by A. C. Arthur
“Hi, mom,” was her response. She opened her eyes and moved to take a seat in the chair opposite the one where Savian’s clothes had been.
In fact, she looked away from that chair altogether.
“And that’s all I get is a ‘hi mom’. This is exactly why you shouldn’t have moved so far away from home. You’re losing all your manners down there.”
Marianne Langley spoke in the crisp tone she thought would keep her daughters in line. Only Jenise and Morgan had always been the insubordinate ones in their family. They’d been bucking against their parents’ strict rules and regimens for them ever since they learned to talk. There was no sense in stopping now, Jenise thought with another sigh.
“How are you, mom? How’s dad? And Gramps and Nana?” she continued, without addressing her mother’s sarcasm.
“Your grandparents are in Italy. Emma finally convinced Victor they didn’t need him hanging around the firm looking to find something wrong. Your father has been running that firm expertly for too many years to count now and your brothers are holding their own there as well. Langley Law is thriving just as it always has been.”
All of this was said with pride and enthusiasm because Langley Law Chicago and Bradford Langley were the sun, the moon, and everything in between to Marianne.
“Langley Law Miami is also doing well,” Jenise said because she knew her mother would never ask. “Referrals are bringing in more clients. I may have to hire an associate in the next few months to help with the litigation workload, although I try to settle as many of those as I can. Some of the larger malpractice claims are going to take more of my time and attention. And I have a couple of criminal cases that may go to trial.”
Her gaze had wandered back to that chair, then to the door where Savian had walked through. She shook her head.
“I knew Wade should have been the one to go down there,” her mother said. “I tried to tell your father.”
“And I told both of you that I wanted this opportunity to manage the firm on my own. I don’t need Wade to come down here. I’ll hire associates, just like Dad does at the Chicago firm. That’s what managing partners do,” Jenise snapped.
“Well, it shouldn’t be all your responsibility. That’s all I’m saying. All that working takes too much of your time. When’s the last time you’ve been out on a date? I haven’t heard anything about a man in your life.”
No, Jenise thought. Nobody had.
“That’s not important,” she said, her mind begging to differ with that comment.
“It is important,” Marianne argued. “A woman your age should be happily married and having children by now. The clock keeps on ticking regardless of how many cases there are to be tried.”
“I’m only thirty, not sixty, mom,” Jenise countered. “Besides, there is more to life for a woman than finding a man and having his babies.”
That shut Marianne up as surely as if Jenise had hung the phone up on her instead. Then, came that wave of guilt that never failed to assail Jenise when she’d done what she felt like she had to with her mother.
“I know it’s what worked for you, mom. I just think I was made to be different,” Jenise added in a much more amiable tone.
“You strive to be contrary, you always have. And it’s rubbed off on your sister. No matter how I’ve tried to give you two the best of everything, and to teach you all that I know, you insist on going in the opposite direction.”
“Did it ever occur to you that it might be the direction we’re meant to go in? I mean, not everyone is created the same,” she continued the same old argument with her mother.
It was pointless, Jenise knew. Marianne had been born and bred to be a wife and mother. Her mother had taught her just as Marianne tried to teach her daughters. It was her only goal in life and she’d achieved it in spades by marrying into one of Chicago’s most affluent black families. Now, Marianne hoped to make the same advantageous love connections for her daughters, if only they would cooperate.
“You need a man to take care of you so you don’t work yourself to the bone.”
“I need to stand on my own two feet and to know without a doubt that I can take care of myself. That is more important to me than any husband or baby.”
“It does not keep you warm at night,” Marianne rebutted.
“And neither does dad because you’re in bed most nights before he returns from work.”
The silence fell like a gavel in a courtroom and Jenise instantly regretted her words.
“Look, mom, I love you for all that you’ve done for me and I appreciate your care and efforts. I’m just saying that this is the life I want to lead right now and I’d really appreciate it if you could find a way to respect that.”
“I don’t like it,” Marianne said finally.
“I know,” Jenise agreed.
“Your father wants to talk to you about work. Call him sometime tomorrow so he doesn’t continue to worry,” her mother said after that, her tone indicating she was finished discussing the disappointment of Jenise’s life goals for the moment.
“I will.”
“Get some rest,” Marianne continued. “You sound tired and irritable. You probably have bags under your eyes too. Boil some tea bags and put them on before you go to sleep. Are you eating healthy? Did you get the juicer I sent to you last week?”
Jenise took another deep breath and slowly exhaled. Marianne’s other big disappointment in her oldest daughter was that she was overweight.
“I did get the juicer but have absolutely no appetite for pureed vegetables and/or fruit. But you’ll be happy to know that I received a clean bill of health at my last physical,” Jenise reported.
“Oh that’s good. What was your weight? Has it gone down?” Marianne asked in a much brighter tone.
“It’s exactly the same,” Jenise replied thinking of the lovely sage green dress she’d purchased just after her doctor’s appointment in celebration of that fact.
