Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
The kid with the crooked poster
Patrick
“Sorry to disrupt, sir.” Margaret, my PA, hovers in the doorway looking like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.
Can’t get a moment to breathe. Georgie’s been gone twenty minutes, and my chest still feels like someone’s got their fist wedged in it. Watching security walk her out? Hardest bloody thing I’ve dealt with in years.
“It’s fine,” I bite out.
She flinches like she’s approaching a wild animal, and I can’t blame her. I’ve been like a bear all week, even before this shitshow with the hotels exploded. Snapping at everyone, temper running too close to the surface. Skye started it, London’s made it worse.
I’m still reeling from Georgie walking out. I didn’t want her to quit. I wanted her to own her mistake, take the suspension—with full pay, for fuck’s sake—and let us sort this mess.
A part of me wonders if there’s something worse than losing a spot on the Forbes list. Worse than Jake walking away from a decade of friendship.
I’m not examining that right now.
“Sir. There’s a commotion in IT,” Margaret says carefully.
“I’m aware. The whole company’s in commotion.” The fix went live this morning, the systems are steady again, but the damage is done. Social media hasn’t shut up about it, and the PR team is still fire-fighting.
“Five of them are outside.” She tucks her clipboard against her chest, as if it’s protection from me. “I tried to send them away, but they won’t budge. They’re demanding to speak with you.”
I frown. “Send Craig and his lot in, then.”
She shifts, looking even more uncomfortable. “Craig’s not with them.”
If he’s not here, then what the hell is this?
“Do you want me to call security?” she asks.
“For IT?” I raise a brow. “What are they going to do, bludgeon me with a mouse?”
“They seem... upset.”
I let out a slow breath. “Let them in.”
What the fuck now?
Five of them file in like they’re marching to war. Roy leads the pack, looking like he might vomit on my floor. His hands tremble as he clears his throat. “We’re here to voice our grievance at what’s happening to Georgie.”
Is this guy fucking serious?
“As much as you might not like the decision, she broke protocol,” I snap. “There are consequences. If you’ve got complaints, use the proper process. Bursting into my office isn’t it.”
He blinks, throat bobbing. “If you’re not willing to hear us out, sir… then we’re going on strike.”
Strike? These guys have lost their fucking minds. “You can’t strike. You’re not unionized.”
“Fine.” He glances sideways at the others, who nod tight. “Then we walk.”
I stare at him. The balls on this guy. Standing in my office, thinking he can issue ultimatums. “That’s quite a threat.”
“It’s not a threat. It’s fact. Sir.”
My first instinct is to tell them exactly where they can shove their ultimatum. I don’t run a billion-pound company by letting junior staff dictate terms. The door’s right there if they don’t like how things work.
One of them—Christ, the kid looks about twelve—pulls out a handmade poster. Justice for Georgie is scrawled in marker like this is some sort of protest.
These people are angry enough to risk their jobs. Angry enough to risk my wrath. That doesn’t happen without something real underneath it.
“Alright then,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “You’ve got the floor. Say your piece.”
A quiet voice pipes up from the back. “I heard Craig order her to push it through. It was late, everyone else had gone home. Craig’s so loud you can hear him a mile off, even on the phone.
He told her QA had signed off and to go ahead.
He just assumed—like we all do—that Georgie’s code would be perfect.
It usually is. But that’s not how it works.
We’re a team. We can’t rely on Georgie overachieving all the time. ”
I frown. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
He flinches like I’ve shouted, even though I haven’t. “I... I don’t lie, sir.”
Roy steps forward, steadier this time. “You can look at the last year’s worth of projects.
Georgie led nearly all of them. She built most of IRIS herself.
Every feature was her idea.” Roy pauses.
His whole body is tense. “Craig took the credit, but it was her work. She never said a word. And he bulldozed her every chance he got.”
“You’re saying Craig lied about this?” My voice drops. “That’s a serious accusation.”
“What he did to Georgie is worse,” Roy shoots back. “And if you let this stand, this isn’t the kind of company we want to work for.”
I stare at them, something cold settling in my gut. Craig stood right here, in this office, hand on his heart, and swore blind that Georgie went rogue. Showed me the deployment logs. Made it sound like she was a loose cannon who couldn’t follow protocol.
