Chapter 3
THREE
Not your grandfather
Patrick
I don’t tolerate disrespect. Not in my company. Not from anyone.
This is what happens when personal connections bleed into business decisions. Georgie Fitzgerald—Jake’s little sister—is here solely because of him. That’s the truth.
She didn’t grind through recruitment against hungry graduates who’d kill for a chance. The job was hers the second Jake asked, because I don’t let my mates down.
Even when the interview was a car crash. Ravi, head of IT at the time, said it was the worst he’d seen in ten years. He fought me on it, arguing that bringing in someone so out of their depth would wreck team morale.
I pulled rank anyway. Nepotism at its finest. The kind of bullshit I usually despise.
Truth is, I knew she wasn’t cut out for this before she even sat down at that desk.
Jake told me she’d dropped out of university—said it “wasn’t for her”—then spent months hiding out at her great-aunt’s, letting life drift by until big brother started making calls, pulling strings, setting up interviews she couldn’t fail.
He sold me this line about her being quiet but shithot at coding. Said she worked hard. I didn’t have the heart to tell him she barely scraped through twenty percent of Ravi’s questions.
And today she tells me to leave her presentation like she has any fucking say in where I go in my own company. Threw in a crack about how our tech requirements were beneath my notice. Like the company I built with my own hands is too complicated for my “simple Northern brain.”
Now she’s turned down my lunch invitation.
That’s not how this works.
When I say “join me,” my staff clear their calendars. They show up. With a smile. You don’t tell me no.
The knock on my office door is so soft I nearly miss it.
“Come in,” I say, not looking up from the stack of reports spread across my desk.
The door creaks open. When I glance up, she’s hovering in the doorway, eyes wide, as if she expects me to vault the desk and tear her apart.
Those eyes are the most unusual shade of green I’ve ever seen. The kind that makes you think of sea glass.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
I nod toward the chair. “Sit.”
She perches on the edge like the chair might bite her, fingers twisting in the hem of her dress.
My gaze drops to her legs before I catch myself. Fucking hell. I snap my eyes back where they belong.
“Georgie, don’t call me ‘sir.’ I’m not your grandfather.”
She actually flinches. Like I’ve shouted at her. “Of course… Mr. McLaren.”
“Patrick.”
A strand of dark hair slips forward, and she tucks it behind her ear with shaky fingers. “You’re my boss. Eight levels up, technically. I thought… but okay. Patrick.”
“If hierarchy matters that much to you, maybe think about what it means to blow off your CEO’s lunch invitation.”
Her eyes widen. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Some might call that brazen. Especially from someone so junior.”
She swallows hard. “It’s just that I have to help with the database upgrade tomorrow. Craig said it was critical and… I didn’t want to waste your time.”
“I’m sure the team can spare you for an hour.
” From what I’ve witnessed, they could spare her for a fortnight without noticing.
“And whether my time gets wasted is hardly your decision to make. Do you think I’m incapable of managing my own schedule?
That I need a junior developer telling me how to prioritize my day?
” The edge in my voice cuts. I feel it, recognize it, but can’t quite rein it back in.
Jake’s sister, I remind myself. But damn, she’s testing my patience.
“N-no, of course not.”
She won’t meet my eyes. She stares at her shoes, like they’re broadcasting the fucking news.
“My eyes are up here.”
“Sorry, I—sorry. I wasn’t—” She looks up, face going pink, then shifts in her seat. “I was just—sorry.”
That dress—emerald, same as her eyes—transforms her completely. Usually she’s buried under trousers and jumpers, like she’s permanently waiting for an IT audit. But the dress makes it clear she has a body under all that.
The fact I notice pisses me off.
She’s a junior who can’t hold my eye and, half the time, can’t hold her own ground.
I shouldn’t have to remind myself of those facts.
And not just because of the line she falls on professionally. I’ve never gone for the submissive type. Doesn’t matter if they’ve got beautiful eyes or a heart-shaped face.
“That presentation today?” I say, letting my irritation—mostly with myself—bleed through. “Complete shambles. You weren’t prepared.”
“I—I was!” For the first time since stepping into my office, her eyes spark. A flash of green fire that transforms her whole face.
It’s gone in an instant.
“Scrambling to record last-minute notes on your phone isn’t preparation.”
