I try to think of a clever answer but end up just shrugging awkwardly. “Let’s not talk about this anymore,” I suggest, sliding the paperwork towards him. “That’s the Hawley file. Get Simon to do it. He’s got a degree in horticulture, and he’s got a good relationship with them, and they’re comfortable with him. Also, make sure you pay Jesse and give him a bonus. He’s doing me a huge favour at short notice.”

He nods, accepting the paperwork. He’s not just my assistant. He’s the office manager and the company would fall into disarray if ever he left. He’s got a mind like a steel trap. He demonstrates that immediately. “I thought he didn’t want paying. That’s what you said yesterday.”

I shrug awkwardly. “I’d prefer to pay him and keep this–”

“Businesslike?” he offers sweetly.

I glare at him, trying silently to move him along. “Yes, of course, businesslike. What else would it be?”

“You should think about taking on a partner.”

I stare at him, reeling at the switchbacks of daily conversation with him. They leave me with mental whiplash. “Why?”

“How can I put this delicately?” I groan, but he carries on relentlessly. “Because we’re getting busier every week, and I love you, Zeb, but you’re better with the details than you are with the customers. You’re pretty shit with them.”

“That’s your version of delicate?”

He shrugs. “We each have to make the best of our own pluses and minuses.” He grimaces. “The problem is that you’re too intimidating.”

I draw back, stung. “I am not.”

“I don’t mean personally,” he says, shaking his head in exasperation. “I mean you’re very organised and thorough and somehow people feel a lot less when they’re with you. Some of the customers are already feeling that when they come to us. Try explaining to a hot as fuck man who has his own business and wears bespoke suits made on Savile Row that you need to hire someone to be your boyfriend for an office do.” He holds his hand up when I open my mouth to protest. “I know you’re kind and so do they after a bit, but it’s not easy to confide what you see as a failure to someone who looks like they’ve only had sunny days. Impressions are everything.” I stare at him and he smiles. “Just think about it.”

“I will.” I grimace. “God help me, but you do sometimes give good advice and I usually end up taking it.”

“Hope you do with this last bit, then,” he says cheerfully.

“Oh no,” I groan, covering my face. “I knew you hadn’t dropped it.”

“Oh yes. You’re going away with a fucking gorgeous bloke. If you get the chance, I want you to do what comes naturally.”