First off I would like to say that this story is based off of "Can you keep a secret?" by Sophie Kinsella.

I used the main ideas of her story and instead of using her characters I substituted transformers characters. I added some modifications as best as I could, but if you find anything that needs to be corrected let me know please.

I also don't own any of the transformers characters, that belongs to Hasbros.

I know some of you might be wondering why I have certain characters as some people that doesn't seem to fit their character, but I tried to fit most of the transformers characters as well as I could with the original characters personalities.

Lastly I have the unit of time measurement down below in cybertronian form.

Sparkling - Newborn

Youngling - Child

Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes

Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours

Orn - About 13 Earth day

Cycle - About 3 Earth weeks

Stellar Cycle - About 73 Earth Months

Vorn - About 83 Earth years

Enjoy!

Can you keep a secret?

Chapter 1

Of course I have secrets.

Of course I do. Everyone has a few secrets. It's completely normal.

I'm not talking about big, cybertron-shattering secrets. Not the-prime-is-planning-to-bomb-Kaon-and-only-OmegaSupreme-can-save-the-planet type secrets. Just normal, everyday little secrets.

Like, for example, here are a few random secrets of mine, off the top of my head:

1. I love sweet coolant, the least cool highgrade drink in the universe.

2. I've always thought my boyfriend, Prowl looks a bit too perfect...

3. Sometimes, when we're right in the middle of a passionate interface, I suddenly want to laugh.

4. I lost my virginity in the spare bedroom with Blaster while Mom and Dad were downstairs.

5. I've already drunk the Special High-Grade that Dad told me to save for 20 vorns.

6. When my colleague Cliffjumper really annoys me, I feed his organic plant with spiced energon. (Which is pretty much every orn.)

7. I once had this weird sexual dream about my roommate Bumblebee. (Which was definitely creepy considering I think of him as a brother.)

8. I've always had this deep-down conviction that I'm not like everybody else, and there's an amazingly exciting new life waiting for me just around the corner.

9. I have no idea what this mech in the blue armor is going on about.

10. Plus, I've already forgotten his name.

And I only met him 10 breems ago.

"We believe in multi-logistical formative alliances," he's saying in a nasal, droning voice, "both above and below the line."

"Absolutely!" I reply brightly, as though to say "Doesn't everybody?"

Multi-logistical. What does that mean, again?

Oh Primus. What if they ask me?

Don't be stupid, Hot Rod. They won't suddenly demand, what does "multi-logistical" mean? I'm a fellow marketing professional, aren't I? Obviously I know these things.

And anyway, if they mention it again, I'll change the subject. Or I'll say I'm post-logistical or something.

The important thing is to keep confident and businesslike. I can do this. This is my big chance, and I'm not going to screw it up.

I'm sitting in the offices of Glen Energon's headquarters in Gygax, and as I glance at my reflection in the window, I look just like a top businessmech. I've got my smart, new, elegant Pristine armor. (At least, it's practically new. I got it from the Virus Research shop and replaced a screw that was missing, and you can hardly tell.) My armor is shining radiantly, after half a joor with cleaning rag and a bottle of polishing wax. My flames on my torso are standing out much more without looking to desperate, just like they tell you to in how-to-win-that-job articles.

I'm here representing Praxus Corporation, which is where I work. The meeting is to finalize a promotional arrangement between the new cranberry-flavored Praxus Prime racing energon drink and Glen Energon, and I flew up this morning from Praxus, especially.

When I arrived, the two Glen Energon marketing mechs started on this long, show-offy "who's traveled the most?" conversation about speeding distances and the red-eye to Crystal City—and I think I bluffed pretty convincingly. But the truth is, this is the first time I've ever had to travel for work.

OK. The real truth is, this is the first business meeting I've attended on my own, I've been at the Praxus Corporation for 11 stellar cycles as a marketing assistant, which is the bottom level in our department. I started off just doing menial tasks like typing letters, getting the energon treats, and collecting my boss Sentinel's mail. But after a couple of stellar cycles, I was allowed to start checking copy. Then a few stellar cycles ago, I got to write my very own promotional leaflet, for a tie-in with polishing wax! Primus, I was excited. I bought a creative-writing pad especially to help me, and I spent 2 orns working on it. And I was really pleased with the result, even if it didn't have a misunderstood villain like the pad suggested. And even if Sentinel did just glance at the copy and say "Fine" and kind of forgot to tell anyone that I wrote it.

