Work Trip

Before I started writing, I did attempt to plot the route Fliss and James would take, but over the course of drafting and edits my author license has taken control. While some of the names of towns and places are real, the general route they end up on has been manufactured for extra swooning and fun-filled plotivities. So, although I want you to adore this version of Scotland, please do not try to figure out the route as it does not

Professionally, of course.

“Is it direct to Michael?” Gemma asks, a flit of concern in her expression.

I peek across the modern office and notice our CEO, who is the key decision-maker around here, talking

As a self-proclaimed country girl who would pick being deserted in the Scottish Highlands over the London Underground during rush hour, let me tell you, this was a fun one to write as my characters are quite literally of the opposite opinion. It was interesting to see this world through their eyes and wonder at how magnificent, but also terrifying, it actually is to be so remote with limited supplies and zero connection to the wider world.

Before I started writing, I did attempt to plot the route Fliss and James would take, but over the course of drafting and edits my author license has taken control. While some of the names of towns and places are real, the general route they end up on has been manufactured for extra swooning and fun-filled plotivities. So, although I want you to adore this version of Scotland, please do not try to figure out the route as it does not exist (and you might drown lol).

Happy reading!

Chloe x

How do you say, ‘You’re a total dipshit, I hope you and your idea fall into a pit of misery and despair,’ without it sounding unprofessional?” I ask my assistant, Gemma, who looks up from her desk, her hazel eyes blinking

Before I drift off, I set my alarm for 3 a.m. An overwhelmed cry falls from my lips.

I love my job.

“I love my job. I love my job. I love my job,” I preach quietly into my pillow.

It’s not long before I sense my cheeks are damp.

The line between professional behaviour and physical violence is sometimes scarily thin.

He’s done it again.
I can hardly believe it. No, scrap that. I can absolutely believe it. He does it all the time, actually. The words in his email roll through me, soaking into my blood system until my limbs are rattling. I breathe in for three then slowly exhale away the stress for ten. Amongst the background noise of work chatter, gossiping and coffee machines hissing, I find peace in this modern glass building. I will not let him destroy that peace.
“How do you say, ‘You’re a total dipshit, I hope you and your idea fall into a pit of misery and despair,’ without it sounding unprofessional?” I ask my assistant, Gemma, who looks up from her desk, her hazel eyes blinking over her screen.
“I think it’s ‘I appreciate your interest in this matter. However, the situation is in hand’?” Then in a lower voice, she whispers, “What’s he done now?”
I massage my eyebrows as I stare furiously at my laptop. Gemma is used to these altercations now. She’s a seasoned employee here. “He’s trying to say he can make more money using our cosy lounge area for our VIP customers by putting another hospitality marquee there instead.”
I delete my last comment: Are you actually kidding? Or are you maybe a bit stupid?, and try for something less sassy whilst also retaining that tone of – you’re a sneaky weasel and I’m going to get you back. Professionally, of course.
“Is it direct to Michael?” Gemma asks, a flit of concern in her expression.
I peek across the modern office and notice our CEO, who is the key decision-maker around here, talking to someone in the main kitchen.
Well, at least he isn’t reading his emails yet.
I nod at Gemma, angry-typing as I respond. I write, Thank you so much for your idea. I can see

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