The tube is wonderfully empty, no commuters in sight, and I take a seat and contemplate what to do for the rest of the afternoon. I think I’ll sip some champagne and soak in the bath for ages while reading a book. Then I’ll call up Mark and tell him that I want to give ‘us’ another go, and maybe later we’ll have amazing make-up sex.

My walk home whizzes by in a blur. Several pedestrians look at me in horror, seeing the monster coffee stain down my blouse. I don’t care though. Emulating Millie, I skip towards my flat and think that life isn’t going to get much better than this. I’m going to withdraw some of my crazy amount of cash and go on a long holiday. I deserve it after all the shit I’ve been put through.

Hoping not to see Jamal’s ugly mug again, I push open my apartment door and drop my bag down. I listen out for any sign that he’s here, but I think the coast is clear. Then I throw off my stained shirt, make my way towards the fridge and pick out a brand-new bottle of champagne (the real stuff, of course) and get to work opening it up. The cork pops out and the wine flows easily into my glass, the bubbles not spilling over the top. I sigh in satisfaction and make my way towards the bedroom.

That’s when I notice a large pool of blood smeared across my floor.

What the fuck? Has Jamal discovered that I’ve quit already, and murdered one of the crazy cat lady’s pets to scare me back into submission, laying the poor kitty out in all of its gory glory in my bed for my return home? Or has he been shot or stabbed, and so took refuge here, where he’ll get both of us killed if he’s not careful? Why the hell is there blood on my floor?

I retreat into the kitchen to arm myself with my two biggest kitchen knives, then creep back and follow the trail of blood. There are large red arcs all across the walls in my bedroom, and the blood on the floor leads towards my bathroom. It looks like someone’s been dragged inside and I really don’t want to know what lies behind Door Number One. But at the same time, I really, really do. Please don’t be anyone that I care about lying dead in my bathroom.

As quickly as I can, I swing open the door and there in my bathtub lies Jamal, his throat slit. His eyes are so very, very blank. Maybe because he’s dead. He’s totally, definitely, completely dead. Looks like that’s the reason he wasn’t answering his phone all day. How will I get the rest of my money now?

I always thought that in this kind of situation I’d turn into a stereotypical screaming little girl, but the killer might be hiding in my apartment still. There’s no one else in the bathroom though, that’s for sure.

Oh, God, what if he’s hiding under my bed? What if –? No, don’t be stupid. This isn’t a horror movie; this is real life. There’s a dead body in my bathtub, the killer’s probably done a runner, and I should get out of here and call the cops.

My mobile rings from the other room and the sudden noise makes me scream. Yep, that would be the stereotypical screaming little girl in me.

‘Fuck!’ I yell to no one in particular (unless the killer is hanging out in my wardrobe), then I go to find my phone, ready to strike down anyone with my knives if they jump out at me. I really hope to God that no one else is here.

It’s an unknown number. ‘Hello, Julianne,’ says a creepy male voice. His voice makes me realise that I’m standing here in my bra and I want to cover up.

‘Who is this?’ Please be a wrong number or a scammer asking for my credit card details.

‘My name is Angus.’

‘Angus?’ The same guy that Thomas mentioned earlier? Let’s face it, how many other guys do I know called Angus? Well, one actually…

‘I’m afraid that you’ve caught us slightly unawares. We weren’t expecting you home until much later.’

I want to ask why he knows what time I get home normally, as well as whether or not he murdered Jamal, but maybe he doesn’t know that Jamal is lying dead in my bathtub. It’d be somewhat awkward if I mentioned it and he turned out not to know anything; I might get arrested on suspicion of killing Jamal myself. The police report would read, ‘Motive: The suspect was being stalked by her pimp and she killed him in a crime of passion so he’d leave her the fuck alone.’

On the plus side, if it could be called that, at least Jamal won’t be able to break into my flat now uninvited. Unless he becomes a vampire. But actually, even then he’d need an invitation to come inside.

‘What do you want?’ I ask Angus.

‘Let’s meet,’ he says. ‘It’s about time we met. And while you’re out, I’ll send over a team to clean up the mess that we left in your apartment.’

