Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
Button forever
Georgie
I can’t stay in the hotel.
The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. Out in the ceilidh, the fiddles are going wild against the drums, people are laughing like it’s the best night ever, and the wild stomping that Scots call dancing is making the whole floor shake.
Everyone’s pissed and happy while I’m having a panic attack.
Heat rushes to my face, and the embarrassment cuts so deep it makes my eyes sting with tears. I can’t just sit here like a naughty kid waiting for two men to decide what happens next.
So, I slip outside.
I stumble across the gravel drive, my heels catching on stones. The hotel’s elaborate gardens stretch out to my left—neat box hedges forming geometric patterns that look impressive in daylight but now just look like dark walls.
I follow the gravel path that winds between the hedges, leading toward the old walled garden they use for wedding photos. That’s probably where Jake and Patrick would go for privacy.
Maybe I can catch them before things get completely out of hand. Maybe I can make Jake understand that it isn’t what he thinks.
Voices float through the darkness. Familiar ones that make my stomach drop.
As I creep closer along the gravel path, their voices get clearer. I stay low, heels sinking into the grass. Through a gap in the hedge, I see them.
I tense, ready to witness carnage.
But they’re not fighting.
Jake’s hand is on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick’s head is down, shoulders hunched forward in a way I’ve never seen before. Jake’s mouth is moving, saying something quiet and serious.
They look like two guys having an adult conversation instead of trying to murder each other.
Although, oh my god, is that blood on Patrick’s collar? How could Jake?
But the worst seems over. They’re standing close, not squaring up.
Something in my chest loosens. Maybe Jake’s calming down. Maybe they’re working it out like rational men.
I move closer, my heels crunching on the gravel, but they’re too wrapped up in their conversation to notice.
“I really do care for her,” Patrick says, his voice rough. “I want you to know that.”
My heart does a little happy dance. He’s telling Jake he cares for me. This is it—he’s fighting for us, showing that what we have is real, not just a random office fling.
I’m about to step out from behind the hedge and let them know I’m here, ready to back him up. My mouth opens to call out—
“… when you end it, at least do it like a decent man,” Jake says. “Don’t destroy her in the process.”
End it?
Maybe he means ending the secrecy? The sneaking around? Maybe—
“I will,” Patrick says. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have started it.”
I freeze behind the hedge. One foot lifted mid-step. My whole body goes cold.
The gravel path blurs. The hedge. The distant lights from the hotel.
If he’d punched me, it would’ve hurt less.
I shouldn’t have started it.
The words echo. Bounce around my skull. I can’t tell if they’re still talking or if it’s just my brain on repeat.
I want to run toward them and scream Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, but my throat won’t work. My body’s gone stiff with shock.
I cover my mouth to stop any sound from slipping out because if they hear me now, if they know I’ve been listening...
The humiliation would be complete.
And that’s what this is, right? Pure, crushing humiliation.
Not just that I’m losing Patrick—though that feels like someone’s carved my heart out—but that he could so easily agree to discard me.
He said, “I shouldn’t have started it” and it was like every kiss, every laugh, every second of belonging was being rewritten as a lapse in judgment.
I’ve been walking around with my heart wide open, buzzing with happiness, while he’s been what? Already preparing to close the door?
My brain starts its familiar cruel whisper, all my worst fears crawling back: Of course it wasn’t real. Did you really think Patrick McLaren would choose you? You, with your anxiety and your inability to be casual about anything? Of course the CEO doesn’t end up with Button.
I think of Riri, how proud I thought she would be when I finally started taking risks.
Now here I am, pressed against a wall in the dark, listening to two men negotiate my fate like I’m not even part of it.
I’ve heard enough.
The knock on my cottage door comes an hour later.
I’ve scrubbed off the mascara streaks, thrown on some leggings and an old t-shirt, and braided my hair like I can just braid the girl in the green dress out of existence.
Through the peephole, Jake looks wrecked.
“Can I come in?” he asks when I open the door.
I stare at my brother, the guy who taught me to ride a bike, running alongside me. Who held my hair during the great food poisoning incident and didn’t complain once about the smell.
Right now, I want to shut the door. Tonight, even Jake doesn’t feel safe.
