Connectivity Read Free

frigid cold. I keep my chin down in an effort to stay warm. Okay, thinking time. I need to redeem myself tomorrow. I will wear a very professional, fashion-forward outfit. Let’s face it, impression is about looks, too.
    I have to serve the perfect tea. So I will get there early to get the tea service as it is delivered. Luckily, I took a class last summer on serving tea so I know how to do that. But, what else, what else? Scones! That’s it. I will make scones to serve, too. I have the perfect lemon thyme scone I created last summer. I will show Cumberland I can go the extra mile and think outside the box by adding that personal touch.
    Ooooh, I can then blog about the scones. Perfect!
    I get home and I am in the zone. I turn on some music, get all my kitchen prep stuff out, and begin to cook. I make the scones and they turn out perfectly. I grab my camera and arrange them on a plate with some fresh thyme sprigs and take a few pictures. Inspired, I grab my iPad and go to my blog.
    I don’t know why I even bother. It is my collection of recipes and decorating ideas and nobody knows I do it. But it is my little way of being creative, of using my skills. Of having a way to show the world who I am, other than an executive assistant at TATS.
    I download a photo of the scones and add my thoughts before typing in the recipe:
    Today, my new boss arrived in town. He is a Brit, and I shall call him Mr. X. And Mr. X likes nothing more than proper English tea. I will be giving him that tomorrow per his request, but I will also be adding these lemon thyme scones to the tea service. After all, what is tea without a scone? And further more, Mr. X is too thin and could use a scone. Or five.
    I smile at my post and add the recipe. Then I close my iPad and exhale. Bring it on, Cumberland . I am more than ready to impress the hell out of you tomorrow.
    I arrive at work extra early the next day. The tea service is set on a tray, complete with lemon slices and scones. I put some thyme sprigs around the scones to make it look really nice. I have the electric teakettle heating in the break room, so indeed I am ready.
    I leave that on my desk and go to the restroom to make sure I look sharp. I stand in front of the full-length mirror. I’m wearing a crisp white shirt, white camisole, and sleek-fitting gray trousers. I took a bunch of pearl necklaces and pinned them together with a broach for my necklace, and a bright pink and orange vintage Pucci scarf is tied up as a headband in my straight red hair.
    I adjust the gold cuff bracelet on my left arm and take a breath. My neutral eye shadow is flawless and brings out the brown in my brown-gold eyes. A hint of peach blush and a swipe of neutral lipstick with an apricot gloss on top. Neutral but nice. I smile confidently and go back down the hall. It is now 8:15 a.m.
    I walk past the temporary office where Cumberland is while he is here, and I see the door is open and the light is on. Perfect! I can show him I am early in addition to being highly efficient. I get the teapot, take it to the break room, and fill it with hot water. Then I go back to my cubicle and pick up the loaded tea tray. Okay, shit, this is heavy. But I can manage. I shift it a bit until I have a perfect grasp on the edges and head toward his office.
    I come around the corner and stand in his doorway. He’s scrolling through his iPad when I clear my throat.
    Cumberland’s head lifts up and his intense blue eyes laser in on me.
    “Mr. Cumberland, I have your tea—” I say, but as I step forward I bump right into the leg of a guest chair. I lose my balance and go flying forward, sending the tea tray sailing through the air. I land face first on his carpet.
    Crash !
    The smashing of china and clattering of silverware practically bounces off the walls of his office. Then the collateral damage from my fall rains down on me and the floor.
    “Ms. Grant! Ms. Grant, are you all right?”
    Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! I frantically shove myself