I reach out to touch the painting, like I’m inspecting the texture.

I can feel his heat behind me now. Perfect.

I turn and face him, our eyes meet and his pupils are huge so I know he wants me. I almost feel bad.

Twenty sweaty minutes later, we’re lying naked, the sheets tangled around our legs, one of his arms slung over my shoulder and my head on his chest. I’m listening to his heart beating, staring at the ugly painting once again.

‘That was great,’ I say, snuggling into his chest.

And then I slowly, fluidly, pull away from him, reaching beside the bed for my (strategically positioned) handbag. I pull out my lip gloss first, unscrew the top and dip my finger into it, swirling it around and then running the tip over my lips as he watches. It smells like vanilla.

I look at him over my shoulder. ‘Want some?’

He shakes his head and I drop it back into my bag and reach for what I really wanted all along.

My phone.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks, watching me as it unlocks.

‘Just checking my emails. Work.’ I smile back at him. ‘You know how it is.’

I’m careful with the expression on my face; he’s watching me and I need to seem calm yet confused.

I give a little frown at the screen and scroll a bit. Let his curiosity take hold. When I glance back at him he’s still watching me. Perfect.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’ I sigh heavily. ‘I’m just trying to figure something out.’ I scroll past the video of Sabine and the Klimt to the photograph I took of the financial document and scrunch my face up again. ‘Do you know what this is?’ I ask, showing him.

I need to be careful here, it needs to seem like a spontaneous question, not the reason for my surprise nocturnal visit.

He reaches for my phone and takes a closer look. ‘It’s a convertible bond,’ he says. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘I can’t really tell you,’ I say. ‘It’s for work. But… is this sort of thing legal?’

‘Totally legal.’ He shrugs.

‘Even for one hundred million?’

‘Harper, there are people in the world who trade bonds worth billions. But don’t you write about art? What’s this for?’

‘Long story.’ I smile, letting my eyes linger on his chest. I pause. Then my eyes click back to his like I’ve just thought of something. ‘Thomas…’ I start.

‘Hmm?’

‘I’m so sorry to ask this, I know you’re busy, but do you think maybe you could point me in the right direction? I just know nothing about this stuff; I don’t know where to start.’

He frowns at the screen then looks back at me.

‘Sure.’ He shrugs. ‘I can try. Ask around.’