Chapter Eight #3
All this time, I’ve been plucking up the courage to speak, and now I take a deep breath. “You know, my grandpa really likes Panther Bars!” I say. Everyone swivels in their chairs to look at me, and I feel my face grow hot.
“What relevance does that have?” says Paul with a frown.
“It’s just that…” I swallow. “He really doesn’t like the new papaya and pineapple flavor…”
“With all due respect, Emma,” says Connor in an almost patronizing tone, “your grandfather is hardly in our target demographic!”
“Unless he started very young,” quips Artemis.
I flush, feeling stupid, and pretend to be reorganizing the tea bags.
To be honest, I feel a bit hurt. Why did Connor have to say that? I know he wants to be all professional and proper when we’re at work. But that’s not the same as being mean, is it? I’d always stick up for him.
“My own view,” Artemis is saying, “is that if the Panther Bar isn’t performing, we should axe it. It’s quite obviously a problem child—”
I look up in dismay. They can’t axe the Panther Bar! What will Grandpa take to his bowling tournaments?
“Surely a fully cost-based, customer-oriented rebranding—” begins somebody.
“I disagree.” Artemis leans forward. “If we’re going to maximize our concept innovation in a functional and logistical way, then surely we need to focus on our strategic competencies—”
“Excuse me,” says Jack Harper, lifting a hand. It’s the first time he’s spoken, and everyone turns to look. There’s a sudden prickle of anticipation in the air, and Artemis glows smugly. “Yes, Mr. Harper?” she says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.
The whole room reverberates in shock, and I cough with laughter without quite meaning to.
“As you know, I’ve been out of the business arena for a while,” Jack adds. “Could you please translate what you just said into standard English?”
“Oh,” says Artemis, looking discomfited. “Well, I was simply saying that from a strategic point of view, notwithstanding our corporate vision…” She trails off at his expression.
“Try again. Without using the word ‘strategic.’ ”
“Oh,” says Artemis again, and rubs her nose. “Well, I was just saying that…we should…concentrate on…on what we do well.”
“Ah! Now I understand. Please, carry on.”
As Artemis starts talking again, Jack shoots me the briefest of glances. And I can’t help giving a tiny grin back.
—
After the meeting, people trickle out of the room, still talking, and I go around the table, picking up coffee cups.
“It was very good to meet you, Mr. Harper,” I can hear Connor saying eagerly. “If you’d like a transcript of my presentation…”
“You know, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Jack says in that dry voice. “I think I more or less got the gist.”
Oh, God. Doesn’t Connor realize he’s trying too hard?
I balance all the cups in precarious piles on the trolley, then start collecting the biscuit wrappers.
“Now, I’m due in the design studio right about now,” Jack’s saying, “but I don’t quite remember where it is…”
“Emma!” says Paul sharply. “Can you please show Jack to the design studio? You can clear up the rest of the coffee later.”
I freeze, clutching an orange cream wrapper.
Please, no more.
“Of course,” I manage at last. “It would be a…pleasure. This way.”
Awkwardly, I usher Jack Harper out of the meeting room and we begin to walk down the corridor, side by side.
My face is tingling slightly as people try not to gawk at us.
I’m aware of everyone else turning into self-conscious robots as soon as they see him.
People in adjacent offices are nudging one another excitedly, and I hear at least one person hissing, “He’s coming! ”
Is it like this everywhere he goes?
Mind you, he doesn’t even seem to notice.
“So,” says Jack Harper. “You’re moving in with Ken.”
“It’s Connor,” I say. “And yes. Yes, we are.”
“Looking forward to it?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
We’ve reached the lifts and I press the button. I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel them. “What?” I say defensively, turning to look at him.
“Did I say anything?” As I see the amusement in his eyes, I feel stung. What does he know about it?
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say, lifting my chin defiantly. “But you’re quite wrong.”
“I’m wrong?”
“Look. I know I might have made certain…comments to you on the plane,” I begin, clenching my fists tightly at my sides. “But what you have to know is that that conversation took place under duress, in extreme circumstances…and I said a lot of things that I didn’t really mean!”
“I see,” says Jack thoughtfully. “So…you don’t like double chocolate chip H?agen-Dazs ice cream.”
For an instant, I’m thrown.
“Some things, obviously, I did mean—”
The lift doors ping, and both our heads jerk up.
“Jack!” says Cyril, standing on the other side of the lift doors. “I wondered where you were!”
“I’ve been having a nice chat with Emma here,” says Jack. “She offered to show me the way.”
“Ah.” Cyril’s dismissive eyes run over me. “Well, they’re waiting for you in the studio.”
“So, um, I’ll just go, then.”
“See you later,” says Jack. “Good talking to you, Emma.”