By the time I reached my own workplace I was resigned to bitter disappointment and barely registered that the office was in complete disarray. Half the furniture was covered with plastic sheets, and my files were stacked in boxes on the other side of the room. I was not in the mood for this today. "What's going on?" I snapped at Zoe, my assistant.

"Oh," she said. "Had you forgotten we're having the place refurbished? The builders are in for a couple of weeks as of today." She rolled her eyes. "So we can all look forward to sexist jokes and the smell of bacon for a while."

But Zoe's chatter faded into the background as a familiar figure emerged into view behind her. There he was, in his dirty T-shirt, hard hat, and, if I wasn't very much mistaken, hard-on encased in paint-splattered jeans. I felt my body turn to quicksilver with relief and lust. I was about to call out to him when he gave me a secret smile and put a rugged finger to his lips.

"Shh," he said.

MODEL MISBEHAVIOR

This confession is such hot stuff that I thought twice about sharing it. A beautiful, internationally famous fashion model relayed the story to me at a party in Paris. It's one that every journalist and gossip columnist in the country, in the world, for that matter, would kill for: that of eye-wateringly hip ubermodel Anna Lamb and her fiery, on again /off again relationship with her equally famous, adrenaline-junky boyfriend, Joey. The risks they take in pursuit of the ultimate orgasm shocked even me.

I've changed her name, of course. I could tell you who she is, but I think you'll have much more fun working it out for yourself.