‘I didn’t date much when Tabby was a toddler—I was finishing up my degree, for one—but my parents have been very hands-on. They moved to London so they could help me with childcare, and it’s meant I’ve been able to have a pretty active dating life.’

One truth, one lie.

I hope she buys it.

‘So how would you rate your level of sexual expertise?’

‘As you know, I’m not a professional. But I’d like to think I’m pretty experienced.’

She doesn’t answer. I’m getting desperate now. ‘How about this?’ I propose as nonchalantly as possible. ‘Let me interview with Brendan. If he doesn’t offer me the job, then we can recalibrate.’

‘How about this?’ she counters. ‘You take a look at his questionnaire and then we’ll see if you feel ready to consider this role. If you do, I’ll set up the interview.’

‘Perfect,’ I say with far more bravado than I feel. This is the crunch point: the first chance I have to see inside this guy’s brain. To know what terrors may await me.

Camille hits something that has her iPad streaming to the large screen in front of us in the middle of the table. The questionnaire is topped with the distinctive angel wings that comprise the Seraph logo. I see BRENDAN SULLIVAN typed in large letters across the top of the form, and I swear the pinpricks of sweat along my spine multiply. In my lap, I dig the nails of one hand into the palm of the other, a reminder to hold myself the fuck together.

She scrolls through the initial information—Brendan is thirty-seven—ten years older than me, has never been married, and identifies as a heterosexual male. So far, so manageable.

He cites his main reasons for signing up to Seraph as in-office entertainment, convenience and stress relief, in that order.

Breathe, Marlowe. None of this is remotely salacious.

But it’s about to be.

He’s looking to have sex every day, at least once a day. Not a huge surprise, given the amount of money he’d be forking out for the pleasure, but the thought of having actual sex with an actual man every single workday when I haven’t had it at all in nine years makes me want to laugh in a totally humourless way.

‘What happens when I’m on my period?’ I ask Camille.

‘Depends on the guy,’ she says. ‘Some guys like it, and some of our seraphim are happy to have sex on their periods. Some opt to run their pills together to avoid the issue altogether, and others just get creative. You have three working holes, after all,’ she adds drily.

Oh. My. God.