When she’d entered law school Jenise had been a size twenty. By the time she’d graduated she’d gone up to a size twenty-four, causing her mother much worry. But in the years since then and after claiming her own peace and developing an appreciation for herself that she never had before, she was able to come down to a size eighteen. That’s where she’d been for the last three years and Jenise had discovered it was where she was the happiest. She loved herself, her life and her size and didn’t care who didn’t.
“I’m fine, mom. I know what to eat and I know what I like. There’s no need for you to worry.” Even though she knew Marianne would, especially since she was convinced that Jenise’s size had something to do with why she wasn’t getting a good man to offer a proposal.
That thought had Jenise wondering once more about what she was doing with Savian and how smart it was to continue. Savian Donovan was not going to ask her to marry him. Hell, Jenise didn’t want to marry Savian Donovan. The sex was good and she wouldn’t mind spending a night or two with him, or having a real conversation with him for that matter, but marriage? Hell no, that wasn’t on either of their agendas and she was glad of that fact.
After a few more familiar exchanges with her mother, Jenise finally managed to get her off the phone. Then it was time for her shower and afterwards she went to her home office prepared to work for an hour or so before she went to bed. Of course, the shower and work were both designed to keep her mind from circling back to where it seemed determined to go tonight. But when she opened her email box to a message from the detective assigned to the Giovanni Morelli case, she couldn’t help but whisper his name once more, “Savian.”
Her heart sank as she read the message knowing that this new development was going to be a hard blow to the man she was still trying to convince herself she wasn’t falling for.
Chapter 2
Savian was first to arrive at the meeting, as always. This wasn’t the standing status meeting that was on every family member that worked for Donovan Multimedia Corporation’s cale
ndar, the last Thursday of every month. No, this was a special meeting called by Dion, and Savian had a feeling he knew exactly what it was in reference to. Another reason, besides his normal studious manner, that Savian made sure he was here before anyone else.
He walked over to one of the leather conference chairs that surrounded the ten foot long cherry oak table. Before taking his seat, Savian turned to look out the tinted windows of the Excalibur building. They were darkly tinted to ward off the intense rays of southern sunlight, and so no one could see inside. Yet, Savian could certainly see out to the city he’d grown up in. Taking a deep breath and then releasing it, he watched as the world continued to go on, as it always did, no matter what was going on in his life. That had been the one piece of solace he’d taken even when the times were rough—which, for Savian Omar Donovan, they had on so many occasions.
He didn’t like to think about those times, nor did he wish to dwell on the fact that he was the cause of this special meeting. Savian would much rather focus on more pertinent business, such as the success of their family business. That had always been the highlight of Savian’s life, knowing that one day he would be a complete part of what his father and uncles had started before him. While he had been blessed enough to be born into the Donovan family legacy, Savian had known early on that he would have to work just as hard as anyone else to create and maintain his place within the reputable family business. He’d had a pretty shaky start early on in life, but he liked to think that he’d grown into his own here at the company. He was proud of that fact, if nothing else.
The Donovan Multimedia Corporation was founded by two of the senior Donovans, Bruce and Reginald. Bruce’s sons, Dion and Sean, worked primarily in the print division, where Dion was editor in chief and Sean was managing editor of Infinity Magazine, a steadily growing African American publication focusing on up and coming African American businesses, entertainers and the overall movers and shakers in their community. Jaydon Donovan, Parker’s ex-wife, used to be the director of Donovan Management Network, which employed over one hundred literary, sports and talent agents. She’d resigned a few months before and they had yet to name a permanent replacement for her.
Donovan Network Television was Savian and Parker’s domain, but their younger sister, Regan had recently begun to work double-duty. She continued to oversee the fashion and entertainment segments at Infinity, while branching into the television network with the fashion reality show her and Camille, a renowned fashion designer and their cousin, Adam’s wife, had produced. Gavin Lucas, a local chef and Regan’s boyfriend, now had two shows on the network that Parker produced. Regan had also begun working on Gavin’s shows as they’d rapidly soared in popularity.
As for Savian, he preferred to stay out of the spotlight. He always had. Still, he had a knack for organizing and managing, as reflected by the master’s degree he’d acquired from Florida State University. It had been his choice not to travel too far from home to attend one of the three Ivy League schools he’d been accepted to. His father hadn’t understood, but his mother—the one who had always seemed to know him better than anyone else—had championed his choice. Now, at the tender age of thirty, he’d successfully created the entrepreneur and business spotlights at Infinity Magazine, while lending his business savvy to the growth and management of the television station where he’d just begun to take on the executive producing role in the news and documentary shows DNT presented. This was where Savian belonged, in his hometown, close to his family, contributing to the legacy that was the upstanding Donovan name.
Until a couple months ago when he’d been named the top person of interest in the murder of Giovanni Morelli, the director of the number one rated show on DNT.
“Despite what you think, Savian, the early bird does not always get the worm,” Regan said jovially as she entered the conference room.
