Chapter Four
I spent the next morning and even part of the afternoon trying to decide what to wear to an interview where I didn't know what position I was trying to land. What did people do at a catering company? I tried to remember the receptions I'd attended for my high school friends who'd gotten married several years back. There had been servers and, I was assuming, cooks (which I couldn't possibly convince anyone with taste buds that I could do, no matter how persuasively Sam spoke), and people running around doing all sorts of things. What does a person wear to a company like this?
In the end it was easy to choose, thanks to Mr. P. He came in after lunch, looking bored and in need of someone to bother. He rested his head on the bed where I had laid out my clothes and stared at me dolefully. "I'm not taking you for a walk this afternoon," I said sternly, trying to push his head off a skirt. "I have a job interview. So go away and let me get dressed in peace."
Mr. P ignored me (again) and started slobbering on said skirt. I yelped and pulled it from under his mouth, but he just wiggled his head over to start slobbering on a pair of slacks insead. "Mr. P, you're going to ruin everything!" I cried, starting to fling clothes out of his range of fire. He eyed the pile of clothes I created, turned around several times and flopped down, his head nestled on a sweater.
The only thing left that wasn't underneath him (or drenched in doggie saliva) was the dress Mom had bought for me the year before. I hadn't had much use for it at the time; it was black and white, and its straight skirt fell just above my knees. I felt like I could pass as a checkered flag at a race. Still, thanks to the mad dog (who by now was fast asleep on my floor) it was the only thing I had left that wasn't blue jeans or shorts, so it would have to do.
As I pulled out of the driveway I noticed with dismay that the flowers I'd collapsed on the day before had not revived themselves as I'd hoped, and I promised myself that I would visit the nursery the next day. I hoped Bea had kept a description (and name) of all the flowers in the front yard. If it had anything to do with Mr. Poppikins, I'd be in luck.
This time I navigated Monument Circle successfully and was in the parking lot by three thirty. I turned off the ignition and sat in George's car for a minute, wondering what to do next. I rubbed my forehead and forced myself out of the car before I could change my mind and drive back home.
It was cool inside the building and I looked around, trying to decide what kind of person Mr. Selman was. The lobby was all dark wood paneling and thick carpets, and there was a large desk in the middle of the room. The woman sitting behind the computer didn't look up when the door closed behind me.
I waited there for a second, wondering if I was supposed to sign in or wait until someone noticed that I was there. Elizabeth wouldn't have stood here like an idiot, I reminded myself. Come on, you're a twenty-first century woman, not a spineless jellyfish. Elizabeth yourself and rise to the occasion!
I cleared my throat and walked to the computer woman like I was supposed to be there. Her gaze remained on the screen in front of her, so I fake-coughed. "Excuse me," I said in my best you'd-better-pay-attention-to-me-because-I-know-people-in-high-places voice. "Mr. Selman asked me to meet him here this afternoon."
The woman carefully lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose. "And just which Mr. Selman would that be?"
I opened my mouth to reply that it was Sam, of course, but then realized that I knew very little about his family other than that his father owned a catering business. Did Sam even work here? Had he said? What if this was all some horrid set-up? "Look," I said a little desperately, knowing that any resemblance between me and Elizabeth Bennet had just disappeared, "I met Sam on the trail Monday and he told me to come in and he'd help me get an interview. I don't know if he told anyone else that I'd be here but my name's Katie Embury and please, let me in."
The woman stared at me for a long moment, apparently discomfited by my rather incomprehensible speech. She'd just moved to push her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose when a deep male voice came from the shadows behind her.
"Let her in, Agnes."
I looked around in confusion. Was someone sitting in a corner somewhere? I couldn't even see any speakers. Agnes just looked heavenward and pressed a button on her desk. A panel slid silently open on one side, and I walked, with some trepidation, through before it closed silently behind me. What was this place, some sort of wood-paneled Star Trek convention?
A harassed-looking woman was waiting for me on the other side, and she smiled at me distractedly. "So you're the famous Katie," she said, glancing at my dress. The smile grew more genuine. "I must say I was expecting something a little different."
Not this again. "I'm not the person you think I am," I told her somewhat stiffly. "I'm from Vincennes. My dad's a high school chemistry teacher."
