What would I do without a secretary? (Cassandra)
It takes a bit of creativity for a man to maintain his regular lifestyle once he has no secretary to provide their compassion to him, and impart their savvy coffee making skills into each delicious morning cup. Sprinkled with smiles and sung to by birds.

Sure, a coffee machine may seem like a relatively simple contraption - especially, for an engineer of John's caliber. But you see, once you've got the privilege of a certain someone fashioning your coffee each day for the past million years your mind wanders, your thoughts get cloudy, you forget that the machine exists at all. Or that anyone is behind making it.

You forget that ladybug's have bright yellow urine.

Why? Because someone else knows how to do it and ladybugs are rare in the city unless you're lucky, and that someone else will certainly be there forever to handle the equipment. Even when zombies rise from the grave from Hell having no more room, they will juggle the coffee maker down the street just in case a party member may be suddenly in need.

He'd eventually given up. Even the other employees sneered at him. "Get outta here." he'd snarled playfully - he was here far too early for Cassandra to bring him his coffee, or even his apple fritter. He'd wanted to sit down and ponder, meditate, and all that other spiritual avenue to rewire his anxious mind at the current events. There are a lot of things to think about right now. It's a wonder John wasn't merely a responsive puddle of brown mush since the stress was mortaring him down into a fine powder indeed, in India, they could use him to make Chai.

There was a list of things he cut down to worry/think on since his meeting with some members of the board where they handled some things that would be important and potentially cataclysmic unless someone, or something intervened. Aside from that, his other worries that had been dispelled by still lingered as phantoms in the old abandoned spooky house of his psyche:

Holly hating him for not telling her about Max, though that was resolved. Never mind.
Everyone hating him (the general public) who cares?
Cassandra suddenly hating her job and quitting.
The other employees hating him.
Hostile AIA coming after people because of Brigs.
The new secret weapon which would stop those AIA eventually.
The reason why employees have been getting blown up lately ...
Talk to Dr. Chancey.
Other assorted worries
Forgetting to turn the stove off... wait.. that might be important.. anyway.

And now, John sat down at his desk relaxed. He waited patiently for lunch hour to arrive.

Although he hadn't had Ncut off communication what so ever with Cassandra the entire day, (he'd spoken of course to her briefly here and there. Sprinkles, like on cupcakes), he was still aware that she hadn't been brought into the more interesting side of business. Well, she had.. but he was thinking of slipping her more time sensitive and confidential documents. More so than before.

The legal part. He wondered if she'd want to be a part of all that. If she'd be offended by what he'd offer.. a raise? A caramel macchiato? He had no idea what could soften the responsibility she'd receive if she agreed. His fingertips drummed lightly on his new snow globe as if he were a reluctant gypsy unable to comprehend what messages of prophecy came flittering about within his crystal ball. At least as a plus he'd be able to thank Cassandra for her loyalty, and his great job all these years.

John suddenly pressed the intercom button, "Cassandra? Have you eaten lunch?"