“No.” My voice wobbles. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We should have. That was wrong.” I take a shaky breath. “But you don’t get to decide who I’m with. You don’t get to decide for me, end of story.”
He opens his mouth—probably to explain why actually he does, because he’s my big brother and that’s his job—but I can’t let him.
“You talk about protecting me, but tonight wasn’t protection.
It was... control. And if you think I’m going to stand here and let another man tell me what I’m ready for, you’ve lost the plot completely.
You and Patrick can both get fucked with this ‘fragile Georgie’ narrative.
I’m not the broken girl who came home from uni.
And either you trust me to make my own choices—even the messy ones—or you don’t.
But if you don’t, Jake, then you’re going to lose me. ”
My voice cracks on the last bit, which undermines the badass speech I’m going for.
“I can’t be Button forever. I need you to see that I’m grown up now.”
We stand there, awkward as strangers at a bus stop. We’ve bickered before, but this feels bigger.
Jake runs his hands down his face, looking so tired it makes my chest hurt. “I just... Watching you fall apart nearly killed me. I can’t do it again. But I know I’m a controlling arse. It’s guilt too. Guilt that I’m gallivanting around the world when you need me. I’m sorry. I’m so bloody sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, because that’s what you say when someone you love is trying, even when you’re hurt.
But no matter what Jake says, the truth remains: Patrick can’t bring this Skye version of us into real life. Jake just forced him to see it. Jake made him see that he was a boss, a friend, a free spirit who won’t be tied down, and all of those are worth more to Patrick than me.
If it hadn’t been Jake tonight, it would’ve been someone else tomorrow.
“Are you staying with Patrick tonight?” I ask. “Are you two okay?”
“I’m at the hotel.” He shakes his head hard, like the very idea of sharing a cottage with Patrick leaves a bad taste. “We need space. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “But I need space from you too. So… no, you can’t come in. Not tonight. I’m sorry.”
Something crumples in his expression. He nods once, swallowing whatever argument he wants to make. “Okay.”
He shifts on his feet. “Can we at least… hug? I hate you being upset with me.”
I nod and lean into him. For a moment, I’m ten again, tucked under my brother’s chin, thinking a hug and a bad joke could make everything better.
“I love you,” he says into my hair. “Even when I’m a controlling arsehole.”
“I love you too,” I whisper into his shirt.
I’m glad he can’t see the tears silently sliding down onto his shoulder.
When did I let myself fall this hard? When did I stop protecting my heart?
I ignored every red flag practically tattooed across Patrick’s forehead and turned it into something bigger in my head.
Patrick never truly wanted me. Not really.
Sure, he wanted me to feel safe when Jake wasn’t around. He wanted to show me his Scotland—the helicopter rides, the boat trips, the bloody haggis.
But he didn’t want to be with me. Not in any way that mattered.
That’s where I went wrong.
When I asked him what was going on between us, he never gave me a straight answer because there wasn’t one to give. We weren’t anything. We were never going to be anything.
When Patrick said he wanted to tell Jake, I was so naive. So ridiculously hopeful. I thought it meant he wanted to make it official. To claim me. To say, “This is my girlfriend” and deal with the consequences.
But that’s not what it was at all, was it? He just didn’t like lying to his mate. That’s it.
He could have told Jake, “Georgie’s my girlfriend whether you like it or not.” That’s what I was prepared to say to Jake.
Patrick didn’t say that.
Because he wanted two things: sex with me and friendship with Jake, and now that he can’t have both, the choice is easy for him. He chooses Jake.
I’m the fool for reading more into it. That thinking “I care for her” meant the same as “I want to be with her.”
But caring isn’t choosing. Caring isn’t fighting. Caring is just... feeling bad while you walk away.
I made myself so available and grateful for his attention. Just like I did with Steve. Just like I always do. I hand men the knife and then look surprised when they cut me open.
When will I get it through my head that loving someone desperately doesn’t mean they’ll love me back?
Maybe never. Maybe heartbreak is just the language my heart was built to speak.
I’ve cried all night. My eyes are puffy, my throat raw, and my body feels like it’s been dragged behind a lorry. I’m meant to meet Jake for breakfast, but the thought of food makes me want to vomit.
I’ve already made up my mind. I’m quitting. Not just because of Patrick—though, honestly, seeing him every day would be like constantly ripping off a scab—but because of that intercom disaster that’s guaranteed I’ll be the office gossip for months.
