“You shaved.” I pat his smooth cheek in mock amazement. “Look at you, all civilized. Nice kilt. Very authentic Scottish warrior vibes.”
“Cheers.” He tugs one of my curls like I’m still twelve.
I look over at Patrick who is watching me. “Hi, Patrick.”
“Georgie. You look…” His jaw ticks. There’s a pause just long enough to torture me.
“Nice,” he finishes, and I die a little inside.
Niceis what you say about your nan’s new curtains, not someone you’ve seen naked and moaning.
“Thanks,” I manage. “You too. Very... Scottish.”
“This is my brother, Liam, his partner Gemma, and my friend Edward. Guys, this is Jake’s sister, Georgie.”
They greet me warmly and politely, the way you greet someone’s younger relative at a wedding. I imagine a parallel universe where Patrick introduces me as his girlfriend. They’d probably check him for signs of stroke.
“Are you here on holiday as well, Georgie?” Gemma smiles at me. She looks poised and classy in a beautiful mustard dress that complements her red hair.
“Oh no, only Jake. I work in the IT department for McLaren Hotels.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch Patrick’s fingers tightening around his whisky glass.
“Oh! Did you know Patrick beforehand through Jake?”
Before I can craft a response that doesn’t make me sound like I got hired through nepotism, Jake puts his arm around me. “Georgie’s an IT whizz. She was fixing my computer when she was twelve.”
I want to gently strangle him.
“Are you all on holiday?” I ask, desperate to shift focus.
“That’s right,” Liam answers. He looks exactly like Patrick but scarier. “Gemma forced me away from the office.” His hand slides possessively to her lower back, thumb stroking just above the silk of her dress.
“I had to force myself away too,” Gemma laughs, leaning into him. “But we needed a short break.”
The way they look at each other makes me feel like I’m accidentally watching something private. When I glance at Patrick, he’s not watching them. He’s watching me watch them, and it makes me even more nervous.
“Gemma’s just launched her own HR consultancy,” Patrick says.
“Oh wow,” I say, genuinely impressed. “That must be exciting, being your own boss. And probably terrifying?”
“It’s both,” Gemma agrees, smiling warmly at me. “But believe me, working in private equity was tougher.”
“She means not having to deal with me as her boss anymore,” Liam says, voice low and amused, pulling her closer.
“I still have to deal with you at home,” she teases. “Liam’s in the middle of acquiring Wickes and honestly, sometimes he’s like a bear about it.”
“Oh, Wickes!” I say, trying to sound knowledgeable, desperate to contribute something. “My friend just got her bathroom redone through them.”
“That’s Wickes, the DIY shop,” Patrick says gently, though I can see him fighting a smile. “Wickes Capital is a private equity firm.”
Heat floods my face. Of course it is. I’ve just confused a multi-billion-pound financial firm with the place where I panic-bought a shower curtain. This is it. This is Patrick realizing exactly how far out of my depth I am.
“Right, yes, private equity,” I mumble, wanting to dissolve. “Different Wickes. The money one, not the... grout one.”
“Easy mistake,” Edward says kindly, chuckling.
“Though if we could get a discount on bathroom renovations as part of the deal,” Gemma says with a grin, clearly trying to rescue me, “that would be useful.”
