His white shirt is crisp, the unbuttoned collar showing a vee of tanned skin and a smattering of dark hair. It skims broad shoulders and a taut-looking chest and a flat stomach. When he twists to chuck his jacket on the sofa, I get a shot of a firm, nicely rounded arse. He’s such a gratifying specimen of the male form that I simultaneously want to giggle and vomit.

Still, he gave me an order.

So follow it I do.

I move towards the front of the room in a manner I hope could be termed sashaying. These heels definitely cause my hips to sway more than usual. As I go, I’m conscious of the sight I must make. Of the skimpiness of my dress, the expanse of bare leg.

I really need him to like what he sees, though his I can’t wait to touch you comment was encouraging.

On the other side of the tinted glass unfolds a scene that I know is totally normal for a Thursday night in places like this yet seems as alien as if I’d landed on Mars. It’s not just the money or the decadence, but the sheer hedonism of it. The concept of folks working all day only to want to go out and socialise even more, to drink and dance and network like they don’t have a care or an expense in the world, is categorically beyond my frame of reference. For God’s sake, do none of these people have a Netflix show to get home to?

Brendan is undoubtedly one of these people.

This is his world.

I can tell.

His footsteps sound on the polished black floor, then stop. I turn to look at him. He has one hand around his drink and the other fiddling with something in his pocket. Otherwise, he’s still, taking me in. I hesitate, unsure what to do. Should I go to him?

‘As you were. Please.’

I turn back towards the glass, holding my breath until he announces his presence behind me as a solid wall of heat. He’s not touching me, yet I can feel the warmth emanating from his body. Then his hand comes to rest on my hip and he dips his mouth to my ear.

‘I should have told you as soon as you walked in. You are stunning this evening.’

His voice is a gruff whisper, his breath hot against my jaw. The foreignness of it, the heady uncertainty, makes me shiver. I can’t yet tell if tonight will be one giant out-of-body experience or a giant in-my-body experience. Maybe it’ll be a bit of both.

‘Thank you.’

His hand slides upwards, cupping my waist. It feels both reassuring and ominous.

‘So you want to do this.’

‘I do,’ I say with a certainty I don’t feel.

‘What’s your safeword?’