Her first sign should’ve been Melinda’s pinched mouth. Natasha’s manager huffed and sat forward. The stern line bisecting her slender brows could only mean one thing. “I’m afraid—”
Oh, no! I’m getting fired! What could I have done wrong?
Natasha’s knuckles flexed and she sat there wondering what would happen if she could never find another job again. She and her cat, Mr. Yum-Yum, would have to live in her Jeep Cherokee until that got repossessed. Panhandling was illegal, prostitution out of the question, and she had no family to call upon. Natasha’s grim vision ended with both of them crying inside a cardboard box as pelting rain destroyed their only home.
“I’m going to have to loan you to Mr. Collins. He’s lost another assistant and there’s no one left but you.”
Natasha’s face bleached to the color of printer paper. Suddenly cardboard living didn’t seem so bad. She laughed in a state close to delirium. Only one word could squeak out of her dry mouth. “Temps.”
“No go. He doesn’t want them anymore. No other department can afford to risk losing their admins after working a stint under him.”
“You mean…” Natasha hadn’t been able to finish the question but Melinda waved her superficial worries away.
“Of course we can’t afford to lose you, Natasha. I don’t want you to go but…” She blew out another frustrated sigh. “It has to be you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t they just replace him since he’s causing so many problems for everyone else?” Normally Natasha would’ve never dared to criticize a senior member of management out loud but extraordinarily bad circumstances called for unusually bad behavior.
“That won’t ever happen. Collins is a billionaire. He brings in entirely too much money for the company. The board thinks he’s some kind of wunderkind because he hasn’t even hit forty yet.”
“I see. There’s no other way then, is there?” Natasha wondered what she had done to have karma treat her so badly.
Melinda’s shoulders slumped before she slammed her hands down on the desk. “Look, Natasha, he can’t fire you. You’re there temporarily. I don’t expect it to last longer than a couple of days and then you can come back here where you belong. Okay?”
When Natasha walked out of Melinda’s office, several sympathetic stares met her. Everyone knew. Everyone’s foregone conclusion expected her to be run out by Mr. Collins; the only question being how long it would take.
In that moment, Natasha managed to scrape together a sunny smile. Her pride, a quivering nexus of contradictory impulses, managed to draw strength from the hangdog expressions surrounding her. Natasha refused to allow the position’s short-term length to be an excuse for poor performance.
Determined to earn her reputation as a creative thinker with superior organizational skills, Natasha immersed herself in the mantra of, “He’s not a monster. He’s only a man. He can’t be that unreasonable.”
Unfortunately, all her optimistic thinking, contingency plans, and zealous chanting surrendered and accepted an inevitable death the first morning Natasha found herself in Mr. Collins’s presence.#p#分页标题#e#
She knocked on the door once and entered. As intimidated as she’d been of him, Natasha had only observed the fearsome Mr. Collins from a safe distance. Back then he had reminded her of a statue—perfect but cold. Planted on a pedestal high above everyone else; designed to be admired and leave the observer to feel lacking.
Her pleasant smile transfigured into a pained grimace. The unsolicited honor of being in the same room as Mr. Collins made her want to turn around and never, ever come back.
Mr. Collins sat at his colossal desk, correctly giving Natasha the impression he’d already been there for a couple of hours. Natasha murdered the urge to grovel for his forgiveness—even though she herself had arrived at his office a half hour earlier than her expected start time.
I can do this. I have to do this.
She stepped forward, shoulders back and head held high. Any banal greeting she would’ve uttered careened into silence. He wasn’t just a lifeless marble shell. Mr. Collins was something far more dangerous. Dark hair, darker eyes, smooth pale skin, encased in an obscenely expensive suit, all made for an attractive predator. Natasha bit her own tongue, an action fitting for his newest prey.
Mr. Collins’s angular face—too cold to be considered conventionally handsome—turned slightly away from his computer screen to regard her entrance. His bloodless appraisal from head to feet gave Natasha the unfavorable impression he had found her wanting in every way. Mr. Collins pointed to a chair and thus began Natasha’s foray into hell.