‘Awkward,’ I say, taking a handful of nuts from the opened packet. ‘That’s why I’m glad I have an office to myself.’

‘Yeah, well, we can’t all be super executives like you,’ says Lottie, tapping me playfully on the arm. ‘My mum says you’re like Melanie Griffith in Working Girl. We watched it together on her birthday. Pure eighties yuppiedom.’

‘I’m hardly a yuppie, Lottie,’ I say with a laugh. ‘My office is no bigger than a cupboard. Yuppies. I remember my mum using that term to describe my dad’s sister, my Aunt Yvonne. She worked in the City and used to wear trouser suits with huge shoulder pads.’

‘She sounds ace,’ says Lottie. ‘I bet she drank Campari and lemon. We should be more yuppie.’

‘Yeah, I’d like to see you try that in your office,’ I say, feeling merry with wine. ‘What was the name of the guy Michael Douglas played in that film? The one where he says “lunch is for wimps”?’

‘Gordon Gekko!’

We both remember the name at the same time and collapse into giggles.

‘Lowering the tone as ever, Miss Adams?’

I look up and see Damian Astley. He’s the finance officer at Luna London and the man I go to when I need extra cash for my – as he likes to call them – ‘ambitious’ marketing campaigns. He’s in his late fifties but keeps himself so trim and groomed he could easily pass for a man in his forties, though I would never tell him that or his ego would go through the roof.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ I say as he approaches the bar. ‘I didn’t think theatre was your thing.’

‘It isn’t,’ he says, smirking. ‘We’re here for the booze.’

He gestures to his friend, who is standing on the far side of the bar, to join us.

‘We were just talking about you, actually,’ I say with a smile. ‘Gordon Gekko. Remember that old eighties film, Wall Street?’

‘Old eighties film,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Thus spake the millennial. It’s an absolute classic, though I’m guessing it came out before you were born.’

‘A few years after,’ I say, watching as Damian’s friend comes towards us, a bottle of beer in each hand. He’s very attractive, with dark curly hair and deep-brown eyes. He smiles as he approaches and I find myself blushing.

‘Guys, this is Connor,’ says Damian, pulling out a bar stool for Connor to sit down. ‘Connor, meet Vanessa Adams, our marketing miracle worker, and … sorry, love, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘It’s Lottie.’

‘Ah, Lottie. Same name as my wee niece, I’ll remember that,’ says Damian, his old Northern Irish charm surfacing. ‘What do you do, Lottie?’

While Lottie and Damian discuss Lottie’s job, Connor pulls his chair further towards me.