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 foughtme 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.