Now these guys are painting a different picture, and it’s getting harder to ignore. Georgie’s voice threads through it too—her saying I only ever back the loudest bloke in the room, that I’ve built a culture where someone like Craig comes up on top.
Five people are willing to put their necks on the line. They wouldn’t gamble that much over nothing. There’s something seriously wrong here.
Another developer steps up, laptop tucked to his ribs. He adjusts his glasses three times in five seconds. “We can give you proof of Georgie’s work this year. It’s all logged. Obviously.”
The lady with them lifts her chin. “Even the name of the system tells you who built it.”
“What do you mean?”
“IRIS,” she says. “Georgie named it after her great-aunt.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Now I’m questioning whether they’re taking the piss and wasting my time. “What the hell are you talking about? Her aunt’s name is Riri and the system stands for Integrated Resort Intelligence System.”
“Yeah, we made the acronym fit after,” she says. “Georgie did that. Her aunt’s real name was Iris. Riri was a nickname.”
I stare at them, something fundamental shifting in my chest. I didn’t realize that was her legal name.
Georgie named the system after her aunt?
Her dead aunt who she loved more than anything.
Is this true?
My stomach churns hard enough that I have to grip the edge of my desk.
Christ. What have I done?
Five developers are willing to torch their careers. Not just because Georgie’s their friend—though she clearly is—but because of what’s happening to her.
Did I get this completely backward?
She was right about Craig, that time in the stairwell. I did let him off too easily. Pulled him aside for a “quiet word” like we were on a building site, like a bit of casual sexism was just boys being boys. Old habits from when I was twenty and that’s how things got sorted.
But I’m not laying bricks anymore. I’m running a company with hundreds of employees, half of them women, and I’m still acting like it’s a construction site where everyone just needs thicker skin.
The kid with the poster is still holding it up. His arms must be getting tired. Poor bastard’s committed.
“Show me everything you’ve got,” I say.
Georgie
“Ready for lunch?” Jake asks, poking his head into the living room.
“Ten minutes,” I mumble, hunched over my laptop.
“Okay, I’m grabbing a quick shower then,” he calls, already thundering upstairs.
I finish the SpareRoom ad for Riri’s house:
Two flat mates wanted, ideally twenties, must tolerate occasional crying, heavy wine consumption, and aggressive 3 a.m. coding noises when I stress-debug.
For fuck’s sake, Georgie. Get it together. Nobody wants to live with that.
I delete and replace it with:
Professional females preferred. Two rooms available in lovely Victorian terrace with quiet, professional, twenty-five-year-old.
There. Boring. Normal. Doesn’t scream “emotionally fragile tech girl.”
I’ve decided on females because Jake has been leaving his disgusting man-socks around the house, and they smell like something died.
I hit post before I can overthink it. I’m done being lonely.
At uni, I’d made a small, precious circle of friends. We weren’t the popular ones who went to every party. We were the library café regulars, the ones who saved each other seats during lectures and shared notes when someone overslept.
Steve slowly poisoned those connections. Every time I wanted to see them, he’d develop a crisis. A terrible day that needed immediate soothing. A headache that required my immediate attention. Little guilt trips disguised as need.
“You’re going out again?” he’d say. “I thought we were going to have a quiet night in.”
Every time, I’d cave because I wanted to be the good girlfriend.
I should have been stronger, but I was twenty and thought love meant sacrifice. I didn’t realize I was the only one sacrificing anything. I just got smaller until I barely existed outside of his needs.
I want those friendship connections again. I want to be the friend who shows up with soup when you’re sick. Someone who chooses friendship and doesn’t let anyone make her feel guilty for it.
I’m never going to be the social butterfly; the one who knows everyone and works the room, but I’d like to think I have something quieter to offer.
I’m the one who’ll hold your bag while you dance.
Make sure you get home safe. I’ll listen to you talk about the same guy for three hours without judgment, just occasionally refilling your wine.
Jobs are next on the list, but I’ve promised myself a small breather first. Jake’s Norway expedition is coming up in a few weeks.
Before that, I’m going to use the time for me.
Reading in parks. Making elaborate sandwiches.
Sitting with Jake while he’s here, even if he does leave socks everywhere.
Maybe visiting Mum in Spain, though she’ll cry about my “situation.”