So it’s with great attitude that I lock eyes with the massive suited beast sitting behind the redwood desk. His long honey blond hair is neatly tied back, and his grey three-piece is so perfect I feel sick. It’s like I’ve walked into purgatory only to be met by an archangel who’s about to interrogate me in front of a set of golden scales. Will I be allowed into heaven, or will he judge me as only worthy of hell? It’s easy to forget that he’s only twenty-seven, if rumours are to be believed.
