Page 11 of Perfect Stalker

“Not a personal assistant’s?” She grins. “Mr. Markov was very specific about your new workspace. He said you deserved the best.”

I trace the polished mahogany of my new desk, and its surface is cool and flawless. The pristine workspace blurs at the edges as memories as I recall the same kind of highly polished sheen on Stephen’s desk that one time he insisted we fool around in his office. I blink, startled by the intrusive thought, but it takes too long to clear him from my mind.

Thinking of him inevitably leads to memories of everything he’s sent to me over the past year. I tried reporting it to start with, but his father’s money ensured no one cared if he was violating the terms of his probation. The last cop I spoke with told me it was just some harmless venting, and I shouldn’t worry since he was in London.

My phone sits silent in my pocket, but the ghost of his messages makes me pull it out to check—nothing. For now.

“Thank you, Natalia,” I say, my voice catching as I shake off the unwanted memories and try to suppress the fear. I don’t want Stephen to take any pleasure from this moment. “This is incredible.” The words feel small compared to the grandeur surrounding me.

“You deserve it.” Her smile brightens her entire face. She normally looks like a sculpted ice goddess, but when she smiles, warmth suffuses her. “I’ll let you get settled. Just buzz if you need anything.” She closes the door with a soft click.

Alone in this surreal space, I lower myself into the chair, which cradles my body like a cloud. The leather still has that fresh, expensive smell. Outside my window, Atlanta’s skyline stretches endlessly, but my reflection in the glass looks small and uncertain.

My hands shake slightly when I open the top drawer, half-expecting to find some sign this is all a mistake. The pristine office supplies inside are arranged with military precision. Even the paperclips seem gleam with purpose.

I try to focus on the screens in front of me, but my mind keeps circling back to that night now that Stephen is on my mind again. The sound of breaking glass as I raced down the fire escape, fleeing my own apartment to escape him in my terror. My fingers drift to my throat, remembering how it felt to scream before he grabbed me and choked. He punched me so hard I saw stars…

The contrast between that darkness and this light makes my head spin.

Then the man who saved me. I wish I knew more about him. Sometimes, I imagine his face or pretend he stayed in touch. I want to think it’s just gratitude, but even at the worst point in my life, I couldn’t ignore how attractive he was despite not being able to fully see his face, or deny I wanted to know him better.

I check my phone again even though there’s no vibration to indicate I’ve received anything. It’s a tense habit I’ve developed over the past year. Fortunately, there are no new messages from Stephen or the mystery texter from last night. Was he Stephen? If not, what are the odds I have two tormentors?

In one way, the silence is almost worse than the threats. I know it’s only a matter of time before Stephen reaches out again, and the dread is killing me. What horrible image will he send next, or what lewd text? Changing my number doesn’t matter. He’s always managed to get it somehow. In the back of my mind, I suspect someone on the staff before Ivan bought this placeand fired them all was feeding him information. It was the only conclusion that made sense.

A knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts and spiral into fear. “Come in,” I call, straightening in my chair and striving to seem composed and hide how rattled I am.

Ivan enters, and his presence immediately fills the room. He’s impeccably dressed as always, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there yesterday. He scans the office before looking at me. “I see you’ve found your new workspace,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “I trust it meets your needs?”

I nod, still a bit overwhelmed. “It’s amazing, Mr. Markov. Thank you, but isn’t it a bit...much for a personal assistant?”

A flicker of something — amusement? — crosses his face. “You’re not just any personal assistant, Ms. Graham. I expect great things from you.”

Before I can respond, another man enters the office. He’s tall and muscular, with short-cropped black hair and intense brown eyes. There’s an air of quiet competence and watchfulness about him that immediately puts me on edge.

“Ah, Marcus,” says Ivan, gesturing to the newcomer. “This is Jenny Graham, my new personal assistant. Jenny, this is Marcus Reyes, head of security and operations.”

Marcus nods at me, his expression unreadable. “Ms. Graham.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Something about his presence makes me nervous, though I can’t put my finger on why. Not that he frightens me exactly. I just feel like maybe…danger follows him? What a strange thought.

Ivan turns back to me. “We have a meeting to discuss some sensitive matters. I’ll need you to?—”

“Of course,” I interject, reaching for a notepad. “I’ll take notes and?—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Ivan cuts me off, his tone brusque. “I need you to go to the company library and fetch some DVDs of classic films. We have a project coming up that requires research. Bring them to my office in thirty minutes.”

I blink, taken aback by his dismissal. “Oh. All right. Any specific titles you’re looking for?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Anything relevant to the golden age of Hollywood. I trust your judgment.”

Frustration bubbles up inside me, but I push it down. “Of course, Mr. Markov. I’ll get right on that.”

They leave my office, and I follow them, shutting the door behind me. I head toward the archives as they go back to his office. My reflection fragments across the mirrored walls of the hallway—a hundred tiny Jennys, all wearing the same irritated expression.

“Are you all right?” asks Natalia as I pass. “Is something wrong with the office?” The way she’s fretting leads me to believe she designed it, or at least coordinated it, herself.

“I’m fine, and the office is perfect.” I force a smile. “Just headed to the archives.”

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