I wake up in the afternoon and can still feel the mind-numbing effects of weed on my system. I’m trapped inside a bubble; all of my worries about Jamal and his bullshit offer are outside, hovering around me, pushing at the thin membrane, wanting to break through and crowd inside my head.

Before I went to bed, I messaged Amelia and arranged to meet up with her at 7pm. So I won’t be in my apartment at 8pm tonight: I have other plans. Jamal can go screw himself. Plus I want to find out what’s happening with David: is it a one-time thing or are they actually back together? Amelia hasn’t answered my final text asking her that question.

I shower, get dressed and leave the apartment. I leave the mess of the smashed glass on my floor. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

I walk towards the shops, in search of brunch, and keep glancing behind me, expecting to see Jamal following me in a black SUV with tinted windows. I don’t know whether I’m being paranoid. Probably.

I stop off at a little French restaurant and order a cream tea with elaborate cakes and pastries. I didn’t eat much last night and skipped breakfast this morning, so I’m starving.

The whole day I think back to the night before, then force myself to forget what happened. I try to lose myself in shopping, trying on different outfits, picking out new shoes. My heart isn’t in it but I don’t want to go back to my apartment. I buy a ridiculous number of useless things, wondering (if I took on the job) whether I’ll need new clothes to seduce my target: Thomas. I’m not sure exactly how we ended up having sex over ten years ago though; we were both drunk.

I debate calling up Derek, telling him that a guy I know is stalking me, the same guy who handed him the file about my sordid past. Maybe he’ll take me back and say that he’s changed his mind: he does want to be with me. It’s wishful thinking. And I don’t want Derek back in my life anyway. It would be as bad as Amelia taking David back.

Eventually I turn up at the bar where I’m due to meet Amelia. I’m early, which is unusual for me. Normally we meet here for drinks after she finishes work; her office is only down the road. Sometimes she works on Saturdays – in fact, she works most Saturdays. It’s something else that I don’t get about her: why she needs such a demanding job.

I order our usual bottle of red with two glasses and then sit down, trying to tuck the bags full of my purchases under the seats so that no one trips over them. Despite what people say, I can be caring… sometimes.

A hand touches my shoulder and I spin around, prepared to attack. It’s Mark.

‘Fuck, you scared the shit out of me!’

‘Sorry,’ he says, smiling. He looks down at my bags. ‘You’ve been busy.’

‘Yeah, one of those days.’

He smirks and sits down next to me. ‘New job or new guy?’

I open my mouth but don’t know how to answer. ‘Neither.’

‘So what did you get?’

‘Random shit,’ I admit. ‘Sometimes you just want different things in your life, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, and sips on his beer while staring at me over the top of his glass. Beer’s an odd choice for him; he normally sticks with spirits at Amelia’s parties. ‘So I didn’t get a chance to speak to you last night.’

‘No.’ I know he saw me leave with Jamal and I contemplate whether I should lie about it. ‘I had to go to another party with a guy. It was his best friend’s birthday and no one showed up.’

‘Ouch,’ he says, and I can’t tell whether or not he buys it. ‘So you and the guy you left with… It’s nothing serious?’

I feel uncomfortable under his gaze again, like last night. He’s Amelia’s crush and she’d be crushed if she found out that Mark was flirting with me.

‘No! He’s not my type. At all.’ He’s a stalker and probably a homicidal maniac. I smile, try to look convincing, then I realise that I’m smiling and turn my smile off.

‘You keep doing that,’ Mark says, frowning.

‘What?’

‘You start to smile but then stop yourself. You should smile more.’

Shit, he’s noticed that I’m acting weird. Should I explain that my best friend has the hots for him, or lie again? Fuck it.

‘Look, the truth is… Amelia fancies you. But you can’t tell her that I told you.’

He laughs into his beer. ‘You think I don’t know? We work together every day. And she blushes around me… a lot! But I’m not into her. I’m interested in someone else.’

He traces a finger down my arm and I want to bite my lip, like I’m a hormonal adolescent. Even though he’s been working all day and has just come from the office, he looks perfect. Edible. Like he’s been groomed by a stylist and dressed by the best tailor in London.

‘Amelia’s my best friend,’ I say, hinting that I’m not interested, even though he can tell that I definitely am.

‘Well, she doesn’t have to find out…’

I grab his hand and firmly remove it from my arm. ‘I’m not a bitch. Mates before dates.’

‘Okay,’ he says, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘But if you change your mind…’

‘I’ll know where to come fuck you.’ It wasn’t a Freudian slip.

