Chapter 2
Cavin Dawson fastened each button on a perfectly ironed burnt orange shirt and then straightened the collar while looking in the mirror beside which his dark brown suit coat hung.
His flight into Atlanta last night kept him up later than expected because of a weather delay.
However, the limousine his dad’s assistant scheduled still managed to reach the gate at his parents' estate by midnight.
Neither of his parents waited up, but the butler granted access and ensured his belongings made it to his bedroom.
Even though he couldn’t remember perspiring all day, Cavin knew his mother would have a fit if he didn’t shower before climbing into fresh linens.
One of the family’s staff members took responsibility for washing all the laundry, so he never quite understood why it ruffled her feathers.
After toweling off, he opted to go straight to bed rather than finish the paperwork from the deal he closed before stepping onto the airplane in Oklahoma; putting off the final details until tomorrow would make it easier to wake up in time for the traditional Dawson Thanksgiving breakfast.
The next morning he freshened up, and while he skipped down the spiral staircase in the spacious open foyer with his jet-black hair parted neatly and slicked back, he absentmindedly connected his cuff links.
Passing through another room, he greeted one of the workers on his way to the formal dining room, where he found his mother and father awaiting his arrival.
Sitting properly in a new yellow dress at one end of a table for twelve where each place setting displayed a plate, silverware, and fine linens, Cavin’s mother glanced at her wristwatch. “We were beginning to wonder if you overslept.”
“Your mother was afraid you stayed out late with a woman,” Cavin’s father offered halfheartedly from the head of the table.
Cavin approached his mother gracefully and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he complimented before replying to the comments. “My connecting flight was delayed,” he revealed.
“Thank you. Now please sit with us,” Cavin’s mother requested. “We can discuss the details of your trip as George and the others serve the meal they have generously prepared.”
As Cavin’s father stood to shake his son’s hand, his brown tie covered the buttons down the shirt neatly tucked into his dress pants.
A moment later, Cavin sat in his usual spot midway along the table on the right side while the other chairs remained empty as usual during this meal.
He immediately noticed the lavishly designed tablescape featuring a centerpiece layered with pumpkins of various sizes; autumn colors and associated fruits spilled across a black and orange checkered table runner.
Fall-themed decorations and trinkets accented the room as well as every other area Cavin made his way through this morning and last night.
The house decor, inside and out, changed with each season.
At last count he recalled his family having thirty-one Christmas trees—one for each room and a handful on the porches.
“I was delighted to hear that you reached our goals in Oklahoma,” Cavin’s father announced as the staff quietly carried out dishes and set them gingerly in the appropriate places.
“That is fabulous news,” his mother commended, smiling at Cavin before turning her attention to her husband. “Luther, when will you purchase a private jet so our son can be on time for holiday meals?”
“Mother, I left my bedroom a few minutes before eight, and I am confident the walk did not take that long,” he postulated and then sipped the iced water next to his place setting.
“If you are on time, you are late,” she reminded him.
Growing up, Cavin heard that phrase hundreds if not thousands of times, and he expected that George, who began to uncover each dish so the others could insert the appropriate serving utensils, could verify that.
“Would you be late to a business meeting?”
“No, Mother.”
“Then please treat your father and me with the same respect.”
“Ruth, he is here, it is Thanksgiving, and he closed the deal we have been working on for a month.”
She forced a smile as George and the staff filled their plates with ham, eggs, bacon, and other breakfast delicacies. “Wonderful, now can we afford the airplane?”
“Maybe a helicopter,” Cavin’s father responded.
“We previously discussed that idea,” Cavin’s mother reminded everyone.
“Did we?” her husband checked.
“Mother feels it is not a safe mode of transportation,” Cavin reminded him. “I happen to agree.”
“When Cavin closes the deal in Beaufort, maybe we can shop for an airplane,” his father proposed.
“Beaufort?” Cavin inquired with a furrowed brow.
“Beaufort is a little town on the coast of North Carolina, and it is ready for big changes.”
