Chapter 6
SIX
A terrible idea
Patrick
I meet Jake at our usual: a battered old pub down a side street in Battersea.
He’s already in our booth, looking like a mountain man who just crawled out of the wilderness. Beard unkempt. Skin tanned.
I clap him on the back and sit, my spine stiff from fourteen hours behind a desk. “How’s life hauling soft executives up glaciers?”
“Better than being one of those soft executives.” He slides a pint across. “Got you a proper beer.”
“Cheers.” I take a long pull. “You look like a fucking yeti.”
He scratches his beard, grinning. “And you look like you’ve forgotten what the sun is. That tie’s cutting off circulation to your brain.”
“Probably is.” I yank it loose, cracking my neck. The sound makes me feel older than thirty-five. “Good to have you back. How long do we have you this time?”
“Few days. Then it’s off to Svalbard again—got a two-week expedition coming up. Beautiful time of year up there.” He’s glowing, the bastard.
I can’t deny I’m hit with envy. I should feel only pride in what I’ve built. Took McLaren Hotels from nothing to a national name. But watching his face light up like that… fuck. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy him sometimes—off-grid, purpose-driven, no board meetings, no bullshit.
“Now that’s a proper trip.” I tip my glass his way, thinking fondly of our last expedition together. “Though you’ll need to sort out your material. You crack the same three bear jokes every time. That was the lowlight of Svalbard, that and watching you flirt with the Polish model.”
“My jokes are perfect,” he fires back, still grinning. “Besides, most of them aren’t coming back. One trip and back to their Peloton, bragging to their mates about their brave time in the wilderness.”
I roll my eyes. “Who’ve you got this time?”
“Mixed crew. Newlyweds, a couple of bankers who want to ‘reconnect with nature.’” He makes air quotes, grinning. “Fitness influencer. A socialite who looks like she’ll be a difficult one. The type of lass who expects to cuddle cute polar bears for her social media pics.”
“I wish I could go. Can’t just bugger off to Norway whenever I fancy it anymore.”
“That’s what you get for continually expanding.” He chuckles. “You just can’t help yourself. Sorry, man. I know I don’t have billions, but I much prefer my work issues. Making sure soft city boys don’t get their faces ripped off by polar bears. Simple.”
“One billion,” I correct automatically. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“Arrogant bastard,” he mutters, grinning wider.
These days, every pint with Jake feels like staring into a mirror at the life I used to have.
And all I can feel is the weight of what I’ve become.
Board meetings that drain my soul. Reports full of projections and buzzwords.
All this—boardrooms, media write-ups—was the dream once, back when I was an apprentice covered in plaster dust.
I remember being sixteen, ready to punch walls from boredom. Algebraic equations and Shakespeare when all I wanted was to build something real with my hands.
The apprenticeship saved me. Gave me room to breathe and build and dream.
Now I’ve got ten hotels across the UK. The Financial Times called it a “boutique empire.”
But fuck me if anything’s ever beaten the rush of restoring that first house. Eight months freezing in an attic with dodgy plumbing, living on beans on toast. Watching a wreck come back to life under my hands.
“Hey, Georgie mentioned she’s headed to Skye for work. She seems excited.”
I blink. They’re sending Georgie to Skye for the rollout? What the fuck is Craig playing at?
“Right,” I say, keeping my voice level.
“Good for her. She needs a change of scenery. It’s brilliant to see her doing well in the company. Means a lot to me, mate. Thanks.”
My jaw tightens. “I don’t get involved in decisions like that.” I clear my throat. “I’m sure she’ll… enjoy Skye.”
Christ. I have to trust my managers to manage, but sending Georgie?
I can’t afford weak links there. Not when I’m about to start the application for Forbes Five Star designation at Clachmòr House. Out of all my hotels, that Scottish beauty means the most to me. Every detail must be perfect.
If she couldn’t hold it together in a boardroom, how the hell is she supposed to handle a rollout? Is she spinning Jake some story about how well she’s doing?
“You see much of her around the office?” Jake asks. “I try not to interfere, but our great-aunt just died. I think she’s been a bit low.”
“I don’t keep tabs on her day-to-day. Better for me to keep my distance, given my position.”
I’m not about to let him think I’m some noble bastard watching out for her. And I had no fucking clue Craig was planning to send her.
“Of course.” Jake nods, accepting that. “Professional boundaries and all that. Just… keep an eye on her in Skye, yeah? I worry about her being alone up there, and I’m never around. The guilt’s real, mate.”
The last thing I need is to babysit Jake’s sister. Especially one who already flinches every time I walk into a room. But Jake’s been there for me more than once.
I pause a beat too long.
“Of course,” I say finally. “I’ll make sure she’s alright.”
“Cheers.” He waves for another round, launching into some story about Norwegian customs and suspicious camping gear.
I nod along, but my mind’s stuck on what I’ve just promised.
Little Georgie Fitzgerald. In Skye. Under my watch.
Feels like a fucking terrible idea.