How kind of him. Why wasn’t my flat cleaned up earlier? Was it because of a scheduling conflict; were the cleaners scrubbing away someone else’s blood while Jamal’s killer was busy knifing him? It’s not like there’s any point in cleaning up the blood anyway: I won’t be able to bring myself to touch the bath again. Shit, I’ll have to move, which is a bitch because I love my apartment and property prices are crazy right now in London.

Now that I know Angus is responsible for what happened to Jamal, I really hope that he isn’t going to frame me for the murder. And that he doesn’t want to kill me too. Do I need a lawyer? Could Mark or Amelia represent me? I still don’t want to get them involved though.

‘Meet where?’ I ask suspiciously.

‘Wherever you want. Perhaps the café around the corner from you.’

My head screams at me that this is a bad idea and I shouldn’t trust him, but I’d rather meet in public than here alone where I’m vulnerable. ‘Now?’

‘Yes, I’ll be there soon. And, Julianne, please don’t worry about all of this. You weren’t supposed to find Jamal.’

He hangs up and I think I’m having a nervous breakdown because nothing seems real anymore. How can he tell me not to worry? I down the rest of my champagne to give me the smallest amount of Dutch courage, then put on my stained blouse and coat again before sticking a kitchen knife in each pocket.

Right, I’m ready. Now I just have to hope that the cops won’t be outside, find me armed with knives, then head up to my flat and discover a corpse in my bathroom.

Hurrying down the stairs, I throw open the front door then walk towards the café, paranoid that someone’s following me. I feel as if I’m a dog running around in circles, chasing after my own tail.

As I stagger down the street I start to feel bad about Jamal. Sure, he was irritating as fuck, lied at every available opportunity, attacked me, was spying on me and asked me to whore myself out, but apart from all that he seemed okay. What will happen to his body – will Angus dissolve it in acid or throw it in the Thames then pay people off to report Jamal as a missing person? Does Jamal have family and friends who will miss him, who perhaps didn’t know about his really weird job? Will they ever find out the truth about how he died, and will he even get a funeral? I don’t think I’m going to find out the answers.

Arriving safely at the café, I order two coffees and take a window seat in the spot where the most amount of people will notice if I keel over dead. A youngish guy wanders over and my hand grips the handle of the knife in my pocket.

‘Hi, I’m Sam,’ he says, sounding like a wanker. ‘I don’t know whether this is inappropriate, but I saw you coming in and wondered whether you’d like to go for a drink sometime?’

Really, this guy comes onto me right now, as soon as I’ve sat down?

‘I’m seeing someone,’ I tell him, hoping that he’ll piss off quickly.

‘Oh, right. Well, no harm in asking,’ he says, smiling.

There was every harm in asking. I scowl back and fortunately he gets the message and lopes off.

Then a man in an expensive-looking black coat walks in. He looks like a toad dressed up in a suit, with pimply skin, greasy hair and dry lips. He smiles and comes over to sit down opposite me. God, if this is Angus I hope that Sam doesn’t get the wrong impression and think that I’m dating him.

‘Hi, Julianne,’ he says. ‘I’m Angus.’

He holds out his hand, which surprises me, and I pause to examine his fingernails for bloodstains before shaking it. He keeps staring straight at me, which is slightly unnerving. I don’t know what to say, so I decide to just launch right into the conversation: ‘What the fuck’s going on?’

Angus chuckles and I notice that his teeth are a murky yellow. ‘Jamal used to work for me and, unfortunately for him, now he doesn’t. Do you understand?’

I really don’t. ‘What did he do?’

‘Well, he was stalking you, and I heard that he’d threatened you as well. He was quite dangerous. A rogue agent.’

‘An agent?’

‘Not that kind.’ He sighs and decides to share slightly more information with me. ‘Recently we found out that he was being paid by someone else – one of our competitors – to work against us: to reveal the projects that we’ve been working on and investing in.’

‘Who was he working for?’ I ask out of curiosity.

‘That’s not your concern.’ Okay, that shut me up. Angus is like a strict schoolteacher; one who kills his students in his spare time. ‘At the moment, in a way, Thomas is one of our investments. He’ll go quite far, like his father. And we know about his… involvement with you; we took the photos and film from Jamal.’