“I thought Beaufort was in South Carolina,” Cavin’s mother interjected.
“That is Beaufort,” Cavin’s father clarified, pronouncing the South Carolina city as Bew-fort. “Beaufort,” he explained, pronounced Bow-fort, “is our next masterpiece.”
“When will I travel to Beaufort?” Cavin asked carefully considering the appropriate way to say the town’s name. Once he arrived, he would not want to slip up in front of the locals. Mistakes like that often offended people and built unnecessary walls.
“This deal needs to be finalized before Christmas,” Cavin’s father stated with expectant eyes locked on Cavin.
The skin between Cavin’s eyebrows crinkled as he did the math.
“You promised me a week of vacation when I returned from Oklahoma,” he reminded his father.
“Remember, I have a flight booked for Cancun that leaves on Sunday.” He looked forward to spending a few days with his parents, catching up with old friends in the area, and then heading to a tropical paradise to work on his tan and meet that woman his mother mentioned to his father earlier.
“Sandra already took care of that,” Cavin’s father explained.
Ruth watched the dialogue as she scooted food around her plate with her fork.
“What do you mean by took care of that?” Cavin inquired.
“The Cancun flight is postponed until after the holidays,” he reported. “Now you have a flight scheduled into North Carolina.”
While Cavin loved having someone take care of his travel arrangements, he didn’t appreciate not having a say or at least a briefing prior to plans being altered. “So you want me to fly to North Carolina on Sunday?”
“Cavin, you need every day available to work your magic in Beaufort,” his dad reasoned. “You know how things are during the holidays, especially in small towns, with people taking time off.”
Cavin stuffed a forkful of ham into his mouth, hoping that chewing would keep him from speaking his mind.
Think positively, he advised himself. At least he could relax for the next couple of days, play golf with his buddies, look up an old flame or two, talk business with his father in person, and play tennis with his mother.
“Son, did you turn into a Neanderthal while in Oklahoma?” his mother asked, staring disapprovingly at his chipmunk-like cheeks.
“Believe it or not,” Cavin’s father added to his previous statement, “Black Friday is not a very busy day at the airport, so Sandra was able to book a flight for tomorrow morning.”
Cavin forcefully pushed his fork against the table causing a thud to echo throughout the formal dining room. “Are you serious?” he questioned. “This is Thanksgiving, Dad, not April Fool’s Day. This sounds like a prank, but I have a feeling it is not.”
Cavin welcomed the demands of his job. He strived under pressure.
He took joy in meeting deadlines. He even enjoyed the adventure of living in a different city every month while working miracles as a property acquisition and development specialist. He felt like he owned the city when things went his way, and they almost always did.
The goal to transform a town gave him purpose.
“Can we discuss business later?” Cavin’s mom suggested sternly. “Perhaps we can have a peaceful meal together while giving thanks for all that this family has received?”
“Ruth, if Cavin reaches our goal in Beaufort, we can all give thanks for a private airplane,” Cavin’s father announced, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Cavin, I will even ensure you get the personal assistant you requested.”
The frown on Ruth’s face evaporated as a pleasurable smile quickly took residence.
Cavin pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please do not promise me things you cannot give me,” he replied. “Like a vacation,” he added with a dagger.
“Son, have you ever known me not to come through on my word regarding business?”
Cavin’s mind raced. “No.”
“You will have an assistant. We will have a private plane for company and family use. You can be the first to use it for your trip to Cancun in the New Year.”
Cavin knew negotiating like turkeys knew Thanksgiving although this opportunity presented itself at an inopportune time.
Always be prepared to close the deal because you might not get a second chance, the man on the other side of this negotiation taught him years ago, and the advice worked flawlessly.
“I want two weeks in Cancun, and from now on, my assistant, whom I interview and hire, will make my travel arrangements, and every decision about my schedule must go through me,” he insisted.
“Land the deal, and your requests will be granted,” his father promised as he stood to shake Cavin’s hand.