She then rattled off a salary that was several thousand pounds more than I had been receiving on The Silver Ness News.

Athena, meanwhile, was growing impatient. I noted her right foot was tapping against the polished wooden floor in her lethal heels.

I breathed in as I tried to consolidate my scattered thoughts.

Instead of reporting on injustice, I would be reviewing gold dust facials and vaginal steaming? My stomach pirouetted to the floor. This wasn’t what I had planned. But did I have any other option? Jobs on newspapers and magazines in general were thin on the ground at the moment and the three other jobs I’d applied for looked like they were non-starters.

Two hadn’t even bothered to reply and the third had responded with a polite decline, saying my application had been unsuccessful.

I needed the money and to sort myself out, and working for Athena Mayhew would certainly inject a certain pazazz into my CV.

It wasn’t what I wanted to do, though.

Athena’s smooth jaw was grinding. “Look, Ms Baxter, I don’t mean to appear rude, but I am very busy. If you wish to turn down our offer of employment, I can assure you there will be many more journalism graduates more than happy to step up.”

I licked my lips and tried to calm my breathing. “I’m afraid I don’t have a great deal of knowledge of the beauty industry,” I confessed, stalling for more time.

“That’s evident,” replied Athena, eyeing my hair. “But no matter. You’ll have team support and you can learn as you go.” Her face adopted a sharper throb of impatience. “We also employ the consultation services of one of the best dermatologists in the business. Ms Susie Calderwood?”

A picture of Susie Calderwood appearing on TV shows, giving advice on skincare, popped into my head. She was a cool, calm, and professional brunette who was always being drafted in to comment on new stories covering dermatological break-throughs and the latest beauty fads.

Then visions of me unemployed, struggling to pay my mortgage and feed Harley and myself took over. They lodged themselves behind the backs of my eyes and refused to budge.

If I turned this opportunity down, I could live to regret it, as would my bank manager. Would I be able to swot up on all things beauty related? I would have to. I had no option.

Was this really what I wanted to do? No, it wasn’t. But the post I had originally applied for was gone. Offered to someone else.

Disappointment chimed. What would happen if I said no right this minute? I could be looking for something else for months to come. I might not even secure another job in journalism anyway.