And the first thing I need to do is try standing up for myself. Then maybe I can start living my life.
“Craig,” I say, trying to get a word in. “We—we both know I should be the one going. I mean, setting up monitors and video links so Roy can have a virtual babysitter is…” I swallow. “Unnecessary.”
He scoffs, gearing up to steamroll me, but I force myself to keep talking.
“It won’t run smoothly if I’m not on-site. And, uh”—I scramble, desperate to sound more authoritative than I feel—“the signal in Skye is… terrible. There’s a strong chance the live feed would freeze, and Roy would get half an explanation.”
My heart thuds. He won’t know how to check if I’m lying.
There’s a pause on the other end.
“I’ll look at the plan,” he mutters, and hangs up.
It’s not a yes, but I strongly suspect it’ll turn into a yes.
I’m about to spend weeks on a Scottish island.
And Patrick McLaren is there.
SIX
A terrible idea
Patrick
I meet Jake atour 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 havebillions, 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.
