‘You’re very good at it, you know,’ he continues, his tone callous. ‘If you do a truly excellent job of making me come then I promise I’ll fantasise about it when I’ve got another woman in this exact position next week.’

It’s the most backhanded of compliments, and it stings, humiliates, just as much as he intends it to do. I hope he considers himself lucky that my mouth is too full to answer him.

He pulls out slowly and groans before jamming his dick so far down my throat that I audibly gag. Even through my blind, teary panic, I register how gorgeous he is. He’s right, of course. He can have as many women as he wants lying here for him next week, sucking his dick when I’m not here to entertain him. But with the jealousy comes disgust that he would be as tasteless as to ram that point home right as he’s ramming his dick home inside my body.

He’s lashing out, going on the attack like a hurt little boy, and it makes me despise him. God knows, it’s occasions like this that underscore just how fully we seraphs earn every penny of our money.

‘Don’t think I’m going to make you come,’ he’s saying now, seemingly fascinated with the sight of his dick disappearing past my lips. ‘I have a plan for you later. If you want that orgasm, you can have it. Just remember, love, beggars can’t be choosers.’

Ain’t that the truth, mister.

Ahead of the International Green Building Summit, Brendan has organised a Friday afternoon working lunch at the office for some of his bros (his word) at competing firms. The theory is that, every now and then, they get together to shoot the breeze, bitch about some of the biggest contractors, and share trade secrets which I imagine include which government officials have palms they can grease and other equally shady topics.

I just hope his bro-lunch improves his personality. While his aggressive blow job earlier seems to have taken the edge off his foul mood, it could use more help. I really don’t like this churlish, sulky side of him.

He meant what he said about bros. When his business associates file into the large meeting room down the corridor from his offices, there is not a single female-identifying professional among them. Sullivan Construction may talk the talk on diversity and equality, but it seems that at the upper echelons of this industry, the old boys’ network still runs like clockwork.

I leave them to their silver buckets full of champagne and endless platters of Nobu sushi—no coffee and dried-out sandwiches for these big hitters—and settle at my desk. I’m intent on ensuring that I’ve done everything possible to make this handover as smooth as possible for Elaine.