Shit, is he going to blackmail me too?

‘I didn’t want to!’ I defend myself. ‘Like you said, he threatened me.’

Maybe if I play the innocent little girl I can escape from this situation more able to breathe than Jamal.

‘Don’t worry, it won’t get out,’ he tells me. ‘The photos and film are in our possession now. Sometimes we find it useful to store such information… I think you know what I mean.’

‘Yes,’ I say meekly. His middle name should be Blackmail. Angus Blackmail Scary Weirdo.

‘We didn’t intend to hurt Jamal, by the way,’ he continues. ‘He didn’t come with us peacefully though, he had a knife, and… Well, you saw what happened.’

Yep. His throat was slit, which means that Angus’ story is bullshit.

‘What will happen to him?’ I ask.

‘I’m afraid that I can’t tell you that.’ It’s like I’m hitting brick wall after brick wall with my head. ‘You’ve been through a lot, Julianne. But I need you to do one more thing for us before you walk away. And it’s not necessarily going to be easy. Of course, we’ll pay you more for your time.’

‘I don’t want to sleep with Thomas again,’ I say, pleading with my eyes for him not to ask me to do that again.

‘Actually, we have something different in mind. Involving someone else.’

Great, that sounds ominous. And their name is…?

‘What do you want me to do?’ I ask resignedly.

‘We want you to keep an eye on Mark. You’ll need to relate anything suspicious to me and place a camera in his office, so we can listen to conversations with his clients.’

His words slowly sink in. My brain feels like it’s been fried or flambéed.

‘You want me to spy on Mark?’

Angus sighs, sounding frustrated. ‘Not “spy”, exactly. Just tell us anything out of the ordinary. I suppose that there may come a time when we need you to act as a diversion, or to try to influence him, but we’ll leave the two of you alone for the most part, if not all the time.’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘Would you prefer that we asked someone else to seduce him, like you did with Thomas?’ Fine, he makes a fair point. ‘I think you want to be together, and it just so happens that our interests align perfectly. And you’ll be helping to protect Mark. He works with a few disreputable people; my job is to protect others from them.’

Mark’s a lawyer, so of course he works with disreputable people. But who or what does he need protecting from? Is he in danger?

‘What “people”?’

‘People who... want to interfere with some of our investments. That’s all I can say.’

‘What investments? What do you mean?’

He looks at his watch. ‘The people I work with value discretion. I can’t tell you any more than I already have.’ Seriously? He’s about as verbose as Jamal used to be. Poor Jamal.

‘And what if I say, “No”?’ I ask, trying to sound as if I’m actually considering the option, even though he knows that I’ll bow down to his scary superiority.

Angus merely looks at me as if to say, ‘Then you’d be killed within a matter of hours.’ As if he’s telling me not to place a million pounds on red, he says patronisingly, ‘That wouldn’t be wise.’

He’s right. I guess my entire relationship with Mark has been tainted since the beginning – what’s one more reason to stop us from being together? Then again, perhaps we’re just not supposed to be. He’ll catch me spying on him, think that I’m still a jealous bitch with trust issues, and eventually he’ll dump me. But hopefully I’ll make it out alive.

‘Okay, fine, I’ll do it. But I need to know that I won’t get hurt, and neither will Mark, Thomas or anyone else I care about.’

‘I promise,’ Angus says, pretentiously putting his hand on his heart (if he even has one). ‘Thank you for helping us with this.’

He says thanks as if he’s asked me to do something simple, like make a small donation to charity.

‘It’s not like I have a choice,’ I grumble, taking a swig of my coffee.

‘No…’ Angus admits. He stands up and buttons his coat. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got another meeting now, but I’ll be in touch. Oh, and the cleaners should be out of your home by 5pm. I’m so sorry that you had to see Jamal like that.’ Believe me, me too.

He leaves the café and steps into an unmarked black car, which drives off into the cloudy afternoon and disappears from sight. Where’s he going? Dinner with the PM, to kill someone else, or a visit to the bank to count his millions?

