How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(63)
He hoped one day to be able to earn her forgiveness. He dreamed of one day deserving her love. But there’d been no question of his remaining at Ruthven’s. He’d broken the trust of her family. Taken advantage of the forced nearness of her mentorship.
Gabe realized the old man was staring at him, glaring as he waited for him to speak again. “Mr. Wellbeck, I would be very much obliged if you would allow me to accept the position now.”
After a long sniff and a purse of his thin, dry lips, the man’s face stretched in a grin. “No,” he pronounced with decided satisfaction in his bulging eyes.
“No? But you did say the position is unfilled.” Gabe leaned forward in his chair. “I assure you, Mr. Wellbeck, I am the man to fill it. I have nearly a decade of experience earned at Ruthven’s, where I managed every aspect of the enterprise.” Sitting up, Gabe squared his shoulders. On the question of his aptitude for this role, he had no doubts. With Ruthven, he may have wheedled and connived to get a chance at employment, but in this case, he had every qualification the publisher could require. And then some.
“The answer remains the same, young man. A most emphatic no. I gave you a chance. Several of them, if my aged brain does not fail me. You snubbed your nose at us every time.” The man flicked his fingers at Gabe, as if he wished he could snap like a magician and make him disappear. “Now you make the absurd decision to leave your post before you’ve secured another and expect us to fill the gap. It won’t do, Mr. Adamson.”
Wounded pride. Gabe knew that bitterness all too well. But if Wellbeck expected him to grovel or beg, he would wait a long while. Gabe’s begging days were over. As were his days of demeaning himself to win favor with men who wished to lord their power over him.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Wellbeck.” With a glance around at the chaos in the man’s office, he added, “Wellbeck’s would have benefited from my skills in management and organization.” Standing, he lifted his chin and cast the man a smug grin. “Now another publishing house will enjoy the advantage of my experience.” He executed a curt half bow. “Good day to you, sir.”
As he started for the door, he heard the old man grumbling to himself.
“Wait, Adamson. Stop right there, young man.”
Gabe stopped on the threshold to indulge Wellbeck. Mostly because once he’d stormed from the man’s offices, he had no real notion of where to go next.
“You would do well to curb your arrogance, boy,” Wellbeck said, with equal arrogance. “Rumor is you’re rather fierce in your management methods, but every man must bow to his betters. You’re far too young to have earned your brand of smugness.”
Give the man coal-black eyes, some grime in his wrinkles, and a lit cheroot in his mouth, and he’d look a bit like Rigg. He certainly sounded like the old puppet master. Rigg loved nothing better than to lecture others on how best to bend themselves to his will. To hell with both of them.
“Did you hear me, boy?”
He was six and twenty and had long ago tired of being called boy. “I heard you, Wellbeck. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a job.”
Walking out of Wellbeck’s felt as if a binding had been loosed. A relief not to be under that bitter man’s control but also a terrifying freedom. He had no job. No prospects. And the woman he longed for was probably a few buildings away, hearing of his abrupt departure from Ruthven’s. His feet started the familiar path toward the office, and he forced himself to turn back.
He’d promised Sara he would meet her and Thomas Tidwell for lunch after his meeting, and if he wished to be the kind of man who deserved Clary, he needed to begin by keeping his promises.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“How bleedin’ dare ye?”
“If you don’t lower your voice, we’ll be kicked out of my favorite coffee shop.” Gabe lifted a hand but didn’t dare touch his sister. She was bristling like an angry badger. “Sara, I can explain.”
“I’m going to start charging you thruppence every time you say those words to me.” She slashed a hand toward him across the table. “Or any man, for that matter.”
“What can I do to calm you down?”
She took an angry sip of coffee, belting the hot liquid back and slamming the mug down onto the table. “Start by telling me why you crept behind me back to make some arrangement with Thomas.” Before he could answer, she added, “Didn’t you think he’d wish to marry me without you bribing him to do the deed?”
“I never bribed him. And I didn’t creep behind your back.” Gabe gripped the back of his neck before taking another swig of black coffee. “As your only living male relative, it’s not unusual that I would wish to arrange a dowry on your behalf.”
Sara snorted and glared at him. “You speak like we were born in Belgravia. I wager there’s never been a King girl wot had a dowry paid for her.”
King was their father’s name. Adam King. He’d been killed in the prize-fighting ring, according to their mother, but Gabe didn’t possess a single memory of the man. As their mother told the tale, he died the year of Sara’s birth, when Gabe had just turned two.
“Well, I’m content to start a new tradition. And you mustn’t direct your ire at Tidwell for expecting me to assist with getting you two off to a good start. He has high hopes, your man. Plans to be a solicitor one day.”