Free Connectivity by Aven Ellis Page B

put the tray down and extend my hand to Guy. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Kennedy.”
    Guy smiles warmly at me and shakes my hand. “Pleasure, Ms. Grant.”
    I arrange everything on the corner of William’s desk.
    “Will that be all, Mr. Cumberland?” I ask.
    William and Guy sit back down, and William’s eyes burn into mine. “Yes. Thank you, Ms. Grant.”
    I nod and head out of the office. I am about to go back to my cubicle when I realize I didn’t ask Guy if he took milk with his tea. Shit, I should go offer that .
    I am about to reach the doorframe when I hear my name.
    “I have heard a lot about MK,” Guy says.
    I stop in my tracks, listening.
    “Really,” William says flatly, as if he has zero interest in this topic whatsoever.
    My chest tightens a bit from his tone.
    “Lots of rumors are flying around London,” Guy says slowly, “that she is more than your assistant.”
    Fuck! My face flames in humiliation and anger. That fucking bitch Arabella must be slandering my name over there! Which is the last thing I need as I am going over there with William soon.
    “That is utter rubbish,” William says, interrupting my thoughts, “because I have absolutely no interest in Ms. Grant other than her performing well as my assistant. She is a nice girl, and has been tremendously helpful with my transition to Chicago. And she is smart as a whip. I can see her being a tremendous asset to this company in the future. But beyond that? No. Outside of her professional capacity, there is nothing I am interested in. I don’t get involved. Ever. And I don’t intend to start with Ms. Grant. Now, shall we get on with . . .”
    I don’t even hear the rest of what William is saying. My throat has closed up. He . . . he . . . oh Jesus, why are my eyes stinging with tears? Why does it hurt to breathe? Isn’t this what I want? To be known as professional Mary-Kate Grant? To be known as a career woman? To be recognized as a “tremendous asset” in the eyes of the most powerful man in media?
    So if that is true, which I tell myself it is, then why do I feel like William just picked up a sharp knife and launched the tip into my heart?
    I successfully manage to avoid extended contact with William for the rest of the day, as he and Guy have been visiting all the networks, taking meetings, having power lunches, and the like. But even small interactions make me feel sick to my stomach because all I hear in my head are William’s words about me, about how I am just an assistant, and I feel like such an idiot that I had any kind of romantic notions about him at all.
    So other than sending Jennifer an email with my article, I have autopiloted through the day, simply grateful that I have managed somehow not to burst into tears.
    Finally, at 6 p.m., I poke my head into William’s office. Guy has gone back to the hotel, and I know they are having dinner tonight at The Palm at 7:30 p.m.
    “I am heading out now,” I say, my tone formal. “Goodnight.”
    William raises his head from his computer. His blue eyes focus sharply on me, and he completely turns around in his chair, putting his fingertips together and brushing them against his lips. Oh fuck, he is totally assessing me now.
    “Mary-Kate, is something wrong?”
    “Absolutely nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Goodnight.”
    “I didn’t dismiss you,” he says firmly.
    Now I’m pissed. I march into his office and put my hands on my hips. “Excuse me? Did you actually just say, ‘Dismiss me?’” 
    William gets up and, moving around me, shuts the door and stands just a few feet in front of me. “I am not letting you leave until I know why you are acting like this.”
    “Like what?” I snap, losing control of my emotions. “Tell me, William, how am I acting? Am I not being helpful ? Am I not being a nice girl? Am I not performing well as your assistant?” 
    Suddenly I see recognition flicker in his eyes.
    “So you heard what I said to