'Emma, why are you with that guy?'
'What?' I look up, still laughing, until 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.
My gurgles peter out, and I push my hair back off my face.
'What do you mean?' I say, playing for time.
'Connor Martin. He's not going to make you happy. He's not going to fulfil you.'
I stare at him, feeling wrong-footed.
'Who says?'
'I've got 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 cuttingly. '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!'
So there.
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. 'I mean … when you saw us last, we were pretty passionate, weren't we?'
'Oh, that.' Jack shrugs. 'I assumed that was a desperate attempt to spice up your love life.'
I stare at him in fury.
'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,' says Jack mildly. '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 I find I'm breathing rather quickly. I meet his dark eyes, and quickly look away again.
'I've asked myself that same question,' says Jack. He shrugs. '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 phoney act for me.'
I would have put on an act! I feel like retorting. If I'd had a choice!
'I guess what I'm saying is … I feel as if you're a friend,' he says. '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 wind me up, behaving as though you know me better than anyone else—'
'Maybe I do,' he says, his eyes glinting.
'What?'
'Maybe I do know you better than anyone else.'
I stare back at him, feeling a breathless mixture of anger and exhilaration. I suddenly feel like we're playing tennis. Or dancing.
'You do not know me better than anyone else!' I retort, in the most scathing tones I can muster.
'I know you won't end up with Connor Martin.'
'You don't know that.'
'Yes I do.'
'No you don't.'
'I do.'
He's starting to laugh.
'No you don't! If you want to know, I'll probably end up marrying Connor.'
'Marry Connor?' says Jack, as though this is the funniest joke he's ever heard.
'Yes! Why not? He's tall, and he's handsome, and he's kind and he's very … he's …' I'm floundering slightly. 'And anyway, this is my personal life. You're my boss, and you only met me last week, and frankly, this is none of your business!'
Jack's laughter vanishes, and he looks as though I've slapped him. For a few moments he stares at me, saying nothing. Then he takes a step back and releases the lift button.
'You're right,' he says in a completely different voice. 'Your personal life is none of my business. I overstepped the mark, and I apologize.'
I feel a spasm of dismay.
'I … I didn't mean—'
'No. You're right.' He stares at the floor for a few moments, then looks up. 'So, I leave for the States tomorrow. It's been a very pleasant stay, and I'd like to thank you for all your help. Will I see you at the drinks party tonight?'
'I … I don't know,' I say.
The atmosphere has disintegrated.
This is awful. It's horrible. I want to say something, I want to put it back to the way it was before, all easy and joking. But I can't find the words.
We reach the ninth floor, and the doors open.
'I think I can manage these from here,' Jack says. 'I really only asked you along for the company.'
Awkwardly, I transfer the folders to his arms.
'Well, Emma,' he says in the same formal voice. 'In case I don't see you later on … it was nice knowing you.' He meets my eyes and a glimmer of his old, warm expression returns. 'I really mean that.'