Her right eyebrow rose, and I groaned internally. Was I to be forever cursed to be surrounded by people with enhanced eyebrows? It simply wasn't fair. "No way," she said, starting to laugh. "I was sure Sam was kidding when he said he'd met Katie Embury on the Monon Trail, and he was. He just didn't tell me the entire story." She paused to look at her watch, then strode off down the hall, leaving me to trail along in her wake. "I'm Hannah, by the way. Sam's my brother."
How many Selman siblings were there? Was everyone in this company related somehow? "Pleased to meet you. Sam was very nice to me the other day."
Hannah slowed down and came to a halt in front of a desk that was empty save for a computer and a very complicated-looking printer. "This is your stop," she told me, looking at her watch again. "You'd better get in there or you'll be late." She turned the doorknob for me and pushed me in. "Good luck!" she whispered before pulling the door closed.
I was trying to figure out how I could be late when I hadn't even had an interview scheduled when I stepped into the room. It appeared empty, so I looked around curiously. An entertainment news show was playing quietly on a television mounted on the wall over the door, and for a second I was distracted when a baseball score scrolled across the bottom of the screen. The Yankees had lost. Again. All was right with the world.
The sound of water running jarred me back to reality, and I straightened my skirt nervously just as a man entered from a door hidden among another wood-covered wall. He sat at the desk and leaned back, looking at me without saying a word. I decided two could play at that game and stared back, figuring that this must be the mysterious Mr. Selman.
I could see where Sam got his Darcy-ish appearance, and I sighed inwardly, wondering where Sam was. Somehow, on the Selman male currently in front of me, the good looks and curly hair looked shrewd instead of earnest.
Evidently finished with his inspection Mr. Selman got slowly to his feet and addressed me over the top of his computer screen. "So you're Katie Embury," he mused, crossing his arms. "Sam told me quite a bit about you. He made me promise to see you if you came here today."
"He did?" I flushed when I heard my voice squeak.
"Sam says a lot of things that I usually tune out, but there was something about your name that piqued my interest. I just can't think what it is." He frowned before walking toward me. "I assume you have a resume prepared?"
I'd been clutching it since I first walked in the building, and I gave it to him, wishing it weren't quite so wrinkled and sweaty. He glanced at it briefly before tossing it on the desk. "Have you ever been a personal assistant before?"
His question took me by surprise. "No," I admitted, "but I thought – "
"That's in your favor. Can you type?"
I thought of all those essays I'd had to compose in college and all the letters I'd dictated for Uncle Bob and grinned. "I don't know how many words a minute, but I'm better than some."
He jerked his head in what I guessed was a nod, and continued to look me over. It was a very uncomfortable thing to have a man who could presumably be my grandfather (I'd have to google him when I got back home and see how old he'd been when he had Sam and Hannah) stare at me like I was some sort of prize-winning sheep. I wondered idly if I should show him my teeth. Thank goodness I'd suffered through all those years of braces.
Mr. Selman's eyes flitted up to the screen above my head and I could have sworn I saw his eyes widen. What was going on up there?
When he looked back down at me again his expression was calculating. "When could you start, Miss Embury?" he asked in a very self-satisfied voice.
Well, Monday was Labor Day, so, "Tuesday?"
"Tuesday it is. I'll expect you by nine. Hannah will show you around while I prepare the terms of your offer." And with that he turned back toward his desk.
I wasn't sure how I made it out of the room, but there I was, standing in front of Hannah with what I'm sure was a glazed look on my face. "How did it go?" she asked.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times before any sound came out. "I got the job," I managed finally. "I just don't know what job that is."
She grinned at me and led me, much slower this time, back down the hall. "I believe you're going to be my father's personal assistant," she informed me. "It doesn't take a whole lot of brains, but he can be a little demanding at times."
"Demanding? Should I be worried?"
She made a face. "Well, he's been through four personal assistants this year so far. But I'm sure you'll love it," she added hastily. "So, where shall we start the tour? I know you want to see where Sam's working at the moment, so maybe we should begin there."
I didn't really pay attention to where we were going. "That was the strangest job interview I've ever gone on," I muttered as we walked down the hall. Maybe Sam had done more than just put in a good word for me. He must have said some awfully nice things. Either that or Mr. Selman thought I was someone I wasn't. But why would he think the other Katie Embury wanted a job? I tried not to follow her actions too closely – it felt too weird – but from the little I'd seen she didn't look at all like the type that would be interested in full-time employment. Come to think of it she seemed instead like the kind of person that could hang out happily for hours with Jessica.
