Page 4 of Thrown

TWO

They’d lefthim standing in the hall, outside the meeting room, like he wasn’t good enough to sit at the same table as the nobs. It had reminded Toby of every time he’d been called to the headmaster’s office in school, every time he’d had to sit there, nose bleeding, gut aching, because some wanker had called him a fag and he’d fought back.

Did the fucking arseholes who’d tormented him with homophobic slurs and beat him black and blue ever get into trouble? No, of course not. They were the chosen ones, and he was just some short shit, living in council housing, his dad in prison, and his mum too meek to come collect him from school when he was suspended.

But he’d shown them. He’d shown them all by clawing his way out of his third-rate school, winning a scholarship to university, and landing a job with a prestigious London financial firm, despite his checkered past.

And now he was being asked to wait in the hall while his “betters” talked things out amongst themselves.

So yes, when he was finally called in, fetched like any number of the servants who had probably slaved away for these peoplefor generations, he walked into the room with a chip on his shoulder.

“This is Mr. Toby Tillman,” Mr. Hawthorne, senior, introduced him as Toby helped himself to a seat right at the head of the table. “He works for Johnson, Johnson, and Inez. He’s an efficiency expert and an assessor.”

“What kind of assessor?” the man sitting directly across the table from the seat Toby took asked.

Toby nearly choked on his own spit. The guy must have been in his early thirties. He wore a long-sleeve T-shirt with spots of something on it. His thick, brown hair was tousled, and even through the shirt, Toby could tell his arms were thick with muscle. But despite all that, he still managed to look posh.

And that was before the knobhead narrowed his eyes in disgust.

Toby instantly hated him.

“A business assessor,” he answered. And because he just couldn’t resist drawing a line in the sand and proving he wasn’t some urchin to be pushed around, he added, “I’m here to tell you all the things you’re doing wrong so you can keep this rotting relic afloat.”

The guy across the table stiffened, and his eyes went even narrower.

“I’ve asked Mr. Tillman to come spend a few days with us so that he can learn the business of Hawthorne House,” Mr. Hawthorne, Sr. said, “and give us suggestions for how we can maximize the income we’re already making from the school and the grounds, and so that he can give us further suggestions so we can maybe pull our heads out of our arses and get this train back on the tracks.”

“There’s nothing wrong with our train,” the guy across from Toby said, turning his confrontational look to Mr. Hawthorne.

Mr. Hawthorne, who Toby believed had no business looking like some kind of wild hippie at his age, and with whatever title he’d inherited, frowned at the guy. “Mr. Tillman,” he said, “I’d like you to meet my son, Robert Hawthorne, Jr.”

Toby nodded curtly at the man, deliberately not extending a hand to greet him.

“The others are my daughter, Rebecca, my son, Rhys, my son-in-law, Nate, and my youngest, Ronald who goes by Nally,” Mr. Hawthorne introduced the others. “Not pictured are my wife, Janice, and my other two sons, Rafe and Ryan, who are all off having adventures while the rest of us fight to save this place, and any number of cousins.”

Mr. Hawthorne looked at his adult children seriously, which earned him a few extra points in Toby’s eyes. He might have been just another eccentric, old aristo, but so far, the only thing he’d really done to piss Toby off was making him wait in the hall before joining the meeting. And for whatever reason, Toby had instantly transferred his annoyance at that insult straight to Robert Hawthorne, Jr. Senior was just trying to protect his patch, and Toby understood that.

“I’ve had an initial look into Hawthorne House’s finances,” Toby said as Mr. Hawthorne turned his attention to him. “For a business in the arts, you’re not actually doing that bad. You’re in the black, but just barely. At a glance, I would say you need to pay down your loans as fast as possible and find more ways to generate income. You’re relying too much on grants from various historical foundations. But before I make any number of suggestions, I want to pinpoint places where there is waste.”

Toby had prepared his little speech in advance, and he’d even practiced parts of it to make certain his working-class accent stayed as hidden as possible. He’d gotten better with speaking posh while around posh people, but the gnawing resentment that he had to change so much about himself just to make it inthe financial world made it harder for him to imitate the people he hoped to work with.

Which was why, despite the disapproving looks and occasional comments from the partners at Johnson, Johnson, and Inez, he refused to remove his lip ring. He’d be fucked if he gave up everything about who he was just to please someone who had never had to check the couch cushions for change so he could shuffle down to the market to buy a bag of crisps for supper.

“There isn’t any waste at Hawthorne House,” Rhys Hawthorne insisted with a troubled frown.

“No?” Toby answered. “How much electricity does this place use every month? When was the last time you had the house and outbuildings rewired? Have you considered adding solar panels to your property to help subsidize energy costs?”

When everyone around the table stared blankly at him, Toby knew he was about to find a dozen ways and more that the family could cut costs and maximize efficiency on their property.

He smiled inwardly, but kept his face a mask of professionalism. The job was as close to a guaranteed win as he could get.

And he needed a win.

Not a day went by at the office when someone didn’t question his fitness for the sort of work he was doing. They didn’t like his hair, they frowned at his aggressiveness, and they definitely didn’t like the lip ring. He had so much to prove, not only to Johnson, Johnson, and Inez, but to the people who had vouched for him and got him where he was. That included his teachers and the cunts who had beat him up more times than he could count, everyone who had laughed at him at university, and in an entirely different way, the professors who had championed him.

It especially meant his mentor from the internship he’d had before he graduated, Charles Duckworth. Toby never wouldhave gotten the job with Johnson, Johnson, and Inez if Charles hadn’t recommended him for it. A lot of things wouldn’t have happened if Charles hadn’t taken him under his wing and taught him more than any class ever had.

Toby wanted to ace the challenge of Hawthorne House that lay in front of him, despite his healthy resentment for the upper-class, so he could prove to Duckie that the time he’d spent on him hadn’t been wasted. He owed it to his mentor to shine.

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