Initially, she had tip-toed her way about Mr. Collins, afraid of disappointing him and eliciting his permanent censure. Natasha performed all requested tasks with a speed two seconds away from frantic. Mr. Collins accepted each offering with an impersonal nod before she was off to the next intricate task.
Natasha’s inaugural days existed in a demonic dimension where each minute lasted an hour while simultaneously feeling like only a second. Despite her outward composure, Natasha and her insides were a complete mess.
Something was bound to break and that something could only be Natasha.
After vomiting for the fourth time in as many days, Natasha lay shuddering on the company bathroom floor with knees drawn up to her chest. She imagined herself becoming yet another nameless, faceless victim of Mr. Collins’s exacting reign of terror.
It was only a matter of time.
Soon enough she would make a mistake and then Mr. Collins’s unnatural stare would freeze her into a block of ice. He would leave Natasha’s ears intact so she could hear just how inept and useless she was before he tossed her out to shatter into a million pieces.
Her colleagues would shake their heads, sweep Natasha up, and murmur how much it wasn’t her fault as they clumsily attempted to piece her back together with Personal Time Off, Friday doughnuts, and a bouquet of sticky notes.
Where the hell is the replacement? I’m not going to make it. I’ll make a mistake on purpose just so I can get this over with.
Mr. Collins didn’t even address her by name. It was as if he didn’t bother to learn the assistants’ names because they wouldn’t survive his employ anyways. Natasha’s dry-eyed stare clouded over. Her nose itched but she didn’t want to let go of her knees.
Maybe I don’t even have to face him. I can just go back to IT, never say a word, and maybe it will all just go away.
Natasha scrambled back up and heaved into the toilet just in time. Panting, disgusted by her own gutlessness and enraged at the bastard who was ruining her life, she wanted to scratch his aristocratic face into oblivion.
Jerk! Asshole! Why does he have to act as if he’s so much better than everybody? This is America, buddy! We’re all equal here!
But they weren’t equal.
Despite their eight year age difference, Mr. Collins was a brilliant billionaire and Natasha wasn’t. So who was she?
A terrified chicken-shit who doesn’t want to be sent back as a failure.
True. What else? Surely Mr. Collins didn’t have the monopoly on being exceptional.
I may not be a genius but I am very smart. I’m also stubborn. I can outlast him.
Natasha flushed the toilet and sat back on her haunches. Leaning back against the wall, she discarded her first plan of attack. Outlasting Mr. Collins wasn’t the answer. She had to do more than just survive but what?
I’m fighting because I’m afraid of making a mistake. Why? Because I’m afraid he’s better than me and it’ll prove him right. What if I stop fighting? What if I stop being scared of failing? What if I decide—right here, right now—that I’m done with that?
Natasha’s stomach clenched—not in nausea but in excitement born only in the throes of maddened desperation. Could it really be this simple? She could stop fighting and accept the situation. She could stop being scared of failure because it simply couldn’t happen.
All she had to do was let go.
I don’t have to be afraid anymore if there’s no other option but to succeed. If I’m his perfect match, if I mirror him in every way, then how can Mr. Collins say it’s not good enough?
She had nothing left to lose by trying.
Natasha stood up, straightened her clothes, and stepped out of the bathroom stall a different woman. She rinsed her mouth, ate several mints, and brushed her hair until every wayward strand lay in place. She no longer had the pinched look of a corporate prisoner. Natasha Reynolds was free. All she had to do was submit.
He doesn’t show fear—neither will I. He doesn’t say much—I don’t have to either. He does his job perfectly. So will I. The bastard won’t even know what hit him.
Their interactions changed dramatically after that. Natasha no longer scurried about in his presence. She had the impenetrable calm of the enlightened. There was nothing Mr. Collins, or anyone for that matter, could do to ruffle her composure.
If Natasha noticed him watching her more and more, well, surely it was only curiosity and maybe even a bit of envy?
She rightly deduced Mr. Collins wouldn’t be satisfied with her rebirth without testing her defenses. His attacks came in the form of borderline unreasonable tasks. Natasha countered each one with a serene smile. He poked and prodded, haughty expression firmly in place, to see if he could make her bleed. She was impervious for righteousness sided with her. Their battle raged for eighteen days before Mr. Collins withdrew in defeat.