O N E
I had a stalker.
I couldn't quite fathom why.
I wasn't particularly interesting.
I also wasn't drowning in money.
I owned a business that had once been small, but it was steadily growing. It took a lot of money to keep the place afloat, to pay the workers fairly, to pay rent, to pay for ads.
So it couldn't be money or fame that sparked someone's interest in me.
I sighed, picking up the card that sat beside the bundle of roses.
"For now I watch from afar. Soon I'll hold you close."
I rubbed my temples, as my eyes darted to the roses.
Not that there was anything wrong with roses. They were perfectly sweet and romantic, but the were kind of...cliché.
Do better Stalker Man.
I placed my head on my desk, banging it lightly. Then I groaned quietly, hitting your head on a hard surface was never the answer.
Who was sending me these notes?
I had seen enough true crime documentaries to know what would happen to me.
A knock on my office door made me yelp as one of my Sales Associates, Amari, walked into the room.
She cleared her throat, "Are you alright Callan?" she asked, presumably confused by my state.
I smiled, waving at her, "All good here Mari! You're headed out now?"
"Yes I am! Everything is closed up, waiting for you to lock up," she chirped, "More flowers huh? Who's the suitor?"
"It's complicated," I chuckled awkwardly, fidgeting with my fingers under the desk.
One of my many nervous ticks.
"Um...did anyone see who dropped these off by the way? L-Like a delivery person or..." I trailed off and Amari immediately shook her head.
"It was kind of busy today, Laili and I were with customers the whole time. I feel like I turned around for the second and...there they were," she shrugged, and then waved, "I'm going to clock out, have a great rest of your evening Callan!"
"Thanks Mari, text in the group chat when you get home. I'll see you tomorrow," I waved, and with one more smile, she was off.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing at my temples, trying to alleviate the migraine that I felt coming on.
I had received a card and flowers once every week for the past month now. Last week, the person had so kindly included pictures of me working as well.
They got all my bad angles.
I tsked, shaking my head at my attempt to make the situation lighter. I felt thoroughly creeped out and I had no idea what to do; using humour to alleviate my stress was just a coping mechanism.
It made sure I didn't spiral.
What could I do?
The police would chalk it up to a secret admirer or a business rival. They had a knack for negating the stories of women that felt targeted in the area. And if I told my family, they would panic and become instantly overprotective.
YOU ARE READING
Jakob Laurent was an intensely quiet, no-nonsense type of man. Callan Grant was a sweet, slightly eccentric, small-business owner. ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Callan needed to take some extra security precautions, but she could have never predicted that it would co...