He leans in. ‘You sure you don’t want to change your mind now?’

‘Amelia!’ I shout loudly, seeing her come in, and I raise an empty glass to indicate that I’ve got her a drink already.

‘Hey,’ she says, and looks at me questioningly, seeing that I’m chatting to Mark. ‘You’re early?’

‘I am! I want all the gossip about last night.’

She hesitates because of Mark being there, then sits down, wearing a stunning electric blue jacket and tight dress that looks difficult to sit down in.

‘I’ll leave you two to your gossiping then,’ says Mark, standing up.

‘You don’t have to leave,’ Amelia tells him, although we both want him to.

‘I’ve got to meet someone. Have a good night, girls,’ he says.

Over Amelia’s shoulder, he blows me a kiss. Bastard. I hate that I love him.

When he leaves, Amelia turns to me and asks, ‘What did he say?’

‘Oh, nothing much. Just that we didn’t speak last night. You know: how am I? The usual.’

‘Right…’ She frowns as she pours out her glass of wine. ‘So how was tall, dark and handsome?’

‘Hmm?’

‘The guy I saw you with last night? Before you disappeared.’

‘Oh, come on! You went and banged David. I didn’t know whether you’d come out of your room.’

‘Yeah,’ she admits, and looks down embarrassed.

‘So… are you going to get back together?’ I avoid her question about Jamal.

‘I don’t know. I’m confused. He was drunk! He said that he loves me, he wants us to be together, get married. I told him that I’d think about it.’

‘So…?’ I repeated.

‘I think I love him.’

‘You “think” you love him? You just broke up with him!’

‘I know! I don’t know what I want,’ she says, taking a large gulp of wine.

She does know. Despite everything that she’s said about David during the last couple of months, she wants to have the perfect wedding, be a perfect wife, give him at least two happy children and set up her own law firm, which would be her third child.

‘You love him,’ I say, not wanting to admit that I know what she’s thinking. Not wanting to because she’ll turn into a happily-married woman and I’ll lose my best friend because I’m fucked up and will never settle down. We’ll lose touch because she’ll move into a perfect little house and have a family, and we won’t have the same interests. She won’t have time for me anymore because she has kids and her company to look after. ‘You want to marry him. You always have. You got cold feet though because everything was going great, and then I persuaded you to dump him.’

‘You never liked him…’

‘He’s boring. Although he definitely wasn’t boring last night.’ I shrug. ‘Maybe he’s changed. Look, if he’s the guy you want to marry, then of course I’ll try harder to like him.’ I grin and she gives me a hard stare combined with a smile back.

Turns out that there isn’t any gossip: Amelia is always predictable and I can read her like a book. I order some food (a greasy fish and chips, and a healthy salad for Amelia) and then we sit there drinking, eating and chatting for ages. I lose track of time, the bottle of wine disappears, we get another, and I forget about last night and Jamal and his stupid 8pm meetup.

We’re laughing at something, I’ve no idea what, when a shadow looms over our table. I look up and see Jamal standing over us, looking pissed. How the fuck did he find me?

Amelia notices that I’ve stopped listening and she turns to see Jamal standing behind her. ‘Oh…’ she says. Then she whispers to me, ‘What’s tall, dark and handsome doing here?’

I’m about to say that I have no clue when Jamal tells me, ‘You stood me up.’

I frown in confusion, pretending I don’t know what he means.

He continues: ‘We were supposed to meet at 8pm, remember? At yours?’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Sorry, I forgot.’

Amelia looks uncomfortable, grabs her bag and stands up. ‘I’m going to go over to David’s,’ she tells me, pulling a fake grimace about the awkward situation. She’s drunk, but I guess she needed gallons of wine to give her the courage to ask David back. She whispers, ‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.’

She kisses my cheek, I smell her musky perfume, then suddenly she’s gone and she’s left me here with him. Jamal takes her seat across from me. Now the bar is packed full of people in suits: the middle classes have come out to play for the night, playing ‘dress up’ to pretend that they’re worth something to the opposite sex.

‘You “forgot”?’ Jamal asks, crossing his arms and waiting for an explanation.

‘I forgot what time you said. I thought you said 11pm,’ I lie.

‘Sure…’ Jamal says. He pours out the rest of the wine into Amelia’s old glass and takes a sip. He pulls a face like he approves. ‘Did you look at the file?’

‘Yes,’ I say, trying not to sound as if I’m sulking. I should probably leave the rest of my wine. I need to have my senses about me, or what’s left of them.

