He rubs his brow again. “Mr. Phillips, just one of these actions alone is serious enough to qualify for your dismissal from Fletcher-Wilson. This compilation of unprofessional behavior cannot go ignored. How do I know you haven’t done worse during the other tours you’ve managed?”
“I assure you, every tour I’ve managed since has been incredibly boring.”
“Boring,” he echoes. “Are you saying you acted like this for the purpose of entertainment?”
“And the name of love?” I say it with a flourish of my hand, but he isn’t at all amused.
He heaves a sigh. “I gave you this job because I respect your father.”
All former mirth drains from me at the mention of my father. My fingers clench around the arms of my chair. “What?” I say through my teeth.
“He requested I hire you.”
My blood boils hot, and everything inside me seeks to lash out. It’s all I can do to keep my voice level. “That isn’t possible. I didn’t tell him I applied.”
“He knew anyway,” Mr. Fletcher says with a worn shrug. “How else did you think that you—an aristocrat’s son with no work experience—earned the position of junior publicist?”
“My charming personality,” I say, but I can’t force more than a flat tone.
“I promised your father I’d give you a chance, but making a public spectacle of Fletcher-Wilson is the last straw.”
“You’re dismissing me?”
“Yes.”
I’m almost relieved. If I knew my father had any part in getting me this job, I would have quit long ago. Fucking bastard still seeks to control my life, even after I did everything I could to get myself disinherited.
Yet being disinherited means I have no backup plan and no finances should I become unemployed. Not unless I want to return to my father, beg on my knees for him to take me back, and become the perfect son he wants me to be. Keeping his secrets. Pretending he isn’t the person I hate most in this world.
“You no longer have a place at Fletcher-Wilson.”
“Salt in the wound, but thanks,” I mutter.
He glares at me. “But…I may know of a job that may better suit your…inclinations.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is my father involved?”
“I admit, if you weren’t your father’s son, I wouldn’t give a damn, but this recommendation is all mine.” He opens the broadsheets toward the back and pushes it toward me. Then he writes an address on a slip of paper and passes it across the desk. Tapping the top of an advice column titledAsk Gladys, he says, “Go to this address. Third floor. Ask for Charlie Michaels.”
I frown, first at the column, then at the address he’s given me. “What is this?”
“You’re the new Gladys.”
I study the column with fresh eyes. Then I return my attention to Mr. Fletcher. “It’s a romance advice column.”
“For starry-eyed lovers,” he says. “People write this so-called Gladys, seeking answers to relationship conundrums. Your answers are allowed to be somewhat sensational, but please keep things appropriate. I’m recommending you for this position in good faith.”
A twinge of rage pierces me, knowing said good faith is for my father’s sake. It’s almost enough to make me refuse.
And yet…
Me. A romance columnist. Surely, I can stir some mischief and mend some hearts. Not mine, of course, but maybe someone else’s.
“I’ll take it. Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Great. Now please get out.”
I leaveMr. Fletcher’s office with a skip in my step. Getting fired never felt so good, and I lost three jobs in quick succession before I landed the position here. What great fucking luck I have, and just when I thought I’d ruined everything. Maybe things are turning around for me after all.
