He remembers. Fuck. He remembers.
'And this is Artemis Harrison,' says Paul. 'One of our brightest young marketing executives.'
'Artemis,' says Jack Harper thoughtfully. He takes a few steps towards her work station. 'That's a nice big desk you've got there, Artemis.' He smiles at her. 'Is it new?'
'… this new desk arrived the other day, and she just took it …'
He remembers everything, doesn't he? Everything.
Oh God. What the fuck else did I say?
I'm sitting perfectly still, while Artemis makes some showy-off reply, with my pleasant, good-employee expression. But my mind is frantically spooling back, trying to remember, trying to piece together what I said. I mean, God, I told this man everything about myself. Everything. I told him what sort of knickers I wear, and what flavour ice-cream I like, and how I lost my virginity, and—
My blood runs cold.
I'm remembering something I should not have told him.
Something I should not have told anyone.
'… I know I shouldn't have done it, but I so wanted to get the job …'
I told him about faking the A grade on my CV.
Well, that's it. I'm dead.
He'll fire me. I'll get a record for being dishonest and no-one will ever employ me again, and I'll end up on a 'Britain's Worst Jobs' documentary, clearing up cow poo, saying brightly 'It's not too bad, really.'
OK. Don't panic. There must be something I can do. I'll apologize. Yes. I'll say it was an error of judgement which I now deeply regret, and I never meant to mislead the company, and—
No. I'll say, 'Actually, I did get an A grade, haha, silly me I forgot!' And then I'll forge a GCSE certificate with one of those calligraphy kits. I mean, he's American. He'll never know.
No. He's bound to find out. Oh God. Oh God.
OK, maybe I'm over-reacting here. Let's just get things in proportion. Jack Harper is a huge important guy. Look at him! He's got limos and flunkies, and a huge great company which makes millions every year. He doesn't care if one of his employees got a poxy A grade or not. I mean, honestly!
I laugh out loud in my nerves, and Artemis gives me an odd look.
'I'd just like to say that I'm very glad to meet you all,' says Jack Harper, looking around the silent office. 'And also introduce my assistant Sven Petersen.' He gestures to the guy with blond hair. 'I'll be staying here for a few days so I hope I'll get to know a few of you better. As you're aware, Pete Laidler, who founded the Panther Corporation with me, was British. For that reason, among many others, this country has always been immensely important to me.'
A sympathetic murmur goes around the office. He lifts a hand, nods, and walks away, followed by Sven and all the executives. There's silence until he's gone, then an excited babble breaks out.
I feel my whole body sag in relief. Thank God. Thank God.
Honestly, I'm such a moron. Fancy thinking even for a moment that Jack Harper would remember what I said. Let alone care about it! Fancy thinking he would take time out of his busy, important schedule, for something as tiny and insignificant as whether I faked my CV or not! As I reach for my mouse and click on a new document, I'm actually smiling.
'Emma.' I look up to see Paul standing over my desk. 'Jack Harper would like to see you,' he says curtly.
'What?' My smile fades away. 'Me?'
'The meeting room in five minutes.'
'Did he say why?'
'No.'
Paul strides off, and I gaze unseeingly at my computer screen, feeling sick.
I was right first time.
I'm going to lose my job.
I'm going to lose my job because of one stupid comment on one stupid plane ride.
Why did I have to get upgraded? Why did I have to open my stupid mouth? I'm just a stupid, stupid blabbermouth.
'Why does Jack Harper want to see you?' says Artemis, sounding put out.
'I don't know,' I say.
'Is he seeing anyone else?'
'I don't know!' I say distractedly.
To stop her asking any more questions, I start typing drivel into my computer, my mind whirring round and round.
I can't lose this job. I can't ruin yet another career.
He can't fire me. He just can't. It's not fair. I didn't know who he was. I mean, obviously, if he'd told me he was my employer, I would never have mentioned my CV. Or … any of it.
And anyway, it's not as if I faked my degree, is it? It's not as if I've got a criminal record or something. I'm a good employee. I try really hard and I don't skive off that often, and I put in all that overtime with the sportswear promotion, and I organized the Christmas raffle …
I'm typing harder and harder, and my face is growing red with agitation.
'Emma.' Paul is looking meaningfully at his watch.
'Right.' I take a deep breath and stand up.
I'm not going to let him fire me. I'm just not going to let it happen.
I stride across the office and down the corridor to the meeting room, knock on the door and push it open.
Jack Harper is sitting on a chair at the conference table, scribbling something in a notebook. As I come in, he looks up, and the grave expression on his face makes my stomach turn over.
But I have to defend myself. I have to keep this job.
'Hi,' he says. 'Can you close the door?' He waits until I've done so, then looks up. 'Emma, we need to talk about something.'
'I'm aware that we do,' I say, trying to keep my voice steady. 'But I'd like to say my part first, if I may.'
For a moment Jack Harper looks taken aback — then he raises his eyebrows.
'Sure. Go ahead.'
I walk into the room, take a deep breath and look him straight in the eye.
'Mr Harper, I know what you want to see me about. I know it was wrong. It was an error of judgement which I deeply regret. I'm extremely sorry, and it will never happen again. But in my defence …' I can hear my voice rising in emotion. 'In my defence, I had no idea who you were on that plane ride. And I don't believe I should be penalized for what was an honest genuine mistake.'