Chapter Ten
Ten
It‘s the following day. And Jack Harper is leaving. Thank God.
I really couldn’t cope with any more of…of him. If I can just keep my head down and avoid him until five o’clock and then run out the door, then everything will be fine. Life will be back to normal and I will stop feeling like my radar’s been skewed by some invisible magnetic force.
I don’t know why I’m in such a jumpy, irritable mood. Because although I nearly died of embarrassment yesterday, my brilliant plan worked. As soon as we got back to our desks, Connor started sending me apologetic e-mails. And then last night we had sex. Twice. With scented candles.
I think Connor must have read somewhere that girls like scented candles during sex. Maybe in Cosmo, which I know he sometimes flicks through to get hints. Because he always looks really pleased with himself when he lights them.
I mean, scented candles are lovely; don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like they actually do anything, is it?
Anyway. So we had sex.
And tonight we’re going to look at a flat together. It doesn’t have a wooden floor or shutters—but it has a Jacuzzi in the bathroom, which is pretty cool. So my life is coming together nicely. I don’t know why I’m feeling so pissed off. I don’t know what’s—
I don’t want to move in with Connor, says a tiny voice in my brain before I can stop it.
No. That can’t be right. That cannot possibly be right. Connor is perfect. Everyone knows that.
But I don’t want to—
Shut up. We’re the perfect couple. We have sex with scented candles. And we go for walks by the river. And we read the papers on Sundays with cups of coffee, in pajamas. That’s what perfect couples do.
I feel the prick of panic and swallow hard. Connor is the one good thing in my life. If I didn’t have Connor…what would I have?
The phone rings on my desk, interrupting my thoughts, and I pick it up.
“Hello, Emma?” comes a familiar dry voice. “This is Jack Harper.”
My heart gives a leap of fright and I nearly spill my coffee.
I should never have answered my phone.
In fact, I should never have come in to work today. “Oh,” I say. “Er, hi!”
“Would you mind coming up to my office for a moment?”
“What…me?”
“Yes, you.”
I clear my throat. “Should I…bring anything?”
“No, just yourself.”
I put my phone down, feeling nervous. Why does Jack Harper want to see me?
Is this going to be about what happened yesterday?
I take a deep breath, stand up, and make my way up to the eleventh floor. There’s a desk outside his suite, but no secretary, so I go straight up to the door and knock.
“Come in.”
I cautiously push the door open. The room is huge and bright and paneled in pale wood, with a view over the Thames all the way along to Tower Bridge.
I never realized you could see so much from up here.
Jack is sitting at a circular table, with six people gathered around on chairs.
Six people I’ve never seen before, I suddenly realize, all with trendy haircuts and a kind of casual smartness.
One guy has bleached, cropped hair and a nylon mesh shirt under his jacket.
It looks like he was talking before I came in.
They all slowly turn toward me. I can feel the tension in the atmosphere.
“Hello,” I say, trying to keep as composed as possible. But my face is hot, and I know I look flustered.
“Hi.” Jack’s face crinkles in a smile. “Emma…relax. There’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh, right.” I’m totally confused. What on earth could he have to ask me?
Jack reaches for a piece of paper and holds it up so I can see it clearly. “What do you think this is a picture of?” he says.
Oh, fucketty fuck.
This is your worst nightmare. This is like when I went for that interview at Laines Bank and they showed me a squiggle and I said I thought it looked like a squiggle.
Everyone is focused on me. I so want to get it right. If only I knew what right was.
I stare at the picture, trying to stay calm. It’s a graphic of two round objects. Kind of irregular in shape. I have absolutely no idea what they’re supposed to be. None at all. They look like…They look like…
Suddenly I see it. “It’s nuts! Two walnuts!”
Jack explodes with laughter, and a couple of people give muffled giggles, which they stifle.
“Well, I think that proves my point,” says Jack.
“Aren’t they walnuts?” I look around the table.
“They’re supposed to be ovaries,” says a man with rimless spectacles, in a tight voice.
“Ovaries?” I stare at the page. “Oh, right! Well, yes. Now that you say it, I can definitely see a…an ovary-like…”
“Walnuts.” Jack wipes his eyes.
“I’ve explained, the ovaries are simply part of a range of symbolic representations of womanhood,” says the bleached-blond guy defensively. “Ovaries to represent fertility, an eye for wisdom, this tree to signify the earth mother…”
“The point is, the images can be used across the entire range of products,” says a woman with black hair, leaning forward. “The health drink, clothing, a fragrance…”
“The target market responds well to abstract images,” adds rimless-spectacle guy. “The research has shown—”
“Emma.” Jack looks at me again. “Would you buy a drink with ovaries on it?”
