How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(19)

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Clary, don’t rush off.” Kit was on her heels as she made her way through the workroom. “Hear me out, would you?”

“Is there anything more to say?” Still vibrating with frustrated energy, she spun to face him and found half the clerks gaping their way.

“Yes, quite a lot, actually. I have a proposal to speak to you about.” He said proposal without a hint of irony, somehow failing to realize she’d just presented one that mattered to her and had been soundly rejected.

He gestured toward a long storage space at the edge of the workroom. Apparently, Mr. Adamson was the only one at Ruthven’s who merited an office.

Clary followed Kit into the tidy, well-lit space, and she was surprised to find a long table and chairs tucked inside. A perfect place for a group of young women to sort out a ladies’ magazine project.

“Will you sit?” he asked, gesturing toward a chair.

“I prefer to stand.” At least then she could move, pace. Her blood was fizzing in her veins, and sitting primly had never been her style.

“Very well.” Kit chafed his hands together. “You wish to seek employment?”

“You know I do.” She began to pace, wary of what he’d suggest next. “If you’re going to attempt to prevent me—”

“Why not work at Ruthven’s?”

Gabriel Adamson.

There were other reasons, surely, but he was the first thought that came to mind. “I would prefer to make my own way. Find a position on my own merits.”

“You have no experience.” He stepped in front of her to stop her pacing, as if keeping her still would forestall the retorts brewing in her mind. “A fine education, I’ll grant you that, but why not gain a bit of experience here? You said you wish to know more about how Ruthven’s is run. I saw you banging at the typewriter when we came in.” His amused grin was maddening.

“I was not banging. I was practicing. Learning to hit the keys in the right order takes time. Plus, I lack speed.”

“You could learn with more practice. And if you spent more time at Ruthven’s, you could practice all you like.”

“No.” She hated it when he made sense. Impulsive, she might be, but she found logical arguments hard to resist.

Clary sidestepped past him and resumed pacing, biting her nail as she considered her options. She’d visited two employment agencies, and neither had responded with much eagerness. They had mentioned her lack of experience too. But working for her own family’s business was a half measure. Stepping forward but with leading strings still attached. “How would it work? Since I’m now on the board, how could I be employed by the business?”

“I’ll speak to Whitaker about that,” Kit said, looking far too pleased with himself. Far too ready to claim victory. “But I thought, at least at first, we could consider your role a mentorship. I’m sure we can arrange a stipend. Enough to pay rent, if you’re still determined to secure your own lodgings.”

“I am.” A mentorship? Which meant she would have a mentor. She looked out toward Adamson’s office, and her heart kicked into a wild hammering in her chest. No. She shook her head. “I don’t wish to be mentored by Mr. Adamson.”

“Who else would know as much about Ruthven’s?” Once again, he had a point she could not refute. “Clary, I think your ladies’ magazine might have merit if you can secure initial financing with your charity ball. Bring the matter to the next board meeting in three months, and we all can reassess the costs and what Ruthven’s could donate.”

Clary slid her brother a rueful glance. As much as Kit raged against their father’s manipulative ways, he was not above adopting Papa’s habit of wielding leverage to get his way.

But both of them had learned negotiation from their father. Clary wasn’t willing to give in and get nothing in return. “I’d prefer to call a special board meeting to consider the magazine project again in one month’s time.” Why wait to begin helping the girls of Fisk Academy?

“You’ll devote yourself to this endeavor?” Kit assessed her. “You’ll put your focus and energies here, rather than at your charities and ladies’ unions?”

Goodness, he really did intend to cage her. “If I’m here for a full workday, that will curtail my time for volunteer work. I expected as much once I found a position.”

He clenched his jaw, his throat working as if he wished to say more. But he was wise enough to know she would not concede everything. “I’ll agree to a month. In the meantime, consult with Adamson to come up with a workable plan for financing your magazine venture beyond the charity ball.”

A grin twitched at the corners of her mouth, despite her best intentions. A few years earlier, her brother had been a playwright and a rogue with a dreadful reputation. Now he spoke of business with almost as much knowledge as Mr. Adamson. Perhaps he’d learned something from their surly manager.

The man himself had come out into the workroom. She could feel him, hear his heavy footsteps, smell his scent in the air.

Kit stepped toward Clary and stuck out his hand. She hesitated, still uncertain of his plan. Adamson lording over her for weeks? The prospect held no appeal, yet she knew there were far worse employers in London. The girls at Fisk weighed on her mind too. How eager they’d be when they heard about her plans for employing some of them. And Helen was already making preparations for the fund-raising ball.