled him, he has worked with many different assistants over the past few years. 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. His mother has spent the majority of her marriage as a stay-at-home mother.

I’m sorry, I can’t go into more detail right now, I have to get started on my day.

I had my alarm set to go off at 5:30 a.m., and it’s been five minutes since then. I have to report to work at 7 a.m.

That doesn’t leave me a lot of time.

Showering first thing in the morning is one of my morning rituals, but since I already showered late last night, I should be good to go, so I decide to skip it.

I am also grateful that I remembered to shave my legs the night before; It’s not always a sure thing with me.

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 with the other.

I reach into my closet and pull out the dress I had chosen the night before to wear on my first day. It’s cute but also appropriate for work.

I don’t want to give my new boss the wrong impression, especially at our first meeting. It’s nothing special, just a light pink dress that doesn’t expose too much cleavage.

I’m starting to get nervous, even after trying to reassure myself all night that I’m capable of performing this work. I actually have more experience than is necessary for a job like this.

But the fact that Ryder has gone through so many personal assistants has me scratching my head. What’s up with that?

When I first read up about him, I assumed that he went through so many because he was an older, crankier man. But then I saw his pictures and found that he was young and good-looking.

I take the dress by its shoulders and walk into my bathroom, where I 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; likely, I won’t be able to tame them well enough. I prefer to avoid 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 everything in place.

Then I do my makeup. Just a light foundation, some eyeshadow in a light brown shade and eyelashes.

My eyes water at everything, and it takes ages to get fake eyelashes in the right position. It was the damn fake eyelashes that caused me to take so much time.

I run out of the bathroom and make a quick pit stop at my bedroom to grab my phone off the nightstand 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 much 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 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.

Even the dress that I’m wearing right now was purchased from a shop called Roses which is known for selling attractive garments at low prices.

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.

I’m a good multi-tasker like that, so I should be an excellent candidate for this position, right?

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 savor the flavor of the coffee as it slides down my throat; I’m sure it will jolt me awake, and yes, I do live off coffee. Coffee is like crack to me; I can’t function without it.

Picking up my phone to see that it is already past six in the morning, and my new workplace is at least a quarter of an hour’s drive away. In the traffic-choked city, that really means an hour.

I finish my toast as quickly as possible and then dash to the door where I keep my shoes.

I spent most of my childhood on a farm. I have a peculiar preoccupation with wearing shoes inside the house. My mother hated 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 could be considered fancy.

Would a pair of black heels or a pair of brown wedges, look better with this dress? I take a moment to make up my mind.

Wedges are more appropriate for a party or an outdoor event. Heels are associated with a higher level of professionalism, so I slip them on my feet as quickly as possible.

After gathering my purse and cell phone. I say a quick prayer that today will turn out well for me and head out the door.

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