He hasn’t changed that anyway, keeping me waiting as though I have nothing better to do with my day except hang around for his entrance. He likes to feel important.

‘You look good … nice to see this back.’ He raises a hand as though he’s going to run his fingers down a strand of my hair and then halts mid-air, putting it down and turning towards the bar to lay his arms there instead. A strange twitch to that squared-off, clean-shaven jawline of his.

I guess the ...