“They weren’t…” Her voice falters. Fingers tug at the necklace around her neck.
I drag in a breath. “I’ve put everything I have into these hotels. I expect the same commitment from the people who work for me. Every department has to hold the line. Kitchen, housekeeping, engineering, IT. There’s no room for weak links here.”
I level a glare at her. “This isn’t a place where you can coast and hope someone else picks up the slack.”
“Are you firing me?” she whispers.
“Of course I’m not firing you.” I run a hand down my jaw, frustrated with this whole bloody situation. I’ve no fucking clue how to walk the line between boss and Jake’s mate without screwing up both.
Jake would want me to shield her. Keep her safely tucked away in IT where the corporate sharks can’t get at her. In his mind, she’s still the vulnerable little sister who needs constant protection.
And watching her now, trying to disappear into the furniture, I can see why he thinks that way. Her mum and stepdad fucked off to Spain, leaving Jake to play parent. He’s been wrapping her in protective cotton wool ever since, and the damage is written all over her.
“I need you to step up,” I say, forcing my voice softer. “For the department.” I pause, watching her face crumble. “For yourself, for Christ’s sake. Craig trusted you this morning and you let him down.”
She blinks at me, those green eyes wide and stunned. Like she expected a different message. But facts are facts. Craig gave her the stage, and she blew it.
Her eyes drop to her shoes, shoulders curving inward. “Of course.”
I clear my throat, grasping for something constructive instead of just bollocking her. “Look, do you need extra training?”
“Training for what?”
“To expand your technical skills.” My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. “So when you’re next unleashed on a room, you can explain the damn system coherently instead of treating them to recorded pep talks and jokes that wouldn’t pass muster at a primary school assembly.”
She flinches, and something in my chest tightens. I want to pull the words back, soften the blow, but I can’t bloody well wrap this in silk ribbons. Her presentation was a disaster. What does she expect from me—gentle encouragement and gold stars for effort?
“I’m sure Craig can recommend some appropriate courses,” I add, trying to inject encouragement into my voice.
“I don’t need coding training.” The words come out sharp, surprising us both. There’s that flash of fire again.
I arch a brow. “No?”
The fire dies instantly. “No. I mean…” Her gaze drops again. “Thank you. I’ll look into courses.”
“Good,” I say, though absolutely nothing about this feels remotely good. “Work closely with Craig to sharpen up your skills.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
She’s about to cry over basic professional feedback. Any other company in London would chew her up and spit her out if she cracked every time someone suggested improvement.
I remember her at sixteen. Awkward and shy, face going red if I so much as said hello. Sweet kid who’d offer everyone tea and remember how they took it. But she’s not sixteen anymore, and the corporate world doesn’t give a damn about her feelings.
If she worked at Ashbury Thornton, if she made it past Liam’s recruitment gauntlet—which she wouldn’t—she’d be sobbing in the toilets by lunch on day one. My brother makes me look like a teddy bear.
She clearly doesn’t like Craig’s style compared to Ravi, who ran the IT department like a group therapy circle. I don’t like Craig either, but he delivers every objective I throw at him.
I exhale heavily. “Whatever resources you need, tell Craig. I’ll approve the budget. I’m trying to help here. But you’ve got to articulate what you need. Improvement only happens if you want it badly enough to fight for it.”
She opens her mouth, probably to deliver another soft, noncommittal response, but a knock on the door cuts her off.
Thank Christ. I can’t endure another minute of those wounded doe eyes looking at me like I’m the heartless bastard who’s personally ruining her life.
“That’s all the time I’ve got. Don’t let me down, Georgie.”
Her mouth tightens. Soft, full lips pressed into a hard little line. Trying to transform something meant for softness into armor. Like watching a rose force itself into barbed wire.
Get your head straight, you pillock. Stop noticing her mouth.
“I’ll try not to be any more of a disappointment than I already have been,” she says, with just enough bite to make me frown.
I’m trying to do the right thing here. I’ve shown her more patience than I’d extend to any other employee on the payroll. More than she deserves, considering her performance.
But still.
There’s something about the way she sits there, shoulders curved inward like she’s trying to disappear, that digs under my skin.
And I absolutely hate that some treacherous part of me wants to lean across this desk, tilt her chin up with my fingers, and strip that devastated expression clean off her face.