Savian turned to see his younger sister’s slim frame walking towards the table where she placed her cup of heavily sugared coffee no doubt, notepad and pen. With a sleek and fashionable style all of her own, Savian was not surprised to see that Regan’s hair had changed since he’d seen her just two days ago. It was honey blonde today, falling in bouncy curls down the center of her back. Her make-up was flawless, highlighting her expression-filled eyes and wide and ready smile. She wore black skinny slacks, a white button front blouse and a black and white blazer held together in the front by a gold chain. Her black pumps had sky-high heels, the way he knew Regan preferred so that her normal five feet six inches was pushed easily to five feet eleven and brought her just about eye level with most of the men in this building. Regan loved to remind everyone that she was on the same level as they were, regardless of their sex.
“Maybe not,” he replied with a shrug and more than a pinch of pride brimming inside at seeing how well his sister had grown up. “But it always gets me a few moments of silence before you arrive.”
She cut him a quick and searing gaze that had Savian chuckling. If there were anyone in this family that could get him to smile when it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do, it was Regan.
“Well, that’s over, so sit yourself down and tell me what you plan to get mom for Christmas.” Regan tapped her hand on the table signaling him to sit.
She always did act as if she was the oldest of their parents’ three children. Still Savian pulled out the chair he’d already set his briefcase beside, and took a seat.
“Christmas is more than six weeks away, Regan. Why on earth are you thinking about shopping now? Oh, I forgot, you’re always thinking about shopping.” The last was said with an inward chuckle because Savian knew it would get his sister rolling on the necessity of going out and buying things.
He supposed it had worked out well for Regan that their family was very well off financially, or she would have had a hard time keeping up with all the things she liked to buy. And honestly, Savian was glad to see that her favorite pastime had developed into a flourishing career for Regan. She was really at the top of her game in the fashion industry. It was no wonder she’d made those shows that focused on Camille’s clothing line such a hit.
“First of all, shopping is an art. You’d know that if you spent some time actually planning the things you wear instead of relying on that tailor you pay a fortune to,” she snapped back, then took a sip of her coffee.
“Mr. Franques is a genius. He makes the best suits and when he doesn’t have something that he’s made, he orders the best. There’s no need for me to go shopping, when he knows my style so well.”
“You might be the only one I know with a sixty-five year old stylist still working out of the same store-front after forty-five years. But I’ll admit, he doesn’t do a half bad job dressing you,” Regan replied with a nod and an arch of her brows as she looked at what he was wearing today.
Savian didn’t bother to look down. He knew the navy blue suit with double button, notched lapel jacket and vest combo looked well on him—Mr. Franques and his assistant/girlfriend Ms. Meg had said so the first time he’d tried it on. Savian liked to work out so his frame was bulkier than most businessmen that Mr. Franques dressed, but Ms. Meg was always on point in making sure that he did not get the metro and slim fit suits that were all the rage with young men now. His clothes had a fuller, yet still stylish fit. After all, as she always said with a twinkle in her eyes, “You are a Donovan.”
“Anyway, she’s having Christmas dinner at her house this year. Aunt Janean is doing Thanksgiving. So the plans for the holiday season are already under way, regardless of what your calendar says. Now, I have a list of some things I know she likes and hasn’t had a chance to purchase for herself.” Regan talked as she flipped open her tablet. “I’ll email the list to you and Parker right now. We can all use it and just let each other know when we’ve bought something, so we won’t buy the same thing.”
“Leave it to you to organize a shopping list for everyone,” Savian said, opening his own MacBook and pulling up the latest statistics f
or the studio and the magazine. A part of him was hoping this meeting was to actually discuss business.
“Good morning,” Dion said as he walked into the room, touching Regan on the shoulder when he passed her and giving Savian a nod.
Parker and Sean came in next taking their seats at the table and greeting everyone. The door had been closed only a few moments before Regan said, “Where’s Lyra and Tate? I thought they were coming too.”
Lyra Donovan was Dion’s wife and a very popular photographer. She’d trained professionally in L.A. but came back to Miami a few years ago to work at Infinity. In the time since she and Dion had been married, she’d also opened her own private studio. Tate and Sean had a beautiful daughter named Briana who kept them both on their toes when Tate wasn’t taping her relationship advice show or writing the ‘Ask Jenny” relationship column for Infinity. Savian had adored them both and watched with only mild curiosity now at the way they’d seemed to transform his cousins.
“Lyra wasn’t feeling well,” Dion said while taking off his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair.
“And Tate’s working double time to get all the episodes of the show pre-taped before the holidays. We’re going to visit her family the day after Thanksgiving and will be gone for almost two weeks. Then by the time we come back it’ll be Christmas. I hear Aunt Carolyn’s hosting this year so we know there’s going to be lots of food. And between her and my mom, Briana’s going to have more toys than Santa’s factory,” Sean added.
“Oh that little minx has already given me a list of things she wants for Christmas,” Parker added with a chuckle. “And just to forewarn you, Adriana and I plan to buy each and every item she requested. Especially the noisy ones.”
Everyone laughed at Sean’s immediate frown and for a moment Savian felt content. He was with his family—cousins and siblings that he’d grown up with. They’d stayed at each other’s houses, gone on vacations together, got into trouble together. They were as close as he knew he ever would be to anyone else in his life. And he was letting them all down.