Callaway was never ending. He never stopped. He unceasingly called, badgering me about where Morgan was, demanding to talk to her, and threatening to disinherit me if I didn’t produce his granddaughter. I spent my time mostly in New York, working, drinking, and more working. Callaway Jewels was doing better, possessed more stores than ever thought, and was making more money than it ever had. I did that. I did it all and would lose it completely if I didn’t figure out what to do about Morgan soon.”
“You would have had money, Drew,” I argued. He worked for Callaway Jewels since he was a boy. He had to have money put away.
“I did, but not the kind of money I was used to, not the kind of money that would let me live the way we live,” Drew explained.
I didn’t care about that. I would be happier living on the beach without the Vegas heat, the too big for us mansion, the fancy clothes and the snooty people we were forced to associate with. I could have very easily walked away.
Drew picked up where he left off, “I knew I was living on borrowed time. There was no way for me to win. If he died, I got nothing. Morgan had to be there to claim her inheritance. If I didn’t produce her soon, he would make sure I had nothing to do with Callaway Jewels or the Callaway fortune. I was in and out of Vegas at least three or four times a month. I flew in, took care of business and got the hell out of there, always trying to stay a step ahead of Callaway.
‘Hello,’ I answered with a sigh. Talking to Callaway became a chore. I would have rather gone to the dentist than hear his voice.
‘You will have Morgan at the mansion this weekend for the Prescott reunion ,’ Callaway guaranteed.
‘Yes, we’re flying home tomorrow,’ I lied.
‘I’ve heard that for twenty two months now. I want my granddaughter home tomorrow.’
‘She’ll be there,’ I assured him. I had no clue what the hell I was going to say, but I knew I’d held him off all I could. I couldn’t keep going on like I was. I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, worked seven days a week, and worried—a lot.
I flew home, dreading what had to be done. Maybe I wouldn’t tell him the whole truth. Maybe I’d make up some bullshit about Morgan having an affair, leaving me for another man. That could work. I’d go in there with tears, devastated that my wife left me. It was fucking genius, get the old bastard to feel sorry for me for once. PERFECT! It would work. It had to. He wouldn’t toss me out to the streets when I was so upset over the sudden departure of my wife. Would he?
‘Maybe I should give him a little heads up,’ Derik suggested, sitting across from me in my office. ‘You know, tell him how upset you are.’
‘Nah, he’d know something was up. You never go over there. Besides, I need you to head to the airport and pick up Mr. Wetly. I need this deal more than I need you going to battle for me.’ Wetly was my very first major sale. I sold him a two hundred thousand dollar necklace for his tenth anniversary. I can’t imagine what he’s going to spend on her for his twentieth.
‘Shouldn’t you be the one to pick him up?’
‘No, you’re my assistant. He’s aware of how busy I am. I’ll meet you at the restaurant with him at seven. Get him settled into the hotel and make sure he has everything he needs. I’ll see you around seven. I’m going over to Callaway’s, pour my heart out to him, and hope like hell he has an ounce of empathy in that wrinkled up body of his,’ I explained to Derik, standing and showing him out.
‘Let me know how it goes.’
‘I will. Have Marta bring me in a cup of coffee on your way out.’
Flipping on my computer, I brought up Morgan’s empty room, wondering how long I was going to keep doing that. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t coming back, and I should probably clean out her room. I needed to put it behind me and move on, one way or another I had to figure out life after Morgan. Enough was enough, and I wasn’t getting any younger.
Contemplating my life while I drove over to Callaway’s estate, I thought about what I’d do. It wasn’t like I was broke. I did get paid. I had some money put back. Maybe I’d move to New York, buy a jewelry store, and start from scratch. I could handle having one store versus twenty. I’m sure my life would be a lot less stressful. Find me a nice city girl and maybe forget about the Callaways altogether,” Drew described, clicking his jaw. “I felt much better about my life, where I was going, and my future as I drove the long stretch of desert, leading to the Callaway estate. I’d let the Callaway fortune dictate my life long enough. Whatever happened, happened, and I would be okay either way. Hopefully Callaway went in the direction I was aiming; feeling sorry for me and deciding to keep me on. If he didn’t, so be it. I wasn’t agonizing over it for one more second.