‘So you know that we found out about that night when you were at university. And why we’re asking you to come on to him.’

I give him a look that says, I don’t care. ‘Couldn’t get him to fuck you, huh?’

‘I don’t think he goes for tall black men. Unlike some people.’

Fucker.

‘You’ll start work on Monday at his office. You’ll be his PA –’

‘Wait, what? I’m not going to be his fucking PA!’

God! It would be embarrassing: over ten years on, he’s a junior partner and I’m seen as someone who didn’t make it and is still temping as a secretary.

My old admin days haunted me: photocopying, scanning irrelevant documents, proofreading mind-numbing papers, planning meetings for the idiots who were too lazy to arrange their own calendar, and fucking my boss (or maybe two of them) because I was bored. Those jobs were nightmarish and I don’t want to relive them.

‘I told you already: you need to take this job,’ Jamal tells me under his breath, like already he’s tired of me and my whinging.

‘There’s no way I’m going in as a PA. Can’t you make me into some kind of PR consultant, or give me another fancy bullshit title?’ I plead with him. ‘I don’t want to do any paperwork.’

He glares at me and grabs my arm, whispering fiercely at me, ‘Well, tough shit. We all have things in life that we don’t want to do.’

I try to pull my arm away from his tight grip. ‘This won’t work if you don’t listen to me. He won’t respect me if I’m just a fucking secretary,’ I tell him.

Well, he might actually. In fact, maybe he’s always fantasised about fucking his secretary, but this isn’t really about that. This is about whether or not I’ll kill myself if I’m bored out of my skull trapped inside an office. And the shame I’d feel if anyone found out that I’d taken on a secretarial job.

‘Okay, fine, Princess. We’ll make you into a “PR consultant”. You can have a badge and everything if you want.’ He leers at me then releases my arm.

Actually, I just need some tight pencil skirts.

‘Fine, I’ll take the job,’ I say, standing up.

It’s not like I have a choice. Jamal’s watching me and he’s dangerous and knows how to hack into my bank account. Plus I want the money. And I want the challenge: I actually want to set up my own honey trap – it sounds like fun.

‘Where are you going?’ he asks, grabbing my arm again to make me stay.

‘Home,’ I tell him, pulling away from him. ‘I’m going to guess that you have my number, so just text me the details about Monday.’

He lets me go and I try to pick up all my shopping bags as quickly as possible. It’s difficult to look dignified when you’ve drunk a whole bottle of wine.

‘Spent the money already?’ he criticises.

‘Fuck you!’ I say and storm out.

‘Hey!’ a guy yells over my shoulder as I make my way outside.

I turn and it’s Mark again.

‘You okay?’ he asks sensitively.

Shit, he saw me talking with Jamal again. Is he spying on me too? I thought he said that he was meeting someone.

‘I’m fine,’ I lie, but I think that everything I’m feeling shows on my face.

‘I saw him grab you,’ he says. ‘What was that about? Are you in trouble?’

Fuck, maybe he thinks I’m in debt or owe money to a dealer or something.

‘No! God, no.’ Quick, turn him off the scent. I wouldn’t want Mark getting involved too. ‘He’s been breaking my balls for weeks now about getting a job. A fucking office job! And he just surprised me and said that he’d got me a job that starts on Monday.’

It was, bizarrely, mostly true.

‘Oh,’ said Mark. ‘So are you going to take it?’

‘I don’t know.’ I stand there, feeling weak and scared and stupid. ‘Mark, just fucking kiss me. Before I change my mind.’

He looks questioningly at me, then cups my face and full on kisses me in the middle of the street. It feels amazing. I drop my bags to the floor and he pushes me up against the wall, trying not to trample what I’ve just bought. He tastes of beer and it mixes with the red wine laced across my lips.

He pulls back from me. ‘What about Amelia?’

‘She’s got David. I want you.’

I’ve lost all of my inhibitions but I don’t care. He picks up my bags and holds out his arm out for me, like a proper gentleman in an old black and white film. My heart melts, I link my arm with his and we set off down the street.

Forlornly I wonder what’s wrong with him. He can’t be completely perfect. He’s probably got a tiny dick.

* * *

I was wrong. I was totally wrong. He is perfect and he knows his way around my body almost as if he created it.

I lie on top of his gold bedsheets and feel like a queen. Like I’m Cleopatra after she’s been fucked by Mark Antony. I’m probably as rich as she was back then (I checked my bank account in the afternoon and it’s still saying that I have more money in there than I know what to do with), I’m drunk, and I have the perfect man nestled between my legs.

