'Pull it!'
'I am pulling it!' He looks frantically around. 'Where are some scissors?'
'You're not cutting my jumper,' I say in horror.
'Do you have any other suggestions?' He yanks sharply again, and I give a muffled shriek. 'Ow! Stop it! You'll ruin it!'
'Oh I'll ruin it. And that's our major concern, is it?'
'I've always hated that stupid watch! If you'd just worn the one I gave you—'
I break off. There are definitely footsteps approaching. They're nearly outside the door.
'Fuck!' Connor's looking around distractedly. 'Fucking … fucking …'
'Calm down! We'll just shuffle into the corner,' I hiss. 'Anyway, they might not even come in.'
'This was a great idea, Emma,' he mutters furiously, as we do a hasty, awkward shuffle across the room together. 'Really great.'
'Don't blame me!' I retort. 'I just wanted to get a bit of passion back into our—' I freeze as the door opens.
No. God, no.
I feel lightheaded with shock.
Jack Harper is standing in the doorway, holding a big bundle of old magazines.
Slowly, his eyes run over us, taking in Connor's angry expression, his hand inside my bra, my agonized face.
'Mr Harper,' Connor begins to stutter. 'I'm so very, very sorry. We're … we didn't …' He clears his throat. 'Can I just say how mortified I am … we both are …'
'I'm sure you are,' says Jack. His face is blank and unreadable; his voice as dry as ever. 'Perhaps the pair of you could adjust your dress before returning to your desks?'
The door closes behind him, and we stand motionless, like waxworks.
'Look, can you just get your bloody hand out of my top?' I say at last, suddenly feeling irritated beyond belief with Connor. All my desire for sex has vanished. I feel completely livid with myself. And Connor. And everybody.
TEN
Jack Harper leaves today.
Thank God. Thank God. Because 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 of the door, then everything will be fine. Life will be back to normal and I will stop feeling as if 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, things are pretty good. First of all, it doesn't look like' Connor and I are going to get the sack for having sex at work, which was my immediate fear. And secondly, my brilliant plan worked. As soon as we got back to our desks, Connor started sending me apologetic emails. 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. Because every time he brings them out, he gives me this 'aren't I considerate?' look, and I have to say 'Oh! Scented candles! How lovely!'
I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't mind scented candles. But it's not as if they actually do anything, is it? They just stand there and burn. And then at crucial moments I find myself thinking 'I hope the scented candle doesn't fall over', which is a bit distracting.
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 pyjamas. That's what perfect couples do.
But—
Stop it!
I 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 an almighty leap of fright and I nearly spill my coffee. I haven't seen him since the hand-in-bra incident. And I really don't want to.
I should never have answered my phone.
In fact, I should never have come into work today.
'Oh,' I say.'Er … hi!'
'Would you mind coming up to my office for a moment?'
'What … me?' I say nervously.
'Yes, you.'
I clear my throat.
'Should I … bring anything?'
'No, just yourself.'
He rings off, and I stare at my phone for a few moments, feeling a coldness in my spine. I should have known it was too good to be true. He's going to fire me after all. Gross … negligence … negligent grossness.
