A powerful rush of adrenaline shot through my body and I glanced at my cup to make sure it was definitely full of coffee and not rocket fuel.

‘It’s been a while since I did any top-level stuff,’ I admitted, clenching hard. ‘The last couple of years I’ve mostly been at smaller, local companies. Are you sure I’d be a good fit?’

‘Positive. It’s a PA role, not a corporate job, so you’re not going to be making PowerPoints and pivot tables, no one’s expecting you to be up on EU regulations or lack thereof. Plus you’ve got all the extras they’re looking for, multiple languages, first aid qualifications, and the sailing experience is just mwah, chef’s kiss. Puts you right over the edge.’

Ahh yes, the summer I’d spent working in the café on the Newcastle to Amsterdam ferry after my A levels. Truly invaluable sailing experience. Thankfully, I really did have a degree in French and Italian, even if I hadn’t used either for anything more advanced than ordering a lasagne from Nonna’s on Ecclesall Road in the last three years.

‘I can’t tell you anything else until you sign the NDA but, Fran, I cannot stress enough what a one-of-a-kind opportunity this is. If they’d let me, I’d quit and do it myself.’

‘If it’s that amazing, why hasn’t it been filled already?’ I asked, suddenly wary. Rose was altogether too excited for my liking and I knew from personal experience nothing in life was ever too good to be true.

‘It came up quite last minute,’ she replied with no small degree of hesitancy. ‘And the person in charge of hiring on their end is quite particular. She knows what she doesn’t want even if she doesn’t seem to have a very clear picture of what she does want.’

So it was a she. I wondered who it could be. You heard all kinds of stories in the temp community. A friend of mine in London once did a stint at a fancy estate agents for a fortnight and ended up selling a house to George and Amal. Well, she was fairly sure she saw the back of George’s head from her car when she went to drop off the spare keys, but when I thought about a choice between scheduling appointments for Gavin the epileptic guinea pig or potentially spotting the back of George Clooney’s head, it wasn’t going to be too difficult a decision to make.

‘I’m going to call them right now,’ Rose said, the sound of her keyboard clacking decisively in the background. ‘Don’t go anywhere, I’ll bell you back in a sec.’

‘OK, sounds good,’ I confirmed. ‘I’ll be right here.’