Our Now and Forever (Ardent Springs #2) (12 page)

“But would she like me is the question.”

Maybe Lorelei still held some lingering insecurities where the Ardent Springs community was concerned.

Wadding up the plastic wrap that had covered the cookie tray, Snow said, “She’d
love
you.”

Lorelei smiled. “If she keeps that man of yours out of your way, I say we give her free cookies for a year.”

Chapter 12

In complete contrast to Piper Griffin’s overzealous welcome, Wally Dupuis greeted Caleb with the warmth of a New England flagpole in mid-January. At first, Caleb feared he might have unwittingly stepped in something based on Mr. Dupius’s facial expression upon first meeting. Yet after several minutes in the man’s presence without a shift in the puckered lip and pulled brow, Caleb concluded this must be his interviewer’s normal look.

And it hadn’t taken long to realize he was, indeed, in the midst of an interview. With tiny round glasses perched on the end of his bulbous nose, the newspaper’s managing editor, as was proclaimed across his office door, fired off the typical interview questions, until Caleb interrupted him.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Caleb said, leaning forward in his chair, “why exactly am I here?”

Bushy gray brows drew together. “You don’t know what job you’re applying for?”

The tone of the question set Caleb on edge. “I helped Miss Hattie around her house yesterday afternoon, and she asked me to report to this address at nine this morning. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”

Wally sat back, his expression relaxing into something less . . . offended. “I should have known,” he said, sliding the glasses up a long forehead to perch atop his nearly bald head. “Hattie didn’t tell you anything about why she sent you?”

Caleb shook his head. “Afraid not.”

“That woman should come with a warning.” The reading glasses hit the desktop. “We’re looking for a salesman, Mr. McGraw. Do you know anything about selling advertising?”

Though he’d worked the numbers, knew the sales structure and terminology, Caleb had never actually worked in the sales department of any of his father’s papers. He’d been groomed as future owner and leader, not the man on the ground shaking hands and making deals. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t do the job.

“I know about points, and how to calculate column inches. I’m sure you have a reference available with a breakdown of your basic pricing structure. Do you have a graphic artist on staff, or are customers required to submit their own artwork?”

“That’s more than most strangers off the street walk in knowing, Mr. McGraw. Seems odd that a minute ago you were clueless and now you’re talking pricing structure.”

With a smile, Caleb said, “I never claimed to be clueless about the business. I simply didn’t know if Miss Hattie sent me here to deliver papers, scrub the floors, or write up obituaries. She only asked if I knew anything about newspapers. When I said I did, that seemed to be enough for her to send me here.”

Wally rocked back in his chair. “Where did you learn about newspapers?”

If Dupuis didn’t make the connection between his last name and McGraw Media, Caleb didn’t see the need to enlighten him. For once, he would land a job on his own merit, and not due to the power behind his name.

“Did some internships in college,” he answered. “My experience is more on the financial side, but I had to understand the sales department to analyze the numbers.”

Caleb heard the words come out of his mouth, all of which were true, but he wondered why he was bothering. Since when did he want to work in sales? He’d set out to get a job in town to make Snow happy. To prove he could be focused and useful, and selling ads did sound better than slinging a hammer, but Caleb had made a concerted effort to avoid working in the newspaper industry. He’d turned down every job his father offered, determined to find his own path.

This little windowless office stood as one of the many indicators that the
Ardent Advocate
was in no way competing on a mass-media scale. Working construction would have been temporary. What was wrong with selling ads instead? A hint of guilt entered the equation at the idea of taking an offered job with the intent to resign in a matter of weeks.

Caleb could see the wheels turning in the man’s head as Wally tapped a pen on his blotter. But were they turning in his direction? “The position would pay a base salary plus commission to start.” That answered that. “You’d shadow Gerald for the first couple weeks before we send you out alone.”