I almost ran into Hannah when she stopped in front of a non-descript door. "This is where you'll find Sam," she said, throwing it open. For one wild second I was sure he was in there, and I held my breath. It was, sadly, dark and empty. And very small. "What does he do for your dad, anyway?" I asked, peering into the dimly lit space. It seemed more like the inside of a refrigerator than actual working space. It needed a good airing – which it wasn't going to get since there weren't any windows.
Hannah laughed at my expression. "Unlike David, Sam decided to learn the business from the bottom up," she explained. "He didn't want to get a management position without knowing what went on behind the scenes first. He tried to refuse an office altogether but Father thought it would look strange for the owner's son to be – how did he put it again? – wandering around the office like a homeless waif. Or something like that."
I was impressed. Not with Mr. Selman's simile, but with Sam's intent. "I take it Sam lost the battle."
She shot me an amused look. "In a way. Father wanted him to have something fancy, and I believe this used to be a broom closet. Literally. But at least, for Father's sake, he has David."
"Who's David?"
That earned me a strange look. "He's our oldest brother," she said. "Exactly how long have you known Sam, anyway?"
That was a hard question to answer. "Technically, I've known him since Monday," I replied slowly. "But I've only spoken to him that once, on the trail."
Her eyebrow shot as high as it could go without merging into her hairline. "Really? The way he was talking it sounded like you'd known each other for a lot longer than that. Well, he swore he'd be back by Tuesday, so I guess you can see him then." She shut the door to the closet-turned-executive-office and we headed toward the kitchens.
An hour later my brain was numb. I can only process so much information at one time, and I met that limit five minutes into our tour. I wished I'd had the foresight to bring along a notebook so I could copy down what she said and memorize things over the weekend.
Hannah smiled at me sympathetically when we headed back toward Mr. Selman's office. "I keep forgetting that not everyone grew up with a catering company for a family," she said ruefully. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of things pretty quickly. And it's okay if you don't; most of your time will be spent catering to my father's personal business." I tried to smile at her choice of words, but it must not have been very convincing. "It'll be okay, Katie," Hannah went on encouragingly. "I'll give you my cell number, and you can call me if you have any questions."
By this time we'd reached my future desk and she pulled a card from one of the drawers and wrote her information on the back. What was up with these people and business cards? They seemed to pop out of nowhere anytime someone needed one. Would that happen to me, too, once I started working here?
"Give me your cell phone number. I'm sure Sam already has it, but I might need it later."
I stared at her blankly. "I don't have a cell phone."
The door to Mr. Selman's office flew open and he stood in the doorway, a horrified expression on his face. "You don't have a cell phone? How does anyone contact you?"
I shrugged and placed Hannah's card in my purse. "They leave me a message at home, and I get back with them when I can. If it's an emergency the people who know me know where to find me." It occurred to me that he hadn't been without a cell phone since they'd been invented, and I couldn't help but grin at the idea of Mr. Selman with a phone the size of Kentucky tucked under his chin.
"Well, young lady, I'm afraid that won't do at all. I expect to be able to reach you when I want, and I'm not very good at waiting around. Hannah, see that she gets a phone as soon as she's done here." Hannah nodded mutely as Mr. Selman handed me several pieces of paper. He seemed more jovial than he had during our interview – if that's what it could be called – and I couldn't help wondering what had put him in such a good mood. "Here are the details of your employment with Peter's Perfect Catering." He finished his speech with a great deal of pride, and I stifled a smirk. I could just see how Josie would react if I named a company after myself.
I glanced down at the papers he'd given me and my jaw dropped. "You can't seriously mean to offer me this kind of money," I said faintly.
"It's not enough?" Mr. Selman frowned. "I suppose I could see to a little extra. I know you have an image to maintain."
I was so shocked that I didn't take in much of what he was saying. "No, that's not what I meant. The amount of money you're offering me is enough to feed a small third-world country."
Mr. Selman relaxed and patted my shoulder indulgently. "Now, now, Miss Embury. If you don't have any other objections, please sign the offer and I'll see you on Monday. Hannah, don't forget to take Miss Embury to purchase that cell phone as soon as you're done here."
I signed the offer with shaking fingers and he disappeared back into his office, leaving me and Hannah to stare at each other.