I sit and stare at my half-empty cup. What will I do for four hours while the cleaners finish up at my flat? Shopping? God, I can’t bring myself to go shopping. Then I get another idea.

* * *

‘What do you mean, “He’s busy?”’

So my great idea was to go and throw myself at Mark in his office, but apparently he’s too ‘busy’ to see me, at least according to the bitchy receptionist on the desk downstairs.

‘I’m sorry, but that’s what his secretary just told me. He might be on a call with another client, or perhaps in a meeting. Can I take a message?’

I stare at her, disgusted. ‘I’m not his client.’

‘Ohhhh… So your husband is his client?’

No, Bitchy McBitchface, I’m not married and getting divorced; I’m in here demanding to speak to my Maybe Other Half.

‘We’re dating,’ I tell her, trying not to sound smug about that fact. Surely that alone should explain why I want to see Mark and his sexy face?

‘Oh…’ she says, not looking as if she believes me, maybe because I’m not blonde. Briefly she stares down at my stained top. ‘Well, I’m sorry but, like I said, he’s busy. Do you want me to get him to call you back?’ Clearly, intelligent thought is beyond her.

‘No, I don’t want you to –’ Argh! I want to murder you and drag you back to my apartment where there’s a whole team of people cleaning up the last person who died there.

God, what should I do? I look over at the security guard by the door, who looks like he’s ready to come and pounce on me at any second. Can I make it up the stairs before he catches me? Let’s test this out!

I bolt for the stairs and the receptionist screams after me, ‘Hey! Stop her!’

Up the stairs I run, only realising halfway up that I don’t have a clue where Mark’s office is. He grabbed his briefcase pretty quickly the other day, so maybe he’s on the first floor. But he runs this entire office so chances are he’s on the top floor.

I dash up the next flight of stairs and fortunately it leads to what I think is the top floor. The security guard is panting behind me, clearly not as fit as he thought. I push open the glass doors and run down the corridor. Women in tight suits and expensive heels look horrified that I’m running past.

‘Mark?’ I yell out, looking around and hoping to spot a sign to his office.

One suit half-heartedly points towards the end of the corridor and I sprint towards the finishing line. There’s his name on the door: Mark Pryce!

Suddenly a secretary jumps out from behind her desk and tries to rugby tackle me to the ground. I run into Mark’s office with her clinging onto my back, and Mark looks shocked to see us bursting into the room.

I don’t know how I made it. That fat security guard needs better training.

‘Hi, Mark,’ I say, short of breath, giving his stupid secretary a dirty look.

‘I tried to stop her. I’m really sorry,’ says the secretary.

Mark smiles, standing up. ‘No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Julianne can be quite stubborn.’

Was that praise? I smile back at him.

The secretary shuts the door so I’m alone with him, and suddenly I feel like everything’s going to be okay. What’s a little spying between lovers?

‘I want to give it another shot – you and me,’ I tell him, sounding like I’m hysterically happy to be announcing this. ‘And you don’t have to wait forever because I’m here right now. And I’m sorry for screwing everything up really badly. And –’

Then Mark kisses me and I lose myself in him. I’ve never wanted to be with someone so badly. That’s why I’ve lied to him so much the last few days, but I know that something’s got to change because I owe him more than a whole series of lies.

I’m going to change: I’m vowing right now not to lie to him at all… Unless I’m forced to do so because of my stupid deal with Angus. I’ll try not to let jealousy cloud my feelings about the women Mark works with, like fucking Ursula, or any woman he looks at. And I’ll try to be the best lover that I can possibly be, but really that’s not going to be very difficult (not to be vain about it).

Mark pushes me onto his desk and continues kissing me. I’m so grateful that just over a week ago Derek dumped me and turned me away from his office. Can you imagine if I’d stayed with him and never got to find out just how amazing Mark is? Mark, who nearly started a fight today in Thomas’ office just for me. Mark, who likes me – a lot. Fine, so maybe I’m a narcissistic, selfish bitch who’s just accepted a deal to spy on him for even more money than I was paid to sleep with someone else, but right now I’m just happy because I’m officially in a relationship with Mark Pryce… And because I’m still alive.