Which is deeply unfortunate, because I, Georgie Fitzgerald, have been sent to his remote Scottish hotel to overhaul their IT systems. That means weeks of working in close proximity to him and his lethal combination of jawline, arrogance, and disdain.

And I know exactly what he thinks of me, because the man doesn’t bother hiding it. I’m his best friend’s little sister—the pity hire who tanked her interview and only got the job because my big brother pulled strings. The tech gremlin occasionally allowed out of her cupboard to reset the router before being shoved back in again.

He climbs mountains for fun. I break into a sweat ordering coffee. He’s brooding intensity in a bespoke suit. I’m anxious energy and catastrophic overthinking in a cardigan. It doesn’t matter how hard I work to prove myself at his company. He doesn’t notice. He doesn’t notice much about me at all.

Which is fine. It’s not that I want his attention. It’s just… I can’t help being shy. I can’t help that I’m still rebuilding myself after someone else tore me down.

But maybe I’m tired of being anxious, apologetic, router-resetting Georgie who lives in the background, worrying about what everyone thinks. About what he thinks.

Maybe it’s time to reclaim my narrative. And maybe that includes claiming him.