“Out you come,” he murmurs, offering his warm hand, rough with calluses.
For one brain-melting second, all I can think is: I’m holding Patrick’s hand.
And then I’m not. He’s already grabbed my suitcase from the back.
“I can take that,” I say, reaching for it.
“It’s fine.”
His stride eats up the gravel path toward reception while I scurry after him, still dizzy from either the altitude or the lingering effects of hand-holding.
“Mary at reception will sort you out,” he says. “You’ll be sharing with someone—another woman. Everyone does here.”
“Even you?” slips out before I can shove it back down my throat.
One brow lifts. “No.”
Obviously not. Bet he’s got a private chalet with a personal chef.
“I doubt any of the groundskeepers or seasonal staff fancy sharing quarters with the boss,” he adds dryly.
Untrue.
I’d bet both ovaries all the female staff, and a nontrivial percentage of the male staff, have cinematic fantasies about “sharing quarters” with Patrick.
“Thanks for the info,” I say, awkwardly adjusting my bag. “I’ll go find Mary.”
Something tightens around his eyes. “Georgie… I must admit I was surprised that Craig sent you to oversee this project on your own. Skye’s important to me; we’re pushing for Forbes recognition here. If you find yourself out of your depth, I can have another team member here within hours. I’d rather you ask for help before anything goes sideways. You only need to say the word.”
Boom. Boom. Boom. Each word lands like a slap.
It’s the casual assumption baked into every word that I’m going to fail. That I won’t last a week without some middle-aged man hovering to “translate” the big scary technical bits for me.
I want to snarl,Do you know how many months I’ve eaten, slept, and breathed this project, you helicopter-flying, beautiful bastard?
I should’ve taken the bloody bus.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “If you need anything while you’re here… just let me know.”
I stare at the gravel because if I look at him, he might see how small he’s just made me feel.
“Jake asked you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”
The pause is short, but it’s enough.
“He just wants to make sure you’re settling in alright. You’re his baby sister, and I know I maintain professional distance as your boss, but I also remember you at sixteen. I understandyou’re not a child anymore, but this corporate environment can be brutal, especially for someone your age with limited industry experience. I’m going to make sure you’re looked after.”
Babysister.
There it is.
He doesn’t see me as an adult, a colleague, or an equal. I’m just Jake’s awkward kid sister. I don’t even think he means to be patronizing. It’s simply how he sees me.
I nod, trying to keep my face neutral. “I bet Liam doesn’t offer the same protective services for you.”
Liam McLaren—Patrick’s older brother—is a finance shark who makes Patrick look warm and fuzzy.