Since then I've done a fair bit of writing promotional literature, and I've even sat in on a few meetings with Sentinel. So I really think I'm moving up the ladder. In lots of ways I'm practically a marketing executive already!

Except for the tiny point that I still seem to do just as much typing as before. And getting energon treats and collecting mail. I just do it as well as the other jobs. Especially so since our departmental secretary, Blast Off, left about 30 orns ago and still hasn't been replaced.

But it's all going to change; I know it is. This meeting is my big break. It's my first chance to show Sentinel what I'm really capable of I had to beg him to let me go—after all, Glen Energon and Praxus Corporation have done loads of deals together in the past; it's not like there'll be any surprises. But deep down I know I'm here only because I was I his office when he realized he'd double-booked with an awards lunch that most of the department was attending. So here I am, representing the company.

And my secret hope is that if I do well today, I'll get promoted. The job ad said "possibility of promotion after a vorn"—and it's nearly been a vorn. And in two orns I'm having my appraisal meeting. I looked up "Appraisal" in the staff induction pad, and it said they are "an ideal opportunity to discuss possibilities for career advancement."

Career advancement! At the thought, I feel a familiar stab of longing. It would just show Dad I'm not a complete loser. And mum. And Tracks. If I could just go home and say, "By the way, I've been promoted to marketing executive."

Hot Rod, marketing executive.

Hot Rod, senior vice-president (marketing).

As long as everything goes well today. Sentinel said the deal was pretty much done and dusted, and all I had to do was raise one point about timing, and even I should be able to manage that. And so far, I reckon it's going really well!

OK, so I don't understand some of the terms they're using. But then I didn't understand most of my GCSE Vos Oral either, and I still got a B.

"Rebranding…analysis…cost-effective…"

The man in the blue armor is still droning on. As casually as possible, I extend my hand and inch his business card toward me so I can read it.

Ultra Magnus. That's right. I can remember doing this. Magnus. Mag-nus. Easy—I'll picture a mag…net? Together with a…

Ok forget this. I'll just write it down.

I write down "rebranding" and "Ultra Magnus" on my pad and give an uncomfortable little wriggle. Primus this new armor is killing me. I hate the first time you wear new armor; it's all stiff and uncomfortable. That's why I never buy new armor.

Actually, it was fine. My boyfriend, Prowl bought me the armor. It's a Pristine armor, one of the finest. He's so kind and thoughtful...Even though it's actually a knockoff from a Virus Research Facility, and I had to replace a missing screw. But as long as Prowl doesn't find out, it's fine. He would be crushed if he knew.

Since then, I've hardly ever worn this particular set of armor, needless to say. But every so often I seen it, looking all nice and expensive, and think, Oh, come on, it can't be that tight, and somehow squeeze into it. Which is what I did this morning. I even decided I must have started breaking it in, because it doesn't feel as uncomfortable and stiff as it usually does.

I am such a deluded moron.

"…unfortunately, since rebranding…major rethink…fell we need to be considering alternative synergies…"

Up to now I've just been sitting and nodding, thinking this business meeting is really easy. But now Ultra Magnus's voice starts to impinge on my consciousness. What's he saying?

"…two precuts diverging…becoming incompatible…"

What was that about incompatible? What was that about a major rethink? I feel a jolt of alarm.

"We appreciate the functional and synergetic partnership that Praxus Corp. and Glen Energon have enjoyed in the past," Ultra Magnus is saying, "but you'll agree that clearly we're going in different directions."

Different directions?

My tank gives an anxious lurch.

He can't be—

Is he trying to pull out of the deal?

"Excuse me, Magnus," I say in my most relaxed voice, "Obviously I was closely following what you were saying earlier." I give a friendly, we're-all-professionals-together smile. "But if you could just…um, recap the situation for all our benefits…"

In plain Cybertron, I beg silently.

Ultra Magnus and the other mech exchange glances.

