Ten past seven, and the building has emptied one floor at a time in the way it does.
Through the glass the last of the operations team is putting on a coat by the lifts. The office is all reflection now: the city outside, the meeting table, the two untouched glasses of water from a four-hour session.
The door clicks. Not loudly, but everything in here is quiet enough that it counts as an event.
Miranda takes off her glasses, folds them, and puts them on the desk, and something in her face lets go by about ten percent.
"You may stop calling me Ms Teasdale now."
She sets down the pen mid-sentence, which is the most out-of-character thing she does all day.
"You did it eleven times in that meeting. I counted. Twice you said it when you could simply have said nothing, which I thought was showing off."
The blinds are half open and the city is doing its early-evening thing behind her. She does not turn to look at it.
She comes round the desk and leans against the front of it, which puts her at your height for the first time since nine this morning.
"There is a car in the basement at half past and a table booked under a name that is not mine."
She turns the ring she keeps on her right hand during the working day, and moves it, deliberately, back to her left.
"How much of this evening do I get to be Min."
She holds the ring in place with her thumb and waits.