As a working single mother, this was music to my ears. The time when Tabby was at school was fair game for me to work on earning a living, but even at the RA, I always hated when three-thirty rolled around and I knew she’d be walking out of those school gates to her grandparents and not to me. Every minute I wasn’t with her felt like a lost opportunity. Less rationally, it felt like I was letting her down. Ridiculous, obviously, and probably more than a little co-dependent. But when you have a chronically unwell child, you learn to value every moment with them.

So it’s with relief that I go to get changed in Brendan’s bathroom on the dot of six. Apparently, Yan will drop by with my scores of Selfridges bags later this evening to deposit my new wardrobe. I’ll need to Marie Kondo the heck out of my current one to get my new designer threads into my closet, but that’s what I call a high-quality problem. I mentioned to Brendan that I’d probably cycle to and from home from work each day, and he instantly offered me the use of his swanky ensuite. This evening I’ll rent a bike, but from tomorrow I’ll be on my ancient, barely roadworthy one.

Into my big rucksack go my new dress and shoes as well as the outfit I arrived in. I’ve created space by leaving my so-called “hooker kit” in the spacious bottom drawer of my desk: all the stuff Athena told me I’d need to do my job without looking just-fucked all the time. You know, toothpaste and intimate wipes and a lot of spare underwear.

Brendan is still at his desk when I emerge in a tank top and cycling shorts, my hair tied up in a big bun, because it’s warm out there. It seems rude to be leaving before the boss, but I remind myself that upholding healthy boundaries is critical in this job, and I need to implement that from day one. But more urgently, I’m not sure what constitutes an appropriate farewell.

Thanks for the orgasms?

Can’t wait to see what you have in store for me tomorrow?

Not sure how I’ll ride home with my pussy this bashed up?

In the end, I settle for none of those.

‘Bye. See you tomorrow.’

He looks up from his laptop and stills. ‘Fucking hell. Feel free to just wear that tomorrow.’

I give him a shy little smile. It’s so surreal to think this big, beautiful man railed me right here where I’m standing earlier. ‘Not sure it’s dress-code compliant.’

‘You’re probably right. More’s the pity.’ He pauses, assessing me, and then pushes his chair back. Before I know it, he’s strolling towards me. ‘You doing okay? Today was a lot.’