He comes up for air and kisses me before sliding inside me again. This better not be just a one-night stand. I won’t be able to take it if he tells me that we can’t be together. Shit, I might have to marry him. I want to kill every blonde bitch that he’s been with and anyone else he fancies. I want him to be mine forever. Or that could be the endorphins talking.

He slams inside me, hard and fast, and I come again, not wanting to ever leave this bed. My head is flung back, tendrils of hair sticking to my face, and I think back to the previous night and how stupid I was to go home with Jamal when I could have flirted with Mark instead. I could have had an extra night with him. Although I don’t think my body can take two nights in a row with Mark.

He slaps my face and holds my neck as he thrusts. ‘Look at me,’ he demands.

Like I have a choice. Who wouldn’t want to look at him? I watch him dance over me, his skin sticky with sweat, taut muscles controlling me, eyes staring me down. This is what heaven feels like.

He grabs my hair and bites into my neck. Primeval pleasure takes over me, carries me away to another realm where I’m screaming and clawing at his back. He pulls out, tells me to turn over, and there’s nothing I can do but acquiesce. Then he’s inside me again, deeper than before. I feel his hot skin against my back and almost lose consciousness, digging my fingernails into the pillow beneath me, hearing the pillowcase slowly being ripped apart.

I can barely breathe by the time he comes. I’m lost in orgasmic bliss. He rolls off me and onto his back, lying there panting hard. I can hardly move but snuggle against his warm body and kiss his chest.

‘I can’t believe you nearly missed out on this,’ he says.

I can’t believe I forgot he was so arrogant. ‘Shut up.’

‘So are you going to tell Amelia? Will you gossip about me tomorrow?’

I frown and think. I wasn’t really thinking before. ‘Not yet. I’ll wait until she’s back with David.’

‘I thought that was over?’

‘Apparently not.’

‘Oh… So this is our dirty little secret?’ he says, smiling at me, tracing my back leisurely with his fingertips.

‘Depends whether you’re any good at keeping secrets,’ I tell him, sitting up to kiss him, losing myself in his dark eyes. ‘Promise not to tell?’

* * *

Eventually we fall asleep in each other’s arms. In what I presume is still the morning, I wake up and wonder what time it is. Sunlight filters through the gauzy white curtains, flooding into the room and turning the bed into a golden haven.

Mark doesn’t snore, of course. He sleeps next to me peacefully, looking like an angel with ruffled hair. Beauty and the beast. I probably look like a mess, my hair frizzy, eyes bloodshot and head pounding from the amount of wine I drank last night.

I slip out from his arms and glance at the clock: 11am. I wonder whether he’ll kick me out or let me stay for the day draped in his sheets. Stealing over towards the window, I peer around the curtains. He has a balcony that overlooks the Thames and I want to creep outside and take in the view. I slowly lift the handle and slide the door across, trying not to make a sound.

Outside there’s a chilly breeze and it’s beginning to rain. Raindrops settle against my cold skin as I lean my arms on the parapet and peer over. The Thames is a great murky band that stretches into the distance. Glistening glass high-rises loom on either side, emerging out of the landscape to compete in terms of grandeur. Leisure boats sail across the grey waters and seagulls circle the air above, waiting for the tourists to buy their lunch.

I feel Mark’s arms around me and he cups my breasts while kissing my neck.

‘You don’t want everyone to see your tits, do you?’

I press back against him. ‘You’re naked too.’

‘Yes, but they already know what my dick looks like. I’ve been out here naked too many times.’

I turn around, wrap my arms around his shoulders and give him a slow, deep kiss. ‘Morning,’ I breathe into his lips.

‘What are you doing today?’ he asks me.

Is this a trick question? ‘You?’

He smiles and lifts me so my legs are wrapped around his waist, then he heads back inside. He doesn’t stumble at all and I wish I was that strong. I need to start going to the gym. My arse is beginning to sag.

After more sex he makes me breakfast, or brunch, and we sit formally at his dining table while he reads the paper. He’s wearing boxers and his topless profile distracts me while I eat. I’m doing the clichéd girlfriend thing: wearing his shirt from the night before as I sip my orange juice.

I finish eating. ‘I should get going,’ I say, looking up to see his reaction.

‘You don’t have to,’ he smiles.

‘My stupid job starts tomorrow. And I need more sleep.’

‘You’re actually taking the job?’ Surprised, he drops the paper on the table and looks at me oddly, like he can’t figure me out. Should I be insulted by his question?

