Instead, I hook myself and Marlowe up with a private space at a new lounge bar and nightclub located, conveniently, in the basement of a hotel in Knightsbridge. The hotel is the brand-new baby of one of my nemeses, Sovereign Structures, who are guilty of more than just wanky alliteration. I don’t like them, and I’ve been dying for a hate-snoop. This way, I can check them out and check Marlowe out before we move upstairs later.

If we move upstairs, that is. The private room may be up to the job if it has a working lock and a sturdy sofa.

I make sure I get to the bar half an hour early. I have to admit, it’s fucking gorgeous, with a black-and-bronze colour palette and plenty of marble and onyx. The finish is impeccable, and they certainly haven’t skimped on the materials. The layout is cool too. They’ve dug out a double basement, allowing for a double-height main bar and club area with the VIP spaces dotted around on a mezzanine reachable via a show-stopping circular staircase. These range from open-plan areas with couches and stools to more luxurious suites separated from the dance floor and main bar by a one-way mirror. Their inhabitants get a clear view of the action below while being concealed from sight.

It is my intention to make full use of the fact that no one can see into our suite this evening.

When the time approaches for Marlowe to show up, I’m pacing like a caged tiger, all edgy anticipation and raging sex hormones, and trying to make my very long G&T last while I watch the bar below us fill up. It’s a Thursday night, and plenty of finance bros are making their way over from the City so they can live it up tonight and nurse their hangovers on company time tomorrow. Where the finance bros go, the hot gold-diggers follow. The eye candy is excellent, the champagne corks are popping, and the DJ is cutting loose on sexy, sundowner-style beats.

None of those douchebags down there have as high a chance of scoring tonight as I do. If I don’t fuck it up and scare her off, that is.

Apparently, the hiring process for her is unusual by Seraph’s standards. My brother admitted to me over drinks recently that he viewed some very salacious photos of Athena at the agency’s offices before he moved forward with her. As Marlowe is brand new to the agency, I haven’t had that luxury. Camille has explained that she hasn’t had her photo shoot yet, but that I’m welcome to view other candidates’ “portfolios” if I decide not to hire her.