“Because you wanted it. You talked about waste at dinner. How it bothers you. And because, believe it or not, I like solving problems.” She pauses, then adds quietly, “And because I like my job. Even when it’s… difficult.”
The last word has weight. We both know what makes it difficult.
“This is brilliant work, Georgie.”
It is. But the truth sitting in my chest is uglier. She built it for me. Which makes me an even bigger asshole.
“Do you need a better setup?” I gesture at the cramped space. “This office is tiny.”
“It’s not ideal for development work, no,” she says with that same pleasant professionalism. “We typically use dual monitors for debugging. However, we’re accustomed to working with suboptimal resources during site implementations. It’s perfectly manageable, thank you.”
“There’s room in my office.”
What the fuck am I doing? I’ve spent days creating distance between us, and now I’m offering her my office?
Something flashes behind her eyes before she pulls the corporate mask back on. “That’s very generous. But I’m fine here.”
“This is a broom cupboard.”
“It has walls, a door, and Wi-Fi, so it serves the purpose. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your workspace or create any... complications. You’ve made it quite clear that maintaining professional boundaries is paramount, and I hardly expect the CEO to share his office with a junior employee.”
The words are wrapped in perfect HR-approved language, but the subtext hits.
This isn’t the Georgie who stammered through presentations. This is someone who’s figured out how to weaponize politeness.
“Right,” I say slowly, studying her face. Where the hell has she been hiding this backbone?
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Professional boundaries.
I push back from the desk. The chair scrapes in the cramped space.
“The offer stands.” I pause at the door. “And you shouldn’t be working these hours. It’s past five.”
“I’m not planning to tonight.” She turns back to her screen. “I have plans.”
I stay in the doorway. “Yeah? What plans?”
“Distillery tour.” She finally glances up.
“Need a lift? Taxis are unreliable that side of the island.”
“Thank you, but I’m all set.”
“I’ll call ahead to the distillery. Make sure they know you’re coming. Everything’s on the house since it’s part of the hotel group.”
“That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
“Right then.” I step into the corridor. “Have a good evening.”
“You too.” She’s already turning back to her screen.
I turn to leave, and behind me the door clicks shut. Not slammed. Not angry. Just... final.
The sound follows me down the corridor like an accusation.
I call the distillery about a shipment issue, but I’m not fooling myself. It could’ve waited. What I want is to know if Georgie’s been in yet. After everything on the boat, the least I can do is make sure she enjoys Skye.
“Did Georgie Fitzgerald come in yet?” I ask Fiona. “Make sure it’s on the house. Food included. And get her a taxi back when she’s done.”
