Can you keep a secret_ - Sophie Kinsella [28]
It's a bright sunshiny morning, and I head towards the juice bar where I usually pop in before work. I've got into the habit of picking up a mango smoothie every morning, because it's healthy.
And also because there is a very cute New Zealand guy who works behind the counter, called Aidan. (In fact, I had a miniature crush on him, before I started going out with Connor.) When he isn't working in the smoothie bar he's doing a course on sports science, and he's always telling me stuff about essential minerals, and what your carb-ratio should be.
'Hiya,' he says as I come in. 'How's the kick-boxing going?'
'Oh!' I say, colouring slightly. 'It's great, thanks.'
'Did you try that new manoeuvre I told you about?'
'Yes! It really helped!'
'I thought it would,' he says, looking pleased, and goes off to make my mango smoothie.
OK. So the truth is, I don't really do kick-boxing. I did try it once, at our local leisure centre, and to be honest, I was shocked! I had no idea it would be so violent. But Aidan was so enthused about it, and kept saying how it would transform my life, I couldn't bring myself to admit I'd given up after only one session. It just seemed so lame. So I kind of … fibbed. And I mean, it's not like it matters. He'll never know. It's not as if I ever see him outside the smoothie bar.
'That's one mango smoothie,' says Aidan.
'And a chocolate brownie,' I say. 'For … my colleague.' Aidan picks up the brownie and pops it in a bag.
'You know, that colleague of yours needs to think about her refined sugar levels,' he says with a concerned frown. 'That must be – four brownies this week?'
'I know,' I say earnestly. 'I'll tell her. Thanks, Aidan.'
'No problem!' says Aidan. 'And remember: one-two-swivel!'
'One-two-swivel,' I repeat brightly. 'I'll remember!'
As I arrive at the office, Paul appears out of his room, snaps his fingers at me and says, 'Appraisal.'
My stomach gives an almighty lurch, and I nearly choke on my last bite of chocolate brownie'. Oh God. This is it. I'm not ready.
Yes I am. Come on. Exude confidence. I am a woman on her way somewhere.
Suddenly I remember Kerry and her 'I am a successful woman' walk. I know Kerry's an obnoxious cow, but she does have her own travel agency and make zillions of pounds a year. She must be doing something right. Maybe I should give it a go. Cautiously I stick out my bust, lift my head and start striding across the office with a fixed, alert expression on my face.
'Have you got period pain or something?' says Paul crudely as I reach his door.
'No!' I say in shock.
'Well you look very odd. Now sit down.' He shuts the door, sits down at his desk and opens a form marked Staff Appraisal Review. 'I'm sorry I couldn't see you yesterday. But what with Jack Harper's arrival, everything got buggered up.'
'That's OK.'
I try to smile but my mouth is suddenly dry. I can't believe how nervous I feel. This is worse than a school report.
'OK. So … Emma Corrigan.' He looks at the form and starts ticking boxes. 'Generally, you're doing fine. You're not generally late … you understand the tasks given to you … you're fairly efficient … you work OK with your colleagues … blah blah … blah … Any problems?' he says, looking up.
'Er … no.'
'Do you feel racially harassed?'
'Er … no.'
'Good.' He ticks another box. 'Well I think that's it. Well done. Can you send Nick in to see me?'
What? Has he forgotten?
'Um, what about my promotion?' I say, trying not to sound too anxious.
'Promotion?' He stares at me. 'What promotion?'
'To Marketing Executive.'
'What the fuck are you talking about?'
'It said. It said in the ad for my job …' I pull the crumpled ad out of my jeans pocket, where it's been since yesterday. '"Possible promotion after a year." It says it right there.' I push it across the desk, and he looks at it with a frown.
'Emma, that was only for exceptional candidates. You're not ready for a promotion. You'll have to prove yourself first.'
'But I'm doing everything as well as I can! If you just give me a chance—'
'You had