The men Caleb had dealt with through his father wore suits that cost more than Mr. Dupuis likely made in a month. And he’d held his own with all of them. Handling a few local business owners should be no problem at all. Still, to appease his conscience, Caleb said, “How about a trial period? You see what I can do, and I decide if selling ads is something I want to do.”

Not that he doubted Dupuis would be more than happy with his performance at the end of the trial, but this left Caleb an opening to walk away knowing he was honest from the beginning. Mostly.

“Well,” Wally said, “you already have the owner’s approval, so now it’s a simple matter of paperwork.”

He’d met the owner? Caleb shuffled through his morning and cringed. Piper Griffin owned the paper? “I didn’t realize when I met her that she was the owner of the place.”

Exiting his chair, the editor motioned for Caleb to precede him into the hall. “Hattie’s family started this paper back in 1927. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

Hattie? The eccentric old lady with the cat paintings and wild clothes owned a newspaper?

“Not knowing why you were here explains the jeans,” Wally continued as they strolled down the hall toward the front office Piper had occupied. “You won’t need a suit and tie, but khakis and a polo shirt is sort of the uniform for the sales team. Though
team
is a bit of an exaggeration. Gerald and Piper handle all the selling, and with Gerald retiring at the end of the year, you can see why we’re in a pinch to fill the spot.”

Caleb filed the issue of working on a team with Piper to focus on the bigger problem. The paper needed a permanent replacement for this Gerald person. There was nothing permanent about Caleb and Ardent Springs. “About the trial period—”

“No worries,” Wally said, stepping into the office across from the building entrance. “We’ll give it a shot, and if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. Eleanor,” he said, turning to a woman behind the desk, drawing Caleb’s attention to the stranger in the room, “Mr. McGraw here needs to fill out an application and a new hire package. He’ll be working with Gerald for the next couple weeks to learn how things run around here.”

“Bless your heart,” the stranger said, flashing a sympathetic smile as she glanced over the cat-eye glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “You’re a daring soul.”

Not the “welcome to the company” he was expecting.

“Let’s not scare him off on the first day.” Wally slid his hands into his pockets, which emphasized his protruding middle. “Gerald Nichols has been with the
Ardent Advocate
since 1960. There isn’t a person in this town he doesn’t know. He either went to school with them, coached them in Little League, or attended their baptism as an honorary grandparent. Since selling is all about relationships, that makes him the best around.”

“He’s also the crankiest SOB this side of the Mississippi,” Eleanor said. “And that nicotine gum isn’t doing squat to soften his disposition.”

Rolling his eyes, Wally sighed. “Gerald’s a longtime smoker. His wife, Dolly, finally had enough and said it was her or the cigarettes, so he’s trying to quit. It’s been a transition for all of us.”

If Caleb wanted to spend his days with a hateful old man, he’d go to work for his father. “Are you sure—”

“Gerald is a great guy,” Wally said, cutting him off again. “Everybody loves him. You’ll be fine.” Moving faster than he had since Caleb met him, the editor shuffled out of the room. “Eleanor, you can take it from here.”

The blonde stuck a pencil in her hair bun as she rolled to a file cabinet behind her and withdrew a long manila folder. “You will be fine,” she said. “Really. Have you ever worked in sales before? You can’t be but twenty-five or so. You fresh out of college? Though if you are, I don’t know what you’re doing in this little town of ours. What brought you to Ardent Springs, sugar?”

Caleb didn’t know which question to answer first, so he took them in order. “No, I’ve never worked in sales, and I’ll be twenty-nine this month. Not fresh out of college.” He ignored the final question.

“Oh,” Eleanor said, her moment of supportive enthusiasm wavering. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned his way. “Not that I condone fibbing, but in this case, I highly suggest you not tell Gerald that. He’ll chew you up and spit you out if you do. Use that pretty face of yours to charm the customers and he won’t be any the wiser.”

