Chapter 2 #2
Miles was making sense. And while her time at The Democrat-Gazette had been brief, she knew how newspaper employees loved and believed in their work—Sebastian in particular.
Besides, he was probably married with a family by now.
She had been a quick blip in his life, an unimportant one at that, despite his declaration of love.
There was no way he still harbored any feelings for her.
Still, doubts persisted. “I’ve never negotiated anything. ”
“You don’t have to negotiate. Just convince him to talk to me. Once that door is open, I’ll take over from there.” He stood. “Tifanni has your itinerary, your flight information, where you’ll be staying in Clementine.”
“But—”
“You’ll also have plenty of information about The Clementine Times . I’m sure once you’ve read my proposal, you’ll understand we’re doing the right thing by purchasing the newspaper. Then you can convince Hudson he’s making a mistake by not talking to us.”
Jade opened her mouth, then closed it. Miles wasn’t looming over her, not exactly.
But he was leaning forward and staring intently at her with piercing black eyes that weren’t as friendly or eager as his smile.
She didn’t like that he was making her feel obligated, or that he assumed she would say yes.
Then again, she couldn’t exactly afford to lose her job or be demoted because Sebastian was being obstinate.
“I just have to get him to talk to you?”
“An open line of communication, that’s it.” He straightened a little. “Once you’ve accomplished that, you’ll return to Harrington and receive a raise and a bonus.”
Both? That was unexpected. She stared at Sebastian’s name again.
She could use the bonus money, and the raise would be nice too.
It wasn’t like she could say no. Technically she could and he wouldn’t fire her, although she didn’t think he had that kind of clout.
.. yet. But she could kiss any career advancement goodbye if she refused to do what he asked.
“We have a deal then?”
When she glanced up, his smile was almost gone and his expression turned impatient. Clearly he was ready to mark this off his checklist and move on. “Okay,” she said, her fingers slightly trembling. She gripped them tight, just as her phone rang in her pocket again.
“Excellent.” He gestured for her to leave. “I’m sure you want to get that call.”
What she wanted was not to have to go to Arkansas. Instead, she nodded.
“Don’t forget to get your packet from Tifanni. I’ll be in touch.” He went to his desk and back to work.
As Jade left his office, her phone thankfully stopped ringing. She paused at Tifanni’s desk.
“Here you go,” the secretary said with a smile, handing her two glossy folders with the Harrington Media logo on them. “Have a good trip.”
“Uh, thanks.” She took the folders and left the office, still in a daze. When she got to the elevator, she almost changed her mind and turned around, then realized she was being silly. Or to be more accurate, cowardly.
She straightened her shoulders and pressed the elevator button. Her assignment was a simple one. She didn’t need any special negotiating skills, and she expected her trip to Clementine would be short and sweet. She would be professional, and so would Sebastian. No emotions involved.
If only her nerves would get the message.
* * *
A week after Flora’s retirement, Seb stared at the mess of papers spread across his desk.
He needed to work on his column, Seb’s View Part Deux, but he’d put off dealing with The Clementine Times ’s financials long enough.
Before she left, Flora had explained her bookkeeping method, and Seb had taken notes.
But it wasn’t easy looking at a balance sheet that had been in the red more often than the black over the years, and now that he was solely responsible for keeping track of the books, he dreaded opening the ledger.
The only thing he was thankful for was that Flora had resisted using a computer bookkeeping program.
He definitely didn’t want to have to use one of those things.
He shoved his bangs back from his forehead and reached for the ledger. What he really needed, besides a sudden influx of cash, was a haircut.
“Mr. H.?” Tyler poked his head inside the door.
Seb motioned for him to come in. He kept telling the kid to call him Seb, but Tyler refused. Even though Seb was editor in chief, he didn’t cotton to formality much, but they finally settled on Mr. H. “Thanks,” he said as the young man shut the door behind him.
Tyler’s fuzzy, dark brown eyebrows furrowed. “For what?”
“Saving me from this.” He swooped his hand over the dreaded book and set it on one of the several crooked piles on his cluttered desk.
“You’re, uh, welcome?”
“What brings you by?”
The kid frowned. “Wish I had some good news for you, Mr. H.”
Just what he needed—more problems. “Lay it on me.”
“We lost Daniel.”
Oh no. Seb sat back in his chair, stunned.
