‘So, new job, is it?’ He is leaning up on one elbow and smirking at me through a blue tinged cloud. ‘I think there’s some Mumm in the fridge.’ Almost courteously, he pulls my knickers off from where they’ve fallen, halfway down my right leg, and waves me away towards the kitchen. I’m still wearing my bra, and even though I don’t think anyone can see in, at least not this high up, I feel a little self-conscious. ‘Hope your neighbours don’t catch me Donald Ducking it,’ I call, returning to the bedroom still knickerless, holding the bottle and the glasses. He’s managed to get his phone out anyway, the cigarette is stuck in the side of his mouth now, and he does not look up when he replies ‘You’re Porky Pigging it. Donald Duck wears a hat.’

‘Would you open it?’ I catch the whine in my voice and hate myself for it.

‘Fuck’s sake, Imogen, you work in a bar! Mind you, I suppose there’s not much call for champagne at The Grill. Pinot Greej for the suburban crowd.’

I roll my eyes, but he’s not wrong. I open my mouth to call him a snob, but he’s interrupted me before I start speaking. ‘Oh, give it here. No, actually, you should do it. Otherwise you’ll never learn. Twist the bottle, not the cork.’

I know, I know, you paternalistic fuckhead. I brace for the pop, and I’m eight years old, trembling and weeping my way through a noisy firework display, but this is Sam Strong’s apartment, where everything is engineered to work perfectly. The cork release is signalled by a sound both full and low, it’s the toot of a bass clarinet. Pouring the drinks, I allow myself the luxury of looking at him directly in the eyes with full, unflinching contempt. I glance down. His dick twitches.

‘So, cheers! Here’s to your new job. To publishing! To your touching and baffling faith in a declining industry!’

‘It’s your industry too,’ I point out. ‘And we’ll be online. Everyone loves the internet!’

‘Well, these days, new launches are usually over before they start. I’d keep your eye out for other stuff, just in case. Why don’t I try to get you a job at the Guardian, with me?’ says Sam.