Olivia looks at me in the way that a proud mother might look at a four-year-old performing in his first nativity play – in that ‘see, I know you can do it!’ way. I should probably feel patronized by her, but I don’t – I couldn’t manage without her. My palms are sweating. I don’t want to talk to these people.

‘It was lovely to meet you, but I’d better circulate. I’ll look out for your email,’ I add, which is a total lie. I’ve already forgotten the guy’s name and who he works for.

‘Of course, of course!’ he says, whipping out his card and pressing it into my hand. I immediately give it to Olivia, who pulls a face and it’s only then I remember that she’s told me before that that looks rude. ‘I’m giving it to Olivia for safekeeping,’ I bluster, no doubt making an already awkward situation worse.

‘I’ll email your secretary tomorrow,’ says the hotel man as he backs away.

Olivia gives me an exasperated look.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘You know what,’ she mutters, rolling her eyes. ‘Come on, let’s get you a drink.’

I wonder about reminding her that she should be more polite to me as I’m paying her salary, but I remember that last time I did that she threatened to resign. And I don’t want that. It would be a disaster.

Olivia lifts two glasses from a tray carried by a skinny girl in a black dress which is so tight you can see her nipples. I remind myself that you are not allowed to notice things like that these days and keep my eyes firmly on her face. Olivia hands a glass to me and says: ‘Right. Half an hour of mingling, then a short speech. Another half an hour of mingling, and then you can go and get back to your computer games or whatever it is you do in your spare time. OK?’

‘Yup.’

A woman in a suit bustles up to Olivia and starts babbling about some issue with the canapés. I am wondering if it’s OK to wait for the canapés woman to finish so that Olivia can continue to circulate with me, but then the canapés woman strides off with Olivia teetering after her, so I’m left on my own.