Yes, Mr. Collins

  YES, MR. COLLINS

  A Dark Erotic Novella

  Charlotte DeCorte

  Published by DelSin Publishing, LLC

  Cry for Me

  Copyright 2011 by Charlotte DeCorte

  All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from DelSin Publishing, LLC. DelSin Publishing, LLC and the author assume no liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Image Credit: George Mayer

  Cover Design: CGM Web Designs

  Table of Contents

  Yes, Mr. Collins

  About Charlotte

  Writing as Charlotte DeCorte and Claudia D. Christian

  “Cry for Me” Sneak Peek

  “Yes, Mr. Collins”

  “Take off your clothes, Natasha.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I want your clothes off but leave on your underwear. Then I want you to turn around so I can tie you up.”

  Natasha Reynolds had never seen this side of Mr. Peter Collins.

  As his executive assistant Natasha was responsible for Mr. Collins’ suffocating schedule, meticulous correspondence, occasional personal tasks, and making his high-pressured work life run as smoothly as superhumanly possible. Natasha believed her sacred duty was to anticipate his needs before he even suspected their existence.

  In the course of such demanding work she had seen many things under his employ.

  She had seen him remain unruffled in the face of pharmaceutical-pill-popping pressure.

  She had seen him work 30 hours straight without compromising his razor intellect.

  She had seen him nearly charm the skirt right off a visiting executive almost too beautiful to be real.

  Being ordered to strip off her clothes just so he could tie her up was one side of Mr. Collins Natasha had never, ever seen.

  How did this happen?

  * * *

  Office gossip confirmed no executive assistant lasted more than a handful of weeks under Mr. Collins’ employ before tearfully resigning or summarily being shown the door. The temps didn’t make it even that long. Usually they just stopped showing up.

  Natasha had held her position for the last fifteen months.

  “How has she made it this long?” seemed to be the usual question left in her wake. Speculation had it she must have found something either highly incriminating or embarrassing on Mr. Collins. Others wondered if they were lovers before dismissing it. Mr. Collins and Natasha were the epitome of two professionals working in complete synchronization. While admirable, it was hardly the stuff passion was built on.

  Natasha, if anyone had been brave enough to ask, would have dispelled the prevailing rumors by answering, “As long as you’re completely focused on your job, he’s not that bad of a boss.”

  Which wasn’t to imply those first few days hadn’t been harrowing to say the least.

  Mr. Collins had a fearsome reputation of never raising his voice. Which sounded preferable in comparison to working under the other hotheaded executives, but his crisp British accent had a way of making you wish he had. One word punctuated by his black ice stare had the power to reduce the miserable recipient into a babbling mess.

  After stumbling across the messy aftermaths in the ladies restroom, break room, and occasional stairwell, Natasha had always wondered what it must have been like to experience it firsthand before thanking God she would never know.

  Time passed. Mr. Collins’ temporary assistants continued on their tearful rotations.

  Two years, three months, and eleven days into her position as an executive assistant in the IT department, Natasha’s orderly life came to an end when her manager called her into her office. Natasha assumed it was to be another typical meeting to align present tasks against future goals.

  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 brings in entirely too much money for the company. The brass 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’ presence.

  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.
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  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’ 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.

  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’ exacting reign of terror.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Soon enough she would make a mistake and then Mr. Collins’ 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 multi-millionaire 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.

  He called her by name.

  “Excellent work, Miss Reynolds.”

  The heavens opened up and “Ode to Joy” became her personal soundtrack for the rest of the day.

  Soon their schedules overlapped enough to become the same. A replacement never materialized—at least not in Mr. Collins’ office. When Natasha received a hefty raise she rightly assumed she wasn’t going back to IT. They eventually reached a certain unconscious comfort level with one another; enough so that Natasha knew his favorite candy bar and he knew her favorite beverage. Both of which were provided without saying extraneous words between them.

  What began as a mission to usurp Mr. Collins’ power over her mind morphed into self-improvement for its own sake. Natasha learned Italian and German. She unpacked her violin, rosin, and music stand. She took classes and upped her skills as a database wizard and Excel guru. This spawned an ambition to earn her Masters degree.

  Natasha improved her posture, no longer feeling the urge to slouch and minimize her height. She cut her hair. The winsome bob framed her face as beautifully as the new clothes enhanced her figure and the dark red lipstick drew attention to her full lips.

  One morning after her initial shopping excursion Mr. Collins slid an envelope across the desk. Natasha was surprised to read she now had a clothing allowance. Her wardrobe appreciated it and so did her savings account.

  Life was glorious.

  Natasha no longer believed Mr. Collins better than her. She didn’t see him as inhabiting an unreachable tier. She recognized him for the brilliant strategist and incredibly dedicated executive he was but nothing more.

  At least that was all she’d publicly admit to.

  Truthfully, Natasha found Mr. Collins to be the subject of her thoughts more often than not. His cologne intoxicated her. She often wished to press her nose against his neck just to keep smelling it. His rare smile did curious things to her tummy. Natasha enjoyed watching him work. Mr. Collins had an inexhaustible supply of energy—he never seemed to tire. That observation generally led to lurid speculation of what he was like in bed which caused Natasha to mentally casti
gate herself.

  No, Mr. Collins was her boss and not the object of her secret lust. She respected him as a colleague, a mentor, and a human being. Nothing more.

  Wanting to believe that lie is where I went wrong.

  Earlier in the day Natasha accompanied Mr. Collins to lunch. Somewhere between the main course and checking her phone for a critical e-mail, Mr. Collins cupped her chin, leaned in, and murmured, “Hold still, Natasha.”

  The phone dropped, hit her knee, and slid beneath the table.

  “You have an eyelash.” He brushed it away with the pad of his thumb before returning back to his meal.

  Natasha’s enlightenment plunged back into the blackest hell of confusion.

  Mr. Collins had just touched her. The man she had spent the better part of the last fifteen months, the person whose very existence compelled her to push past her limits, the superior who was responsible for her superstar status had just touched her. Not only had he touched her but he also did what he had never done before—he called her by her first name.

  Part of me wasn’t sure he even knew it.

  Natasha remained quiet and moved in a daze for the rest of the day. Every time she thought back to that tiny moment in time, her body flushed and her legs trembled. Fear and lust made a mess of her mind.

  And now she was going to pay for it.

  * * *

  “I cannot tolerate mistakes of any kind, Natasha. Your incompetence becomes my incompetence. I am not incompetent in any way, shape, or form.”

  Natasha kept her feet planted even though his quiet venom blindsided her. She should’ve known something terrible was going to happen when Mr. Collins called her into his office. His voice held a note of intensity she’d never heard before. Nimble mind racing, Natasha tried to pinpoint exactly what she did wrong and came up blank. “No, Mr. Collins.”

  “Yet, you sent out company-wide correspondence from this office with an error.” He handed her a printout before returning back to his desk.

  “Yes, Mr. Collins.” Natasha fought the urge to cower. She scanned over the document, looking for the unacceptable chink in her flawless record.