‘Come in and close the door.’ Cullen has stationed himself in his office chair so he’s partially obscured by his computer monitor. His face has come out in blotches and he doesn’t want Ratner to see.

‘You all right? You look a bit sweaty,’ Ratner says, taking a seat.

‘As it happens, I am not all right. Nor are you, by the way, because my shit is about to hit your fan.’ He watches as Ratner’s eyes float across his desk to the Airblade in the corner. Not the sharpest tool in the box, Cullen thinks to himself, but most definitely a tool.

‘Perhaps you think that because I’m ten years younger than you I’m a decade stupider, in which case I might remind you that you’re in the office of your superior.’

‘I’m well aware of that,’ Ratner says, stiffening. Evidently, he is surprised by Cullen’s tone.

‘What did I say about your sordid little activities?’

Ratner lurches backwards then gathers himself and says, ‘You said to be careful.’

‘I told you to knock it off. Completely, I said. You think you can lie to me, you little fucker, but you’re spectacularly mistaken. And very, very stupid. Am I making myself plain?’ Cullen is aware that his face is now scarlet but he doesn’t care. He has never spoken to anyone like this before and it feels good. Primal. Powerful. Like taking a piss in the long grass. In the visitor chair on the other side of the desk Ratner blinks and clears his throat, the look of bewilderment transforming bit by bit into indignation, the way a chameleon’s skin switches colour.

‘Hang on a minute…’ Ratner says, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Just then Tina pops her head through the door. Cullen looks her way and raises his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Professor Cullen, your next is in ten.’ She smiles and with a nod disappears round the door. He waits until he hears the latch click into its keeper.

‘Tell me, is a blow job in the back of the car worth losing your marriage over? Your reputation? Your career?’

‘What?’ Ratner says, outraged. Cullen lets out a bleak laugh as he sees light dawning on Ratner’s face. ‘You were spying on me?’ Ratner gasps. A hand goes to his mouth.

‘A little airless up there on the moral high ground, is it?’

‘Look…’

‘I suppose you’ve considered what’s likely to happen if your paramour blabs?’ Cullen says.

‘She won’t,’ Ratner blusters. ‘Anyway, she came on to me. She keeps her trap shut about this and she graduates from Avon without any scandal hanging over her. She doesn’t throw thirty grand of student debt down the drain. She’s no Einstein but she’s not stupid. So she and I had a fling. No one cares.’

‘Your wife might, if I told her.’

Ratner swallows, hard.