"Well, I'm glad that went well." Hannah shook her head slightly and directed me through the lobby. I could feel Agnes' eyes on me as we walked past her desk, and I smiled nervously at the receptionist. She didn't seem too happy to see me with Hannah. "See you Tuesday!" I mumbled over my shoulder. She just stared at me, her glasses frozen halfway to her face.
An hour later I was the proud owner of a new cell phone that I had no idea how to use. "I still don't see why I need one of these things," I said dubiously, turning the phone over in my hands. "I never had any use for one before, and your dad is paying me too much money as it is. He doesn't need to buy this, too, especially when I don't think anyone will ever call me."
Hannah laughed at this and turned her car into the catering company's parking lot. "You'll be surprised to see how useful they can be. And how irritating." She sighed and pulled into a parking space. "I won't give Dad your number until you come in on Tuesday, so enjoy the last few days of peace and quiet you'll get for a while."
I stared at her and hoped she didn't mean that Mr. Selman would call me in the middle of the night to discuss work things. Or that he'd want to discuss anything else while the rest of the world was supposed to be asleep, for that matter. "It'll be all right," she said with a brisk tone. "I think you'll do very well with us. It's been a long time since I've liked any of Dad's personal assistants, and I like you very much indeed." She glanced at her watch and groaned. "I've got to get back," she told me apologetically. "Call me if you have any questions over the weekend. I'm glad you're on board!" She grinned at me one last time before dashing out of the car and into the building, leaving me to stare at the gadget in my hand. I was amazed at how my life had changed so drastically in a matter of three hours.
***
I had an hour to kill before meeting Jessica for dinner so I left George's car at the catering company and ambled toward Monument Circle, flipping idly through the owner's manual as I went. Hannah had gone all out and purchased me a phone that had gadgets and gizmos that I'd never heard of before. It was unreal what a cell phone could do these days. I really hoped Mr. Selman didn't expect me to use everything.
By the time I reached the roundabout downtown I still had no clue how to send a text message and was starting to think I should take it back and insist on something a little less high-tech when someone called my name. I raised my head and saw Officer Fredericks across the street waving frantically, so I jogged over to talk to him.
He grinned when I reached his side. "I understand you met my wife and daughter yesterday," he told me, pride evident in his voice. "Junie was so excited. It's been a while since someone our age moved in."
"What about Jessica?"
He looked at me blankly. "Jessica who?"
No wonder he wasn't a detective yet. The man didn't even know who lived on his own block. "The girl in the house at the other end of the street, closest to the park."
Officer Fredericks thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm afraid I haven't met her. Junie tells me you've been looking for a job. Any luck so far?"
I grinned at him and nodded. "You're looking at the newest employee of Peter's Perfect Catering," I said with a curtsey, and laughed. "I guess I was in the right place at the right time." Either that or I owe Sam a huge favor.
He frowned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Peter Selman owns that, right?" When I nodded he glanced down the street in the direction I'd come. "Peter Selman's been wanting to be the sole caterer for the Indy 500 for a long time now," he said slowly. "Did he say anything about it to you?"
"I was just hired today. He hardly had any time to tell me much of anything."
His frown deepened. "Well, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He seems very shrewd." Then, noticing the phone still clutched in my hand, he asked, "I'm not stopping you from making a call, am I?"
Wrinkling my nose at the thing, I flipped it open. "I just got this and can't figure it out. Maybe I should just take it back."
He took it from me and pressed a few buttons. "What did you want to do?"
"I was thinking I'd send my friend a text to tell her I was ready for dinner early."
He pushed a few more buttons and held it out to me. "Here you go. You just need her cell number and you're set."
I stared at him in some awe. "Are all police officers trained on cell phone use, or are you just really technologically advanced?"
He laughed and placed the thing in my hands. "Now you sound like Junie. Come on, I'll walk you through it."
A few minutes later I sauntered away, cell phone in hand and a new spring in my step. If I could conquer the evil cell phone I could certainly handle Mr. Selman.
I just hoped I didn't need a police officer by my side to do it.
Author's Note: When I started writing this I made a goal to keep the chapters shorter (I never knew I could be so verbose!) and I'm afraid that, out of ten written so far, this is the shortest. So much for goal-setting!
Thanks go to Linnea, as usual, for her insights and corrections, and also to C.J, who tried very, very hard to explain the inner workings of a catering company to me. If nothing at all makes sense, it's all my fault.
As always, I love to hear what you think!
