Connectivity Read Online Free PDF Page A

my dream place of employment!
    I happily find the empty cubicle outside of Cumberland’s new office. I set the box down and then slide out of my winter wear. Then I go about decorating my cubicle. After all, I need to show everyone here my unique style and taste, and what do they see first when they come over to Cumberland’s office? My cube.
    I put up my silver desk lamp, add a small tartan pillow to my chair, artfully arrange silver framed pictures of me with Emily and Reese; display my old-fashioned Roman numeral desk clock, and put up my white orchid plant.
    There. Now everyone can see I have a decorator’s eye.
    Next I walk to the restroom to do an appearance check. I am carrying over the theme of looking fashionable but of my own making. Today, I put on a vintage tweed black and white cropped jacket; multi-layered stone necklace, black trousers, and high-heeled black boots.
    Satisfied, I go back to my cubicle and snap a few pictures with my iPhone. I can use this for a new blog article about creating a stylish workplace.
    I boot up my computer and log in. Since it is just eight o’clock, I decide to visit my blog for a second so I can download these pictures. The last post comes up, the scones, and I take a moment to transfer the pictures over. Then I go to the break room to begin tea prep. I fill the electric teakettle and turn it on, so the water will be hot and ready for the teapot the second Cumberland arrives.
    After I get the kettle going, I come back to my desk.
    And find Cumberland standing there, staring at my computer screen.
    Oh my God . I panic as I realize he is looking at my blog, which I must have left up when I went to do the tea.
    “Mr. Cumberland,” I say in a rush, “I—”
    “Was looking at the Internet on company time?” Cumberland supplies helpfully, lifting an eyebrow at me.
    Fuck! I fly into my chair and immediately click out of the screen. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it!
    “I am so sorry,” I say sincerely, looking up at him. “I just pulled it up for a second while I went to start the water for your tea. It will not happen again, I assure you of that.”
    Cumberland’s laser eyes stay on me. “I see,” he says in that deep British voice as he pulls off this leather gloves.
    Which is not exactly the “It’s okay” or “No big deal” response I was hoping he would give.
    Then he turns and goes into his office without saying another word.
    While he is in his office, I fight the urge to throw up on my desk. I take the teapot and go fill it, and I come back and arrange the tea service items on the tray. God, I feel so sick. I do not want to face him. But since I have no choice, I pick up the tray and walk into his office. Luckily I manage not to face plant this time.
    Cumberland is already on the phone and typing on his computer as I arrange his tea on his desk. He turns around at the sound. Cumberland nods at me without even breaking his conversation.
    I retreat to my cubicle and find an IM waiting for me.
    From William Cumberland.
    Please read the attached corporate policy on Internet use. Let me know if you have any questions upon review. WC.
    Oh fuck. Oh fuck! My face is on fire with humiliation as I read the message. I read the attachment, which specifically states the Internet is for company use only. I swallow every ounce of pride I have, because Cumberland is right on this one, even if the entire company surfs the net during the day. It is still a rule.
    I don’t have any questions, Mr. Cumberland, and I will comply fully. Please accept my sincerest apologies, MKG.
    The rest of the day I lay as low as possible. Luckily Cumberland has meeting after meeting with all the network people in Chicago, so he’s busy. Arabella has sent me a slew of bossy emails from London dictating what kind of supplies I need to order for Cumberland, how he likes things organized, blah, blah, blah.
    I am working through the massive supply order list when my cell phone beeps with a