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Oliver looks amused. ‘As long as we work within the standard regulatory perimeters of employment law, I don’t see a problem.’

I stare at him. He’s matching my crazy.

‘I’m free for the next hour,’ he goes on. ‘What do you need help with first?’

I glance at the computer. Oliver has an accountancy degree and I have a massive hole in my finances. ‘How good are you with financial spreadsheets?’

As we huddle together at my desk, I explain that Nidi, what with being heavily pregnant and in a fragile state, must not be contacted by me (with my many problems) again until she returns.

‘Not bad,’ Oliver says, tapping away on the keyboard while he sits distractingly close to me. ‘It’s all here in the Admin and Finance folder. See?’

‘Excellent,’ I say with a hint of sarcasm. ‘Who would have thought to look in there? I am capable of the basics.’ I just have no clue how the payments are processed or where they go.

He smirks. ‘Well, buckle up. You’re in for the financial ride of your life.’

One click and the folder opens to reveal a ton of mind-boggling documents and files within files with baffling names like Ledger01.34 and fiscal accounts 2026. My heart sinks.

‘The double taxation laws out here require submission across two different fiscal years, so it can be complex,’ Oliver says.

I have no idea what he is talking about. But I have noticed a small scar high on his cheek bone. Very mysterious and debonair.

‘Yes, that sounds just the sort of timeframe, and the sort of circumstances in which an action such as that payment’ – my voice becomes more of a whimper – ‘would require that which you are suggesting.’

‘Please try to behave yourself,’ he pleads. ‘Or I’ll never be able to concentrate.’

* * *

It takes him under an hour of tapping away and murmuring ‘Jesus’ several times under his breath while I stare blankly at the screen, watching him scroll down spreadsheet after spreadsheet, numbers flying past as he deftly unscrambles accounts and sifts out the information he needs. Turns out that Nidi could do with a masterclass on how to set up and run a successful life coaching business too.

‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ Oliver says kindly, turning to me and taking in my downcast expression. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many companies I work with that are in the same sort of mess.’

Charming.

‘Just follow what I’m doing, and you’ll be able to understand it all, no problem,’ he says encouragingly, giving my shoulder a light squeeze with his strong masculine fingers. He’s got lovely nail beds.

I really must concentrate on what he is doing and learn from him. After all, I will have to do this for myself one day soon. I sit up straight and nod. He is exactly right. It’s not so uncommon. Nobody in their right mind likes anything to do with maths or taxation laws. I must rise to the challenge.

‘Now,’ he says, all business-like, ‘that’s the taxes sorted and up to date. Let’s see where the rest of the money has gone.’

I watch, mesmerised, as he taps away, absorbed in the task. He has such fine hands. Slender, yet the size of shovels. His arms are like pistons pumping, and his shoulders are solid and dependable. Perfect for crying on. His neck is… How would I describe it? Yes, it’s resplendent. His jawline is… powerful yet accommodating. His hair is thick and perfectly⁠—

‘So, did you get all that?’ I hear him ask in that super-manly important voice of his. Another great selling point. I can’t help but marvel at why he has not been snapped up already, like a dreamy two-bed penthouse apartment with amazing views across to the sea with access to a luxury pool, gym and easy walking distance to all the amenities and all way under budget because the kind owner simply wants it to go to a good home.

He clicks the enter key with a flourish and states, ‘What do you think?’

Ah, now, well… I think you are gorgeous, that’s what I think.

Oliver politely pretends not to notice that I have been so easily distracted from the important task of sorting out my business affairs, to which we both remember me pledging, only moments ago, to give my complete and full attention. He probably has a perfect memory and can recall the tiniest of details about what people say and about every aspect of the law, which he will know everything about, of course. While I’ve been busy dreaming of licking his thighs and thinking of inventive ways to entertain him.

He stands up and stretches, giving me a cheeky glimpse of a bare, flat stomach. He is a wondrous specimen of masculinity and I am behaving shamefully, even by my own low standards.

‘Well, that’s all I can do for today,’ he says, leaning across to kiss me. ‘See you tomorrow?’

I nod enthusiastically, not trusting myself to speak as I watch him walk away.

I. AM. SMITTEN.

‘So, you still want to put a date in to do some actual life coaching with me?’