This was not how Caleb imagined his day would go when he’d parked in front of 121 Second Avenue North. Pride alone kept him from walking out the door without looking back. He didn’t need some old codger making his life miserable, but he’d taken the job now. Quitting before he’d gone on his first sales call would be the cowardly thing to do. And Caleb was no coward.

As Eleanor showed him to an empty desk in the back corner of the office, which was really two offices combined, a deep voice echoed from somewhere down the hall.

“Who washed my goddamn coffee cup?”

Handing him a pen, Eleanor said, “And that’s another thing. Don’t ever wash Gerald’s coffee cup. He doesn’t like that.”

Great, Caleb thought. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

By noon Snow had scheduled a consultation with an art dealer out of Nashville, who sounded skeptical about the authenticity of her painting, but she’d agreed to travel to Ardent Springs to see this miracle find for herself. She’d also answered two inquiries about the handsome man who’d accompanied her to the auction the day before.

Social media had nothing on small-town gossip lines. Busybodies had been passing along rumors and conjecture far and wide long before the term
going viral
was even a concept. Snow usually observed the speed with which news spread in her adopted town with rapt fascination, until the news involved her personal life.

Now this small-town quirk didn’t seem so quaint.

Nitzi Merchant had been the first to ask, when she’d stopped in to put her new bits of lace for sale in her booth. The doilies were priced at more than they were worth, but Snow knew full well that Nitzi always started high before making drastic price cuts, which led the customers to feel as if they were getting a deal. The practice was as old as time, and Nitzi knew how to make it work in her favor.

To Snow’s surprise, the second inquiry had come from Priscilla Winkle. The first lady of Ardent Springs didn’t have much time for Snow after she’d befriended Lorelei Pratchett, against whom the Winkles had waged some kind of personal vendetta. Priscilla’s daughter, Becky, was best described as Lorelei’s arch-nemesis, but Snow had never liked the snarky blonde with the bouffant hair.

When Mrs. Winkle had approached Snow near a stack of vintage suitcases she’d been straightening and asked whom she’d been with at the auction, the woman’s tone implied that said man might be new meat for the local marriage market, and therefore her daughter’s next matrimonial victim.

“He’s my fiancé,” Snow had informed her. “We’ve been in a long-distance relationship for a while and have decided to take things to the next level.”

Though she’d been reluctant to use the engagement element, seeing Priscilla’s dull blue eyes go wide with surprise made Snow feel as if she’d won a contest. The conversation hadn’t proceeded far beyond that point, as Mrs. Winkle lost interest the moment she heard Caleb would not be courting her daughter.

It wasn’t until she’d finished her peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Snow experienced her third surprise encounter of the day, when Piper Griffin blew into the shop for their regular Monday meeting.

Piper was Snow’s sales rep from the
Ardent
Advocate
. The middle-aged brunette dressed too young for her age, wore enough perfume to gag a moose, and could sell space heaters in the Bahamas. She’d been harassing Snow to increase her ad budget for three months.

If the painting turned out to be authentic and worth as much as Snow hoped, Piper might get her way.

“Am I glad Halloween is over,” Piper said, sliding behind the counter and lifting a plateful of cookies from a lower shelf. They’d made a deal long ago that Snow would always put a select number of cookies aside for these visits, since Lorelei’s goodies rarely lasted past lunchtime. “Now we can get on with my favorite time of year.” Piper popped a piece of gingersnap between her deep-red lips and talked around the morsel. “The Christmas shopping season.”

Snow noticed that Piper did not state that
Christmas
was her favorite time of year. So much for the reason for the season.

“We’re still weeks away from Thanksgiving,” Snow reminded her rep. She wouldn’t exactly call them friends, since Piper was only interested in the commission she could make off Snow’s advertising, but they did speak at social functions, on the rare occasion they crossed paths. So she was at least a friendly acquaintance.

“Pish posh.” Piper shooed the facts away. “I’ve bought four presents already, and if you don’t want people taking their business online, you need to remind them why they should shop local.”