Page 60 of I Hope This Finds You Well

Before I can think too hard, I’m out of my chair. I head toward the bathroom, then pivot and speed walk down the hallway to the elevator. As soon as the doors open to the lobby, I race toward Artistic Coffee, the café next to our building. One only makes a purchase here out of desperation. The “artistry” from its namesake must be performative: keeping a straight face while serving diarrhea juice.

Mara, the alleged barista who has been working here since I started, doesn’t acknowledge me as I walk in. I move up to the counter and call, “Are your scones your cheapest pastries?”

She nods, finally turning to look directly at me. Several piercings rise with her brows as she eyes me up.

“Great, I’ll take three please.”

The clock is ticking. Three forty-seven p.m. She bags them up and hands them to me with her heavily ringed fingers. The scones are hard as rocks and probably dry as shit, but that’s for the best. This can’t be too flashy; anything too good, like Cliff’s donuts, and the entire floor would be up in an instant, marking me as the outlier.

I make my way back up to the office and swipe myself into the big lunchroom. Luckily, it’s completely empty, the lights off. I drop the scones onto the center of the table and head back to the pods.

Armin is drooping so low in his chair it’s a wonder he doesn’t fall face-first onto his desk. Caitlin is slowly clacking away. Rhonda is taking a sip from her mug, humming to herself as she moves her icon from row 2 to row 3 of her grid.

How to get them up without alerting the entire office?

I sit down at my desk and go into my email, clicking open a blank message. My mouse hovers over my name to the option beneath it in the “From” section. I’ve used the admin account only to read other people’s emails, not compose one of my own. I suck in air through my teeth and summon my most admin of admin voices:

From: Supershops Admin

BCC: Caitlin Joffrey; Armin Habib; Rhonda Staples

Subject: Thank you for your great work

Dear Supershops employee,

To express our appreciation to our most hardworking employees this quarter, we’ve sent special gifts to lunchroom number 417.

Please collect your own gift ASAP. One per person.

Regards,

Management

I hit send,and it’s instantaneous. Before I can even indulge in my dread, I hear the distinctive double tap of Rhonda opening her email. My heart is attempting to break from my rib cage and sprint across the office.

After a beat, Rhonda shrugs and stands up, heading toward the lunchroom. A few seconds later Caitlin gets up too. I’m somehow both relieved and scared shitless.

Armin doesn’t go, but the good news is he might actually be dead with the way his lifeless body is leaning on the desk.

This is my chance. Through my pounding heart and dry throat, I make my way into the boardroom. Panic closes in while I’m scanning for a spot to leave the phone. It’s too barren to hide anything well.

I rush to my desk, pull the tissue box from my bottom drawer, drop my phone in, and sprint back to the boardroom to leave it on the table. I’ll have to hope nobody has any cold symptoms.

I emerge just as Larry Goodwin passes. I stop in my tracks in the threshold like a deer in headlights as he walks around me. A half second later, Gregory exits his office.

I’m going to shit my pants.

I put on my best neutral face and trot back to my desk. Just as I sit down, Caitlin and Rhonda round the corner, a scone each in hand.

Caitlin smiles and says way too loud, “It’s so nice to have our hard work recognized.”

Larry Goodwin halts in his tracks, dripping a slosh of water from his freshly filled bottle. “You guys got praised? What for?”

Caitlin speaks louder, chin jutting out. “Oh, just some of us got alittle something in recognition of our hard work. It was in an email.” Her eyes tilt my way as Larry’s narrow on the scone in her hand.

Armin jostles awake, squinty-eyed. He clicks his mouse and views his screen.

Larry huffs; it’s incredible how quickly the sweat can accumulate on his temples. “What, from Gregory?” He wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. His attention draws to Marla, who’s walking from the printer room with a stack of papers in hand. “Hey, Marla, did you hear? Some people are getting recognition scones from Gregory!”