Heart of Clay

by Shanna Hatfield

  Chapter Six

  Callan made an effort to keep her ranting and crying to a minimum at home, but she struggled to hold herself together. If anything, she felt progressively worse each day. Truth be told, she thought it was entirely possible that she would fly into pieces at any given moment.

  She promoted her event planning business at three regional bridal shows since the first of the month. That afternoon, she’d fly with Jill for a two-day trade show for the convention center. The last thing she wanted to do was get on a plane and fly out of town, but duty called.

  Hurriedly finishing a few last minute details, she turned off her computer, put on her coat and gloves, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door.

  She tried to remember if she told Clay she’d be gone for a few days. He was asleep when she arrived home late the previous evening and gone before she awoke that morning. Never forgetful, the fact that she couldn’t recall telling him about the trip added to her irritation. It went against her need to be in control, organized, and on top of all details.

  After arriving at the airport, Callan checked her bag and quickly made it through security. She found her gate and noted the flight should arrive on time. Jill sat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, reading a book to pass the time. Callan waved her direction then decided to call Clay before the plane began boarding.

  She found a quiet corner and dialed his cell number. No answer. She tried his office number. No answer there, either. Looking at her watch, she realized he had a class starting in a few minutes. She called his cell number again, prepared to leave a message when he answered.

  “Hey, Callan.” Clay spoke quietly as the sound of students chatting filled the background. “I’m heading into a class. Did you need something?”

  Callan felt her temper rising even though she didn’t know why. “No, I don’t need anything,” she said, anger coloring her voice. “I’m calling to remind you I’ll be at the trade show with Jill the next few days. We’ll be back on Friday.”

  “What trade show?”Clay’s frustration came through loud and clear as his voice raised considerably. “You never mentioned being gone. Where are you headed?”

  “The trade show in Las Vegas. Jill and I are ready to board our plane. I left the hotel info on my desk at home, if you want to talk later. I have to go. Bye.” Callan disconnected the call before he could say anything further. Regret filled her at being snippy with Clay as well as the obvious fact that he had no idea she was going to be gone.

  Callan turned off her phone, dug out her boarding pass, and braced herself for the next few days of faking the persona of a happy, upbeat professional.

  Three days later, Callan couldn’t wait for the plane to land. She just wanted to go home. It was an idiotic error in judgment to think she could pull off this trip in her current frame of mind.

  By the end of the first day of the trade show, the dull throbbing headache she’d had for weeks had turned into a full-fledged migraine. Lights, sounds and smells made her queasy and cranky. Rather than give in to it, though, she’d pasted on a smile and shaken what seemed like hundreds of hands. The second day of the show didn’t go any better and she’d taken so many pain relievers along with the antacids, she wasn’t sure what would happen if she exceeded her limit.

  Thankfully, the trade show ended early so she and Jill could fly home instead of spending another night away. Arty repeatedly called both their cell phones. Jill finally returned his call. He insisted they stop by the convention center with a report of the event before they headed home that evening.

  To make matters even worse, Clay hadn’t called her or answered the two times she’d called him.

  Once they got through baggage claim, Callan and Jill walked outside. Jill’s husband was supposed to pick her up, but was nowhere in sight. After one last look around to make sure he wasn’t there, Callan smiled at her friend and placed a hand on her arm. “Come on. You can ride to the office with me and maybe by then John will be available.”

  “Thanks, Callan.” Jill called and left a message for her husband to pick her up at the office instead of the airport.

  As she pulled into the conference center parking lot, Callan braced herself mentally for the meeting with Arty. She had no doubt sitting across from the incompetent man, discussing the trade show, would tax what little patience she had left.

  She and Jill both rolled their eyes as they walked into his office, finding him asleep in his chair. Callan cleared her throat while Jill gently tapped on the doorjamb.

  Snorting, Arty woke up and looked at them with glazed eyes.

  Jill stepped forward. “Hello, Mr. Bierwagen. We just got back from our trip. You said you wanted us to stop by and let you know our thoughts about the trade show.”

  “Oh, well, yes, I, um, yes,” he stammered, sitting up and adjusting his tie. “Sit down. How did it go?”

  “Excellent,” Callan said, trying to look out the window instead of at Arty. He wore the remnants of his lunch on his chin. “We made some great contacts and developed several fantastic ideas for generating more revenue.”

  “And all the ideas are simple and affordable to implement. Isn’t that great?” Jill asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  “Yes, I suppose so, but don’t be spending any money yet. We’ve got numbers to meet you know.” Arty twirled a pen in his hand. Callan happened to notice it was her pen.

  Without even thinking, she reached over and jerked it out of his hand.

  “Mr. Bierwagen,” she said, punctuating every syllable. “Jill and I work very hard to make the convention center successful. We are well aware of the budgeted numbers as well as our need to meet them. We’ll continue to work to secure additional business. A prepared report will be available for you and the board next week. However, I must ask that you refrain from pilfering through my office in my absence. This is my personal pen, as you can see by the inscription. It was in my desk drawer when I left on Wednesday. My personal property is not yours for the taking.”

  “Well, I never,” Arty said, leaning forward in his chair with his double chins wagging. “You better just watch your smart mouth, missy, or you’ll be looking for a new job. Take that as a warning. Now, both of you get out of here.”

  She and Jill stood and left Arty’s office. Neither one said a word as they walked outside to the Callan’s car. Jill glanced up as her husband parked next to them. Callan quickly took Jill’s suitcase from her trunk and passed it over to John.

  “Thanks for the ride, Callan,” Jill said, offering an encouraging hug. “Don’t worry about Arty. He’s bluffing and you know it. If you want, I’d be happy to go with you to talk to the board about him. This is beyond ridiculous.”

  “Thanks, Jill. I may take you up on that offer. Enjoy your weekend.” Callan gave Jill’s hand a squeeze.

  She watched as John ran around the car to open the door for Jill and put her suitcase in the trunk. He gave her a kiss that made sure everyone knew he was glad his wife was home. Callan absently hoped Clay would be half as excited to see her.

  On the drive home, she couldn’t stop thinking about Arty and how violated she felt knowing he’d been rifling through her office while she was gone.

  She had nothing to hide, and would gladly show the board anything they wanted to see in print or computer files. However, the thought of Arty sitting in her chair, going through her things was completely unacceptable. It made her livid to think of him threatening to fire her.

  Callan’s anger multiplied at a rapid rate. She had no idea how she would keep a clamp on her roiling emotions. Accelerating her car, she zipped through traffic, anxious to arrive home. She hoped to have time to clear her thoughts before Clay walked in the door.