For eighteen years Daniel had been the carrier for The Times ’s most difficult route, a zigzag through a rural, mountainous region that was mostly one-way back roads.
Seb would know—Buford’s cabin was at the highest elevation on the route, and after he passed, he’d bequeathed the cabin to Seb, who tried to spend as much time as he could there.
Arkansas didn’t experience snowfall, but ice was a problem, and the route was brutal in winter.
Daniel rarely missed a day, even during the worst storms. “Was it his heart?” he asked, bracing himself.
“No. Florida.” Tyler parked on the chair, and his leg immediately started to bob up and down. The skinny eighteen-year-old go-getter could never keep still. “He and Becky finally decided to retire.”
“Oh. Oh. ” Seb smiled, relieved the septuagenarian hadn’t kicked the bucket like he presumed. “Good for him.”
“But bad for us.”
Seb sobered. “Yeah. Any of our current carriers interested in taking the route?”
Tyler’s leg stilled. “No, sir. One even said she’d rather, and I quote, ‘Drink a castor oil cocktail.’”
“How specific. And descriptive.” He frowned and leaned back in the chair, the creaky noise resounding in the office.
This room was larger than the cracker box closet he had at The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette , not that he’d needed a big office to do his job.
But other than his typewriter, chair, a few reference books, plus the mess of folders and papers on his desk, everything else was still Buford’s.
Seb didn’t want to get rid of any of it, and Buford’s nephew Bo was happy to keep his uncle’s things here, where they were appreciated.
Bouncing up from the chair, Tyler said, “Don’t worry, Mr. H. I’ll figure something out. Until then, I’ll take the route.”
“I can split it with you, if that helps.”
“It might, if I can’t find anyone. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Sounds good. Hey, great job on your Witfordville City Hall exposé. I hear rumblings that the mayor might resign because of your reporting.”
“He needs to.” He turned somber. “Hard to believe there’s so much corruption in such a small town.”
Seb merely nodded. There was corruption everywhere, especially when politics were concerned.
Witfordville, a town only slightly larger than Clementine and about an hour north, wasn’t immune from problems, and right now they were mostly instigated by its crooked mayor.
But there were plenty of good, solid local politicians interested in the job who hadn’t traded in their integrity.
Seb had a few friends in Witfordville, and after Tyler’s article hit the stands, it looked like things were going to change for the better.
“Thank goodness Mayor Pancake seems to be an all right guy.” Tyler broke out a toothy grin. “Catch you later, Mr. H.” Tyler dashed out the door.
Seb smiled, but it quickly dimmed. The day was coming when Tyler would put Clementine in his rearview mirror and move on to bigger and better things, just like Seb had when he was the same age.
But until then, Seb counted himself lucky to have him.
Maybe at some point Tyler would be interested in running The Times and following in Seb’s footsteps. If The Times is still in business.
He glanced at the bank statement folder and set it aside.
Facing reality could wait another day and he turned to the small desk that was perpendicular to his larger one, where his black Smith Corona manual typewriter made its home.
Due to his shoestring staff, he was having to depend on AP and UPI feeds to pad The Times — something he didn’t care for because, up until the past several years, the newspaper had always been locally focused.
At least he could keep his own column going.
He picked up a piece of crisp white paper and wound it into the typewriter.
A Macintosh computer with the dust cover still on it was on one of the shelves behind him, untouched since his arrival at The Clementine Times .
He flexed his fingers with unnecessary flair and started typing his column for tomorrow’s paper.
SEB’S VIEW PART DEUX
HOEDOWN LOWDOWN
With the Clementine Annual Memorial Day Hoedown at Wilson Farms coming up this weekend, I’ve been asked to disseminate the following information:
1. There will be horses, cows, pigs, and chickens at the farm, so plan your footwear accordingly.
I suggest old cowboy or rain boots for field and barn touring.
Trust the voice of experience: You don’t want to bring home anything fragrant on the bottom of your sandals or Air Jordans.
If you’re planning to congregate around the event tents, dance floor, and food areas within the white oak fence, you’re in the clear.
2. Junior Rankins is roasting plenty of oxtail, pork butt, and spareribs, with sides provided by local Clementine cooks. There will also be food stalls, including the perennial favorite funnel cakes. Bring a big appetite!