Chapter Three: Cyber Stalking

I had gone insane, I knew that for a fact as I lay down on my small single bed staring at the glossy black business card in my hands, with silver lettering embossed in a clear font that screamed professional.

Corbyn Emerson CEO of Emerson Industries.

I regretted the decision immediately, the moment he had pressed his business card into my palm, the cool touch of his skin against mine, sending waves through me, that I had made a mistake. There was something in those eyes that told me he knew something that I didn’t. Maybe this was a trap, maybe this was a Ponzi scheme or the front for an illicit money laundering and drug circle. 

My imagination ran wild, pulling at different threads of trashy guilty pleasure novels I had read about women falling into a world of danger and criminal activity once they were approached by a brooding CEO.

Though Corbyn Emerson didn’t appear to be a Mafia Lord or gang leader, he seemed too proper for that. And judging from the lack of visible tattoos that didn’t seem like the best conclusion to come to..

After staring at the small rectangle of a card that wasn’t even really a card more like a thin sheet of metal, it felt more like a credit card than a piece of fancily printed paper to add propriety to a company. 

Heaving myself off of the duvet, I reached for my laptop covered in an array of stickers, some faded and from literal college, that I hadn’t taken off. I never took the stickers off, even if the people that gave them to me had left me. I kept them all on in a sort of morbid collage of broken friendships or relationships.

Though I had almost broken that promise to myself and peeled one very specific sticker off, I couldn’t bring myself to. As stupid as it sounded it was too permanent to peel it off, watch it curl in on itself, lose its stickiness and be utterly useless, it’s only purpose stripped from it.

There were times when I felt like a used sticker, desperately clinging to the fading residual stickiness that was holding me together.

I stared at the spot where I had covered the sticker with another one, this one I had made myself with bits of tape and my really crappy printer, though I had purposely put it so that you could still see the original sticker beneath it, peaking out, in a sour attempt at reminding myself of the cruelty of the world.

I was in all senses of the word unhinged.

With that in my mind, I pulled open my laptop and began to research Emerson Industries, and what I found was extremely impressive.

A huge corporation that specialised in bespoke software and hardware with sister companies for everything from investment to clean energy.

I mean at least the company seemed to have the front of being slightly ethical.

I fell down the rabbit hole, spending hours looking through the website, the articles, the thousands and thousands of pictures of the intimidating man that I now knew to be Corbyn Emerson, there was him at charity events, and expo’s for products, with A-list celebrities fitting in perfectly on the red carpet.

There was one thing that stuck with me, with all his perfection, physique, carefully combed hair and striking eyes, there wasn’t a single picture in which he was smiling. It was this same stern look, pressed against his features, unrelenting to the pleas of paparazzi for him to smile in the videos I had found.

After what seemed like an eternity of digging, I started to try and look into what had happened to the previous personal assistant.

There was no listing for the job on the company's website, so out of curiosity, I typed in.

Emerson Industries, Personal Assistant.

At first, there was nothing remotely interesting, it was just a bunch of articles detailing how exactly you could catch the eye of successful businessman Corbyn Emerson, articles that were about an entirely different sort of Personal Assistant. I cringed at the crass language and almost gave up on searching for what must have happened to the previous PA.

That was until I saw a small piece of writing under one of the many posts talking absolute nonsense. 

Did Kendal Grives betray CEO Corbyn Emerson and former lover, by abandoning her role as PA, and selling company secrets? Find out more here:

I wanted to press the link but something was pulling me back. As though it was far too personal for me to look into.

But curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked the link.

I wish I hadn’t.

The first thing I saw under the article title, was a beautiful woman standing in a dark maroon dress, next to a man I hoped to never see in my life again.

Kendal Grives reveals new partnership with rival CEO Niklaus Artymov.

My heart hammered in my chest, I felt like I might explode, and my stomach twisted as I tried not to heave up what little I had eaten that day.

I slammed the laptop shut, my hand shaking as memories plagued me, I closed my eyes reminding myself that he wasn’t there. Not anymore.

I needed to get out of this, I couldn’t work for Emerson Industries not if they were rivals to Artymov and Co.

It was then my phone began to ring, and fear shot through me, what if it was him?

The number was unidentifiable but staring at it more closely I realised that the numbers matched what was on the business card. Seeing this as my chance to get out of this mess, I answered quickly and rushed out a, “Hello.”

“Miss Laurence,” the brooding voice travelled through the receiver almost in a bored tone, “I expect you to answer on the first ring.”

“I-”

He didn’t care for my opinion.

“I am calling to let you know that you will be starting tomorrow. Do not be late, I had a distaste for tardiness, and you will be sanctioned. Do not think that if you do a terrible job I will fire you unscathed, mislead me in any way and there will be consequences.”

Exasperated I snapped, “I don’t take kindly to threats Mr Emerson.”

“That is hardly a threat. It is a contractual agreement.”

“I haven’t signed a contract yet.”

“I have all the makings of a verbal contract which as you should know is just as legally binding as a written contract. Feel free to take me to court if you do not agree.”

Annoyance coursed through me, it was now or never I had to deny this, move to another country get as far away from this as possible, “Mr Emerson, I implore you to reconsider you really don’t want a glorified waitress to be your personal assistant, surely?”

Making it seem like it was his idea, was what I had learnt from previously being in an extremely male-dominated industry.

“I am well aware of what I want. And I am sure that I want you to be my PA. Do not forget Miss Laurence of what I have at my disposal I know full well who you are.”

My heart collapsed in on itself.