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Ten minutes early into work Debbie ducks into the cloakroom to complete her daily preparations. Comfy trainers and opaque tights go into her capacious holdall, sheer nylons -- get those seams straight -- and high heels take their place. Undoes another blouse button and refreshes her scarlet red lippy. Dress down Friday? More like fantasy Friday, she muses, brushing her hair. Shoulders back, boobs out Debbie sashays into her boss's office with a bright smile...

To be confronted with an unexpected disruption to her usual routine, a stranger. Well almost, someone she's only ever seen in photos and spoken fleetingly with on the phone, the MD's son. Debbie racks her brains for his name, ah that's it, Adam.

"Weren't expecting me," he observes correctly. "Oh dear, and you my father's PA".
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"No I wasn't, he didn't, I had no idea, where..." Christ, thinks Debbie, get a grip; it's not like you to be so easily thrown.

"Is he?" Adam completes her question. "Sit down Debbie," he nods to an upright chair placed in the middle of the room, directly facing the impressive desk he now occupies.

Puzzled and unaccountably nervous - far from her customary demeanour -- Debbie does so. Knees primly together, hands meekly in her lap and attempting a demure manner. Perhaps loosening that second button wasn't such a good idea; this is serious, not the time for cleavage.

"Sir Edward is -- at least as far as the outside world is concerned -- on an extended holiday in his Monaco flat and I am now in charge. He has in fact been relieved of control of the company. This is a private business not quoted on the stock market with all shares held within our family. Having discovered substantial financial irregularities my mother and I have ousted him."

"Irregularities?" Debbie queries hesitantly.

"You're going to pretend you knew nothing of them?"

"I'm not pretending, I didn't."

"So all those transactions moving large amounts of money to anonymous accounts in the Cayman Islands you signed as a witness didn't ring any alarm bells?"

"I was his secretary not the company accountant," responds Debbie hotly.

"I see," Adam nods noncommittally then abruptly changes tack. "Tell me Debbie, is there a particular reason why in the 21stCentury when any City firm insisting its female staff wear heels faces public opprobrium you come to work dressed like a parody of a 1950s secretary?"

"Your father liked it," responds Debbie simply.

"And paid you above average to indulge his whims?"

"Easy to criticise when you're rich," answer Debbie spiritedly.

"Fair point," concedes Adam, privately impressed by her refusal to be cowed.

Debbie feels herself blushing. Explained like this it's all rather embarrassing.

Adam raises his eyebrows but refrains from judgement.
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"To return to the most pressing matter, my father has been milking profits, ostensibly with your tacit assistance. At the very least your actions display a lack of curiosity and initiative." He lifts a hand to forestall her reply and continues. "Apparently he needed to fund his mistress."

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