Can You Keep a Secret?
Page 34
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'Now Connor, tell me,' says Jack in confidential tones. 'Did you ever find Emma's …'
If he says 'G spot' I will die. I will die. I will die.
'… presence here distracting? Because I can imagine I would!' Jack gives Connor a friendly smile, but Connor doesn't smile back.
'As I said, sir,' he says, a little stiffly, 'Emma and I operate on a strictly professional basis whilst at work. We would never dream of abusing the company's time for our own … ends.' He flushes. 'I mean, by ends, I don't mean … I meant …'
'I'm glad to hear it,' says Jack, looking amused.
God, why does Connor have to be such a goody-goody?
The lift pings, and I feel relief drain over me. Thank God, at last I can escape—
'Looks like we're all going to the same place,' says Jack Harper with a grin. 'Connor, why don't you lead the way?'
I can't cope with this. I just can't cope. As I pour out cups of tea and coffee for members of the marketing department, I'm outwardly calm, smiling at everyone and even chatting pleasantly. But inside I'm all unsettled and confused. I don't want to admit it to myself, but seeing Connor through Jack Harper's eyes has thrown me.
I love Connor, I tell myself over and over. I didn't mean any of what I said on the plane. I love him. I run my eyes over his face, trying to reassure myself. There's no doubt about it. Connor is good-looking by any standards. He glows with good health. His hair is shiny and his eyes are blue and he's got a gorgeous dimple when he smiles.
Jack Harper, on the other hand, looks kind of weary and dishevelled. He's got shadows under his eyes and his hair is all over the place. And there's a hole in his jeans.
But even so. It's as if he's some kind of magnet. I'm sitting here, my attention firmly on the tea trolley, and yet somehow I can't keep my eyes off him.
It's because of the plane, I keep telling myself. It's just because we were in a traumatic situation together; that's why. No other reason.
'We need more lateral thinking, people,' Paul is saying. The Panther Bar is simply not performing as it should. Connor, you have the latest research statistics?'
Connor stands up, and I feel a flip of apprehension on his behalf. I can tell he's really nervous from the way he keeps fiddling with his cuffs.
'That's right, Paul.' He picks up a clipboard and clears his throat. 'In our latest survey, 1,000 teenagers were questioned on aspects of the Panther Bar. Unfortunately, the results were inconclusive.'
He presses his remote control. A graph appears on the screen behind him, and we all stare at it obediently.
'Seventy-four per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the texture could be more chewy,' says Connor earnestly. 'However, 67 per cent of 15-18-year-olds felt the texture could be more crunchy, while 22 per cent felt it could be less crunchy …'
I glance over Artemis's shoulder and see she's written 'Chewy/crunchy??' on her notepad.
Connor presses the remote control again, and another graph appears.
'Now, 46 per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the flavour was too tangy. However, 33 per cent of 15—18-year-olds felt it was not tangy enough, while …'
Oh God. I know it's Connor. And I love him and everything. But can't he make this sound a bit more interesting?
I glance over to see how Jack Harper is taking it and he raises his eyebrows at me. Immediately I flush, feeling disloyal.
He'll think I was laughing at Connor. Which I wasn't. I wasn't.
'And 90 per cent of female teenagers would prefer the calorie content to be reduced,' Connor concludes. 'But the same proportion would also like to see a thicker chocolate coating.' He gives a helpless shrug.
'They don't know what the hell they want,' says someone.
'We polled a broad cross-section of teenagers,' says Connor, 'including Caucasians, Afro-Caribbeans, Asians, and … er …' he peers at the paper. 'Jedi knights.'
'Teenagers!' says Artemis, rolling her eyes.
'Briefly remind us of our target market, Connor,' says Paul with a frown.
'Our target market …' Connor consults another clipboard, 'is aged 10–18, in full or part time education. He/she drinks Panther Cola four times a week, eats burgers three times a week, visits the cinema twice a week, reads magazines and comics but not books, is most likely to agree with the lifestyle statement "It's more important to be cool than rich" …' he looks up. 'Shall I go on?'
'Does he/she eat toast for breakfast?' says somebody thoughtfully. 'Or cereal?'
'I … I'm not sure,' says Connor, riffling quickly through his pages. 'We could do some more research …'
'I think we get the picture,' says Paul. 'Does anyone have any thoughts on this?'
