Minnie froze. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but it was impossible not to with a partition that thin. She felt a hard knot form in her stomach as she processed what she’d just heard. This was Quinn’s office, Quinn’s company; he was the one responsible for the huge order that had bailed them out. Alan looked at her with bulging eyes – he’d joined the dots too.

Minnie started unloading the pallet faster. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to listen to this conversation; she just wanted to get the pies unloaded and get out. Why would Quinn do this? Their day together had ended so strangely and he hadn’t been in touch since. Why would he be doing her a favour? This didn’t sit well with Minnie; she didn’t want to be a charity case and she didn’t want to be making pies for arseholes like the men in that room. She was supposed to be making her pies for people who needed them.

She and Alan laid out the last of the food and Minnie scurried back to the front desk to tell the receptionist they were done. Behind them, office workers were gravitating towards the boardroom, drawn from their desks by the aroma of warm pastry.

‘Mr Hamilton would like to see you before you go,’ said the receptionist, cocking her head to one side and showing Minnie her enormous teeth. She really did look uncannily like Julia Roberts. ‘Can I take you up to his office? He’s stuck on a call.’

‘We’re in a bit of a rush,’ said Minnie weakly.

‘You don’t need me, I’ll wait here,’ said Alan, taking a seat in the reception area and picking up a yachting magazine. ‘Ooh, boaty boats.’

The receptionist led Minnie through the open-plan workspace to a glass-panelled office at the far end. Minnie couldn’t believe Quinn ran such a large company; there had to be thirty people working here. Through the glass she could see Quinn, who was wearing a well-tailored blue suit with a white shirt. He was talking on the phone, but when he saw her hovering with the receptionist he smiled and beckoned her to come in.