"We're a little unhappy about your brand values," says Ultra Magnus.

"My brand values?" I echo in panic.

"The brand values of the product," he says, giving me an odd look. "As I've been explaining, we here at Glen Energon are going through a rebranding process at the moment, and we see our new image very much as a caring source of energon, as our new daffodil logo demonstrates. And we feel Praxus Prime, with its emphasis on racing and competition, is simply too aggressive."

"Aggressive?" I stare at him in bewilderment. "But…it's a crusted drink." This makes no sense. Glen Energon is fume-making, world-ruining petrol. Praxus Prime is an innocent crusted-flavored drink. How can it be too aggressive?

"The value is espoused." He gestures to the marketing brochures on the table. "Drive. Elitism. Masculinity. The very slogan 'Don't Pause.' Frankly, it seems a little dated." He shrugs. "We just don't think a joint initiative will be possible."

No. No. This can't be happening. He can't be pulling out.

Everyone at the office will think it was my fault. They'll think I fragged it up and I'm completely stupid.

My spark is thumping. My face plate is hot. I can't let this happen. But what do I say? I haven't prepared anything. Sentinel said the promotion was all set up, and all I had to do was tell them we wanted to bring it forward to June.

"We'll certainly discuss it again before we make a decision," Magnus's saying. He gives me a brief smile. "And as I say, we would like to continue links with the Praxus Corporation, so this has been a useful meeting, in any case…"

He's pushing back his chair.

I can't let this slip away! I have to try to win them around.

"Wait!" I hear myself say. "Just…wait a moment! I have a few points to make."

There's a cube of Praxus Prime sitting on the desk, and I grab it for inspiration. Playing for time, I stand up, walk to the center of the room, and raise the cube high into the air where all can see it. "Praxus Prime is…a racing drink."

I stop, and there's a polite silence. My face plate is prickling. "It, ums, it is very…"

Oh, Primus. What am I doing?

Come on, Hot Rod. Think. Think Praxus Prime…Think Praxus Energon…Think…Think…

Yes! Of course!

"Since the launch of Praxus Energon 50 vorns ago, Praxus drinks have been byword for energy, excitement, and excellence," I say fluently.

Thank Primus. This is the standard marketing blurb for Praxus Eneregon. I've typed it out so many times, I could recite it in my recharge.

"Praxus drinks are a marketing phenomenon," I continue. "The Praxus character is one of the most widely recognized in the world, while the classic slogan 'Don't Pause' has made it into dictionaries. We are offering Glen Energon an exclusive opportunity to strengthen its association with this premium, world-famous brand."

My confidence growing, I start to stride around the room, gesturing with the cube. "By buying a Praxus healthy drink, the consumer is signaling that he will settle for nothing but the best." I hit the cube sharply with my other hand. "He expects the best from his energy drink, he expects the best from his petrol, he expects the best from himself."

I'm flying! I'm fantastic! If Sentinel could see me now, he'd give me a promotion on the spot!

I come over to the desk and look Ultra Magnus right in the optics. "When the Praxus consumer opens that cube, he is making a choice that tells the world who he is. I'm asking Glen Energon to make the same choice."

As I finish speaking, I plant the cube firmly in the middle of the desk, reach for the ring pull, and, with a cool smile, snap it back.

A volcano erupts.

Thick red crusted-flavored energon explodes in a whoosh out of the cube, drenching the pads, blotters in lurid red liquid…and—oh, no, please no—spattering all over Ultra Magnus's armor.

"Frag!" I gasp. "I mean, I'm really sorry—"

"Primus," says Ultra Magnus irritably, standing up and getting a cloth out of his subspace. "Does this stuff stain?"

"Er…" I grab the cube helplessly. "I don't know."

"I'll get some more cloths," says the other guy, and leaps to his feet. The door closes behind him and there's silence, apart from the sound of crusted energon dripping slowly onto the floor.

I stare at Ultra Magnus, my face plate hot and energon throbbing through my audios.

"Please…" My voice is husky. "Don't tell my boss."

Ok, so I redid this chapter and I will be redoing all/some of the other chapters to. I've just changed a few things that I think will make this story better than it was.

Thank you all