Fee tried to cheer me up, saying people were too drunk to hear what happened, that they couldn’t be sure it was me. But some will figure it out. They always do. And I’ll be known as “that girl who got caught hooking up with the CEO” forever.
But I’m not quitting today, not until this project is finished, because no one is taking that away from me.
This system is mine, my proof that I can actually accomplish something.
It deserves to be on my CV, fully delivered, not half done.
The implementation is nearly complete in Skye.
I just need it to be successful in the first hotel.
I’ll cry in the toilets if I have to.
But I’m finishing what I started.
Steve stole two years of my confidence and the degree I was on track to finish. I blamed him, but deep down I know I let him do it. That was on me.
I’m not repeating that mistake here.
Patrick can have my battered heart—apparently, he’s already binned it anyway—but he is not taking my work and my professional reputation as well.
I grab my keys, open the door, and almost walk right into Patrick coming up the path.
Fuck.
My stupid, traitorous heart starts racing. I tell myself to stay calm.
“Morning.” It comes out all stuttery, which is somehow worse than saying nothing at all.
He’s here to tick off the “talk to Georgie” box on his to-do list.
“Morning.” He stops awkwardly, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Dark circles under his eyes. Good. Hope he didn’t sleep a wink.
“Jake asked me to stay away last night. Give you space. Thought I’d better respect that.”
I shrug because I can’t trust my voice. What am I supposed to say? Thanks for the space while you figured out how to dump me?
“Georgie…”
“I’m glad you and Jake patched things up.” I force myself to look at him properly, to give him this one last chance. “We should’ve been upfront with him from the start. We had nothing to be ashamed of.”
I pause, letting that sink in. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.
“We’re two consenting adults in a relationship.” I let that word hang there.
Relationship. Not fling. Not mistake. Relationship.
Come on, Patrick. Say something.
Say you want to fight for this. Say Jake doesn’t get to decide. Say anything that suggests last night was just panic and anger and now, in the morning light, you’ve realized what we have is worth saving.
For a painful, hopeful second, something flashes in his eyes like he’s about to speak.
I hold my breath, waiting.
He shakes his head. “Georgie, about what happened—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off because I can’t bear to hear him formally end things. “I know what you’re going to say. It’s over. Fine. I agree.”
He breathes out harshly, like he’s had to haul himself back from somewhere dark.
“Because you know what?” My fists clench at my sides because trembling isn’t a good look, and I’m determined to keep at least one thing under control. “I don’t think you’re good enough for me anyway.”
His jaw tightens, but he stays silent, letting me say it. Letting me have this tiny victory.
“I don’t want to be treated the way you treat me.
” My voice gets stronger as I go on, even though my heart is hammering.
“You say you’re direct, but you’re not direct with me.
You’re—” I force the words out. “Emotionally stunted. I don’t need that.
You might be older, but I’m more emotionally mature. So, you can kindly fuck off. Please.”
The please ruins it a bit, but manners are hard to shake.
His jaw clamps down like he’s trying to stop himself from talking. That muscle in his throat jumps, and for a second, I think he’ll fight back and tell me I’m wrong.
“You’re right. I’m not good enough for you. You deserve better.”
Those words should feel like a win, but they just confirm that I never mattered enough for him to fight for.
When he speaks again, it’s businesslike and curt. “Don’t see this as affecting anything to do with your job. And if you leave because of me, I’ll make sure you’re looked after. We can sort out a generous package.”
Even now, I’m just an HR issue to resolve. I wanted to matter to him as a person. Instead, I’m a line item he can settle with severance.
“I’ll think about it. But for now, I’ll finish my work from London. The majority’s done. So, if you could approve that with Craig, I’d be grateful. No need for me to be here. Since I’m just a junior developer taking all my direction from Craig, I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
He doesn’t jump in to tell me I’m more than a junior dev. He misses the jab. After everything we’ve shared, he still doesn’t see my professional value.
Maybe, ironically, that’s what hurts the most. Not the romantic rejection, but this professional dismissal. Like I’m nothing special in any capacity.
“Excuse me.” I step back, throat tight. I need to leave before I cry again, before he sees how small he’s made me feel.