Maybe he’s pissed off that I’m leaving him in the lurch and he’s taking it out on me. Maybe he’s freaking out that his solidly transactional no-strings-attached office sex is turning into piano duets and daytime naps. I don’t know, and to be honest it doesn’t matter.

Because you know what? He’s right. He may not be communicating his emotions in the most evolved way, and his entitled, dismissive behaviour may be hurting me more than I care to let on, but the guy is right to pull back, to redraw his boundaries. God knows, one of us has to.

So yes. I’m determined to view this trip as a forced reset, a chance for us both to regroup. When I return, my daughter will be in possession of a shiny new, fully functioning pulmonary valve and I’ll be in a position of greater strength. Once I have a better idea of the cost of her ongoing medical needs over the next few years, I can set myself an end date for this job and stick to it.

And I vow to myself that I’ll exercise more agency next time. I’ll choose a position that doesn’t involve me selling my soul. I won’t even tolerate dickheads like my previous boss, Dean. I’m done with being at the mercy of power-hungry guys at every level of management.

There’s only today to get through. I dress carefully. I’m sure Brendan will want his fill of me before I go off on leave, and why shouldn’t he? I wear a flirty little pale blue fit-and-flare dress and some of his favourite white lace underwear, and I go to work prepared to service my boss in whatever way he requires today. In my mind, his treating me like a whore this week is my penance for lying to him. For using him to secure my daughter’s future.

It’s just one day. I can handle whatever he gives me.

‘I’ll miss this while you’re gone,’ Brendan comments, but his tone is idle, borderline disinterested. Which would be fine if we weren’t in the position that we’re in right now. As it is, I’m lying in my underwear on the carpet in his office as he straddles me, his huge body braced above me, his thick thighs in their fine wool trousers bracketing my head. With one hand he pins my wrists above my head, while he uses the other to feed me his dick.

I don’t answer him because I can’t. My mouth is too full of his dick, my focus entirely on not suffocating and not choking. From here, he looks evil and powerful and foolhardy: a dangerous combination.