Winner or not, next to Rufus sat a potential problem, of which he remained blissfully unaware. Victoria had been desperately trying to look without being noticed and, as soon as he settled, the unmistakeable scent and the idiotic whistle confirmed her greatest fear. Their inglorious liaison had been over two months ago but it still burned in her memory, fed by the oxygen of deep humiliation, the sort that smoulders, waiting for opportune moments to resurface.

The brochure shoot had taken most of the day, and had also been surprisingly glamorous. She had expected so much less of it. It helped that the photographer had been rather taken with her, but she supposed that, after all, she was the looks of the outfit. Trying hard not to make too much of the flattering comments, she had joined the other girls in a celebration. Ordinarily she wouldn’t spend too much time with that lot. She had to be pleasant to them, but it was understood that they were all in competition. Unspoken, mostly unacknowledged, but understood, definitely. Still, she was in a good mood, she felt gorgeous and it was Friday and you never know.

It was true you never knew, but so often you never got to know, either. Apparently it was turning out to be another one of those nights. The mood of the group had shifted slightly, Victoria thought, from general collective euphoria to something a bit flatter and more personal. She wasn’t enjoying herself a huge amount, and had even moved onto the gin and tonics, but she couldn’t be seen to not get her round. Besides, the time for believable excuses had passed: there was no way she could realistically engineer a previous engagement now.

She screamed her order at the barman. Too young, too stupid. But something had just arrived next to her. Presence and charisma he certainly had. He was big, but in a good way, a powerful way. And that suit was made for him, nobody else. He had appeared beside her with no fanfare, no undignified jostling. People moved out of the way for him.

Her duty to the others was to transport the four large wine glasses and the g & t back to their billet in one piece, but she owed it to herself to make sure Mr Alpha noticed her. She flashed the plastic key at the infantile bartender without catching his eye, then let her hand linger on the bar as she pretended to check her phone. At times like this her grandmother’s conspicuous ring came in useful. Eventually she had to pick up the tray and move. Had her bait found its way into the fish’s great rubbery mouth? She caught his eye as she turned.

‘Why don’t you come back once you’ve dropped those off and have a real drink?’ he boomed. He appeared to find no difficulty in overcoming the general hubbub. ‘It beats pretending to be listening to that bunch of nobodies,’ he signalled vaguely with his head towards the increasingly raucous upstairs function, ‘and it’s an enjoyable method of foreplay where we don’t have to put ourselves into any awkward situations. Then we can go back to yours and shag until my dick drops off. Sound ok?’

‘Fine, but none of that non-vintage shit, I want the good stuff.’ Victoria surprised herself a bit, but it was a fitting response given the situation and the company. With a broad grin he hooked an idle barmaid and before she knew it, Victoria was carrying her tray of drinks back to the girls and her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s.

The next morning, before he’d left, she had taken a note of his mobile number. After a couple of texts she received a call from a fairly bemused Rufus asking who she might be and what the hell she meant by contacting him. His evident amusement at her explanation didn’t dilute his unambiguous proposal to her to remove all traces of his number immediately. She had done so immediately with the same shamed face as had just returned to her this very minute.