Our Now and Forever(40)

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.”