“Er…” I clear my throat, aware of a couple of hostile faces pointing my way. “Well…probably not.”
A few people exchange glances.
“This is so irrelevant,” someone is muttering.
“Jack, three creative teams have been at work at this,” the blond woman says earnestly. “We can’t start from scratch. We simply cannot.”
Jack takes a sip of water, wipes his mouth, and looks at her. “You know I came up with the slogan ‘Don’t Pause’ in two minutes on a bar napkin?”
“Yes, we know,” mutters the guy in rimless spectacles.
“We are not selling a drink with ovaries on it.” Jack exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. Then he pushes his chair back. “OK, let’s take a break. Emma, would you be kind enough to assist me in carrying some of these folders down to Sven’s office?”
—
God, I wonder what all that was about. But I don’t quite dare ask. Jack marches me down the corridor in silence, and into a lift. He presses the ninth-floor button. After we’ve descended for about two seconds, he presses the emergency button, and we grind to a halt. Then, finally, he looks at me.
“Are you and I the only sane people in this building?”
“Um…”
“What happened to instincts?” His face is incredulous. “No one knows a good idea from a terrible one anymore. Ovaries.” He shakes his head. “Fucking ovaries!”
I can’t help it. He looks so outraged, and the way he says “ovaries!” seems the funniest thing in the world, and before I know it, I’ve started laughing.
For an instant Jack looks astounded, and then his face kind of crumples, and suddenly he’s laughing, too.
His nose screws right up when he laughs, just like a baby’s, and somehow this makes this moment seem about a million times funnier.
Oh, God. I really am laughing now. I’m giving tiny little snorts, and my ribs hurt, and every time I look at him, I gurgle again. My nose is running, and I haven’t got a tissue…. I’ll have to blow my nose on the picture of the ovaries…
“Emma…why are you with that guy?”
“What?” I look up, still laughing, until suddenly I realize that Jack’s stopped. He’s looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Why are you with that guy?” he repeats.
I push my hair back off my face. “What do you mean?”
“Connor Martin. He’s not going to make you happy. He’s not going to fulfill you.”
For a moment I’m wrong-footed. “Who says?”
“I’ve gotten to know Connor. I’ve sat in meetings with him. I’ve seen how his mind works. He’s a nice guy—but you need more than a nice guy.” Jack gives me a long, shrewd look. “My guess is, you don’t really want to move in with him. But you’re afraid of ducking out.”
I feel a swell of indignation. How dare he read my mind and get it so…so wrong. Of course I want to move in with Connor.
“Actually, you’re quite mistaken,” I say in cutting tones. “I’m looking forward to moving in with him. In fact…in fact, I was just sitting at my desk, thinking how I can’t wait!”
Jack’s shaking his head. “You need someone with a spark. Who…excites you.”
“I told you, I didn’t mean what I said on the plane. Connor does excite me!” I give him a defiant look. “You know when you found us in the archive room? You want to guess what we were doing?”
“I’m pretty sure I know what you were doing,” says Jack. “I assumed it was a desperate attempt to spice up your love life.”
“That was not a desperate attempt to spice up my love life!” I almost spit at him. “That was simply a…a spontaneous act of passion.”
“Sorry. My mistake.”
“Anyway, why do you care?” I fold my arms. “What does it matter to you whether I’m happy or not?”
There’s a sharp silence, and suddenly I realize I’m breathing rather quickly. I meet his dark eyes and quickly look away again.
“I’ve asked myself that same question,” says Jack. “Maybe it’s because we experienced that extraordinary plane ride together. Maybe it’s because you’re the only person in this whole company who hasn’t put on some kind of phony act for me.”
I would have put on an act! I feel like retorting. If I’d had a choice!
“Maybe it’s because you make me laugh,” he adds.
I feel a rush of surprise. I make him laugh? In a good way?
“I guess what I’m saying is…I feel as if you’re a friend,” Jack continues. “And I care what happens to my friends.”
“Oh,” I say, and rub my nose.
I’m about to say politely that he feels like a friend, too, when he adds, “Plus, anyone who recites Woody Allen films line for line has to be a loser.”
I feel a surge of outrage on Connor’s behalf. “You don’t know anything about it!” I exclaim. “You know, I wish I’d never sat next to you on that stupid plane. You go around saying all these things to…to wind me up, behaving as though you know me better than anyone else—”
“Maybe I do,” he says quick as lightning.
“What?”
“Maybe I do know you better than anyone else.”