‘I’ll probably stick it out for a day. I’ve got bills to pay, after all.’

Standing up, I place my used crockery next to the sink. He goes back to his paper and I wonder whether I’ve overstayed my welcome. He probably works out on Sundays, so he can lift his lovers and throw them back into bed in the morning. Or maybe, like Amelia, he’s chained to his company and works from home.

I head back into the bedroom to get dressed, taking off his shirt and leaving it laid out on the bed where I was lying earlier. After slipping on my clothes, I sit down on the bed to zip up my shoes. He walks in and sits down next to me, running his hand across my back again.

My shoes done up, I turn to him, not really sure what to expect. Will he say that this was just a one-time thing that we shouldn’t tell Amelia about, or ask for my number? Or will he propose? My ovaries aren’t getting any younger. Not that I’d be a very good mother, but I’m sure Mark could pay for a superb nanny.

‘I can’t work you out,’ he tells me, studying my face.

‘Do you need to?’

He smiles. ‘Yes.’

Of course, he’s a lawyer and loves being able to read people. I’m an enigma wrapped in a mystery, wanting to be wrapped up in Mark’s sheets again, or whatever the famous quote is.

He spots my gazillion shopping bags in the corner. ‘I’ll call you a taxi.’

He wanders out the door again and I sigh. What does he want with me? Or does he want nothing to do with me after today?

I hear him call up a taxi firm in the other room and give out his address. Do I need to remember it; for example, when I’m stalking him and any blonde bitches that enter his apartment in the future?

He comes back in and hands me a piece of paper with a number on it.

‘I’m a workaholic like Amelia, but every so often I like to go out for dinner,’ he hints.

‘By yourself?’ I ask sarcastically. His face falls. ‘Sorry! I meant, so you’d like to go out for dinner? With me, maybe this week?’

My ovaries flip with joy and do several cartwheels. And to think, I never considered that I’d get to use them.

He smiles again. If I had brilliant white teeth, I’d smile all the time too. ‘I’ve got a busy week, so I’m not sure when I’ll be free, but we’ll work something out.’

Then he kisses me and forces me onto my back. Why did I want to leave?

We hear the buzzer go off and I swear under my breath. How the hell did the taxi get here so quickly?

‘You sure you want to leave?’ Mark asks.

‘If I don’t go now, I won’t be able to.’ He smiles and I put my finger on his lips. ‘No!’

I push him away so I can stand and gather up my jacket and bags.

‘Let me know how the new job goes. Try not to kill anyone,’ he smirks.

‘No promises,’ I tell him with a deadly serious expression.

‘You need money for the taxi?’

‘I’m fine.’ Jamal’s deposit should cover me. I blow him a kiss, like he did to me last night in the bar. Then I walk towards the front door, trying not to smash into anything with my bags.

He runs up behind me to open the door. Does he ever stop being a gentleman? Seriously, there must be something terribly wrong with him that I still don’t know about. Maybe he’s a serial killer or likes to torture kittens. He grabs me and gives me one last kiss before I head out the door.

In the corridor, I hear him tell the taxi driver over the intercom that I’ll be down soon. I wait for the elevator. It’s got sheer glass walls, like in Derek’s office, and last night we had fun making out in there before heading into his apartment.

Finally, the doors ping open and I step inside and can see the taxi driver down below, sitting wearily in his cab looking at his phone, scrolling through the news, social media or porn while he waits for me.

Outside, the world is covered in a thick mist and I struggle to open the taxi door while the driver ignores me fighting with my bags. I strap myself in, give him my address, then settle into the seat and fish my phone out of my bag.

Amelia’s texted: ‘OMG! Back with David. And we’re engaged!!! xxx’ Jesus. At least I’ll get my chance to be a bridesmaid. I better not have to wear a shitty frilly dress – no, Amelia’s got taste so I should be fine. Maybe Mark can be my plus one so I’m not bored rigid. If I can work up the courage to tell her that I’m sleeping with him. ‘Congratulations!!! xxx’ I text back. Three exclamation marks is a little bit over the top, but I guess it’s good news.

Another text: the pizza place around the corner from my apartment has messaged me about their new ‘crazy deals’. Delete.

Then there’s a third text from an unknown number that just says: ‘Check your emails.’ Is that Jamal?

I go into my emails and read a subject line that simply says: ‘Job description.’ I click on the email and open up the attachment. Scrolling down I get more and more pissed off. My job title is ‘PR Assistant’ and there are disturbing mentions of photocopying, proofreading, diarising and event planning. My heart sinks. Motherfucker.