‘It’s just death by a thousand cuts, you know?’ Talia takes a big slug of the neat amber liquid in her tumbler, and I realise she’s already pretty drunk. ‘To be honest, I gave him my notice this afternoon. That’s why I’m getting hammered tonight.’ She brandishes her drink.

‘Oh, darling,’ Athena says. ‘I’m sorry. That’s seriously shit. What the fuck is his problem?’

‘Ugh, he has so much baggage, I don’t even know where to start. But I’m sick of him taking it out on me. He yells at me all the time, and it’s just not worth it. I’m sick of crying in the loos every day. The cleaning lady had to comfort me the other day. He’s an aggressive dickhead and he needs to find a way to work through those anger issues instead of bullying his assistant.’

‘Damn fucking right he does,’ Sophia seethes. ‘Was he aggressive in bed?’

Talia pouts into her glass. ‘That’s the worst bit. Yes he was, and it was fucking excellent. I’ll miss all the angry sex. Fighting was definitely our foreplay, and it was the only part of the whole bloody job I actually enjoyed.’

I frown. I’m glad she enjoyed it, but that’s not really my style. Thrashing it out with Brendan on the padel court this week was about as belligerent as I like my foreplay to be.

‘Hmm, interesting.’ Sophia appears to be turning over this new information. ‘I could stand up to him. I’d fucking kill him with my cheeriness. But if that failed, I’d take every inch of fat, angry dick he could throw at me.’

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. These guys are absolutely hilarious, though I can already see how important it is to be able to laugh about this job.

‘You’d wipe the floor with him,’ Bree tells Sophia. She’s been watching the interaction with silent focus. ‘You should talk to Camille and get her to hook you up, babes. And you, Tal, should go find a nice, good-natured man who worships the ground you walk on. God knows, you deserve it after putting up with that shit.’

As the sun sets, Sophia, Athena and I drift toward a quieter corner of the bar, leaving the rest of the seraphim debating the merits of various investment opportunities with the ferocity—and, it seems, expertise—of Wall Street traders. Sophia secures us a small booth partially hidden behind a cascading crystal installation that catches the fading light and transforms it into prismatic fragments across our faces.

‘Honestly. How are you finding it?’ Soph—she’s told me to call her that—asks. ‘Fun? Hot? Creepy? Confronting? Terrifying? All of the above?’

I take a sip of wine as I consider my answer. ‘Definitely all of the above.’