All this time, I've been plucking up 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.
If he says 'G spot' I will die. I will die. I will die.
'… presence here distracting? Because I can imagine I would!' Jack gives Connor a friendly smile, but Connor doesn't smile back.
'As I said, sir,' he says, a little stiffly, 'Emma and I operate on a strictly professional basis whilst at work. We would never dream of abusing the company's time for our own … ends.' He flushes. 'I mean, by ends, I don't mean … I meant …'
'I'm glad to hear it,' says Jack, looking amused.
God, why does Connor have to be such a goody-goody?
The lift pings, and I feel relief drain over me. Thank God, at last I can escape—
'Looks like we're all going to the same place,' says Jack Harper with a grin. 'Connor, why don't you lead the way?'
I can't cope with this. I just can't cope. As I pour out cups of tea and coffee for members of the marketing department, I'm outwardly calm, smiling at everyone and even chatting pleasantly. But inside I'm all unsettled and confused. I don't want to admit it to myself, but seeing Connor through Jack Harper's eyes has thrown me.
I love Connor, I tell myself over and over. I didn't mean any of what I said on the plane. I love him. I run my eyes over his face, trying to reassure myself. There's no doubt about it. Connor is good-looking by any standards. He glows with good health. His hair is shiny and his eyes are blue and he's got a gorgeous dimple when he smiles.
Jack Harper, on the other hand, looks kind of weary and dishevelled. He's got shadows under his eyes and his hair is all over the place. And there's a hole in his jeans.
But even so. It's as if he's some kind of magnet. I'm sitting here, my attention firmly on the tea trolley, and yet somehow I can't keep my eyes off him.
It's because of the plane, I keep telling myself. It's just because we were in a traumatic situation together; that's why. No other reason.
'We need more lateral thinking, people,' Paul is saying. The Panther Bar is simply not performing as it should. Connor, you have the latest research statistics?'
Connor stands up, and I feel a flip of apprehension on his behalf. I can tell he's really nervous from the way he keeps fiddling with his cuffs.
'That's right, Paul.' He picks up a clipboard and clears his throat. 'In our latest survey, 1,000 teenagers were questioned on aspects of the Panther Bar. Unfortunately, the results were inconclusive.'
He presses his remote control. A graph appears on the screen behind him, and we all stare at it obediently.
'Seventy-four per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the texture could be more chewy,' says Connor earnestly. 'However, 67 per cent of 15-18-year-olds felt the texture could be more crunchy, while 22 per cent felt it could be less crunchy …'
I glance over Artemis's shoulder and see she's written 'Chewy/crunchy??' on her notepad.
Connor presses the remote control again, and another graph appears.
'Now, 46 per cent of 10-14-year-olds felt the flavour was too tangy. However, 33 per cent of 15—18-year-olds felt it was not tangy enough, while …'
Oh God. I know it's Connor. And I love him and everything. But can't he make this sound a bit more interesting?
I glance over to see how Jack Harper is taking it and he raises his eyebrows at me. Immediately I flush, feeling disloyal.
He'll think I was laughing at Connor. Which I wasn't. I wasn't.
'And 90 per cent of female teenagers would prefer the calorie content to be reduced,' Connor concludes. 'But the same proportion would also like to see a thicker chocolate coating.' He gives a helpless shrug.
'They don't know what the hell they want,' says someone.
'We polled a broad cross-section of teenagers,' says Connor, 'including Caucasians, Afro-Caribbeans, Asians, and … er …' he peers at the paper. 'Jedi knights.'
'Teenagers!' says Artemis, rolling her eyes.
'Briefly remind us of our target market, Connor,' says Paul with a frown.
'Our target market …' Connor consults another clipboard, 'is aged 10–18, in full or part time education. He/she drinks Panther Cola four times a week, eats burgers three times a week, visits the cinema twice a week, reads magazines and comics but not books, is most likely to agree with the lifestyle statement "It's more important to be cool than rich" …' he looks up. 'Shall I go on?'
'Does he/she eat toast for breakfast?' says somebody thoughtfully. 'Or cereal?'
'I … I'm not sure,' says Connor, riffling quickly through his pages. 'We could do some more research …'
'I think we get the picture,' says Paul. 'Does anyone have any thoughts on this?'
All this time, I've been plucking up 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.
