‘Sure,’ she says brightly. I’m not convinced she’s anywhere near as desperate for this as I am, which means I’ll take great pleasure in watching her shed those layers of nerves and brittleness and whatever else is going on as she yields to the way I know I can make her feel.

I refill my drink and we take a seat next to each other in front of the excellent-looking mezze. I adjust my position so I’m facing more towards her and glance down at her bare legs. So smooth. So tantalising. The hem of her already short dress has ridden up, and it wouldn’t take much at all to burrow under there and find nirvana.

‘Dig in.’ I hand her a side plate and take one for myself, populating it with some great-looking falafel and a decent dollop of hummus. ‘Want some?’

She nods, and I put a spoonful on her plate.

‘Do you have any preference on how we do this?’ I ask her.

‘Not really. This is my first Seraph audition,’ she confesses, which I obviously already knew. Still, it gives me a kick that I’m her first client.

‘Have you done this before? Were you doing any sex work on the side while you were toiling away at the RA?’

She gives a little laugh. ‘Absolutely not. Um, Camille suggested we use this time to talk about logistics and, um, expectations. Yours and mine.’

‘That sounds very sensible,’ I say evenly. ‘Do you have any expectations, Marlowe?’

‘I—no. I—suppose I’d rather hear what yours are.’

I nod my understanding as I bite into a falafel. They’re fresh as fuck: perfectly crispy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. I swallow it down quickly and lay a palm on her thigh, just above her knee. Her skin is so smooth and soft it could make a man weep. ‘This okay?’

She nods twice, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. But more telling is the fact that her quad has tensed up under my hand.

‘Excellent. Well, I have a lot of expectations.’ I brush my thumb back and forth over her thigh, keeping my hand where it is. ‘Expectations that I’m going to work you hard, that you’re going to blow my mind—which I know you are—and that I’m hopefully going to blow yours. Expectations that I’m going to use you to act out every filthy, depraved workplace fantasy I’ve ever, ever had, and that you’re single-handedly going to save me from the mind-numbing boredom of a desk job. How does that sound?’

She’s full-blown, deer-in-the-headlights stiff, her brown eyes wide with what looks like absolute terror, and I realise I may have shown my hand too quickly. Or, more accurately, that I’ve thrown the entire fucking deck of cards at the poor girl. Stupid move, Bren.