I’m almost giggling too hard to speak. ‘Yep, but after he made her come, he was being so smug that she turned around to him and said, “Look, dickhead, my last boss was sixty-five years old so the bar is really fucking low, okay?”’

‘I want to shake that woman by the hand. What a fucking queen.’

‘Seriously. She’s amazing.’

‘So did he kick her out or offer her the job?’

I throw my phone down on the bed. ‘He offered her the job.’

The people I love seem to have a habit of approaching me cautiously, glossy brochure in hand, when they want to change my life.

Athena did it ten months ago, when she first planted the intoxicating idea of having Tabs treated at Duke.

And Brendan is doing it now. Except that, when he pulls open the drawer of his bedside table and turns back to me, he has two glossy brochures in his hand.

‘Don’t fly off the handle,’ he says, snuggling closer. ‘Just—consider it, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I say, raising myself up on one elbow and taking a moment to eye-fuck my boyfriend. He may be the handsomest guy in the world, but that’s not what’s holding my attention. Not when he’s looking at me with so much love and adoration and tenderness.

I tear my eyes away from his bare chest with difficulty and look down at the two brochures.

One is from a fancy estate agent. Its cover depicts house porn of epic proportions: a huge white Georgian mansion whose perfectly symmetrical front is festooned with wisteria. It is bloody stunning. Winsford House, Ham, Richmond, the caption reads.

The other is a school brochure bearing a photo of happy children outside a spectacular redbrick Queen Anne building with verdant lawns in the foreground. Chancery School, Richmond.

I glance back at Brendan, who clears his throat.

‘My brother was telling me they’re thinking of buying in Richmond at some point now that they’re engaged, and, um, I thought it might be a nice place for us to settle, too. I’d like Tabs to have a proper garden to run around in, now that she’s actually allowed to exert herself, and Chancery School is supposed to have incredible extra-curricular activities.’

At some point, the billionaire playboy who hired me for on-tap office sex has become a family man. I hit him with a secret, supremely unwell child and he didn’t even flinch. He’s been there for Tabs and me every single day since he jetted out to North Carolina to support us, and now he’s planning houses and schools and futures around what will best suit her wellbeing.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking alarmed. ‘What’s up?’

I shake my head and sniff. ‘Nothing. Just being a bit silly. I still can’t quite get used to you making every single one of my dreams come true.’