Page 116 of Van Cort

“Sir, I have a few questions about the offer I’ve recently received.” I hold my breath.

“Ahh, I see. I thought you had information about Van Cort.” His bushy brows pinch together, but I hold my ground. “Fine, make it quick. Although, why you couldn’t see someone in the HR department, I don’t know.”

“Can I ask why you offered the position to me?” Here goes everything.

“Well, a position needed to be filled, and when reviewing who could fill that, your name came up. The fact that you were hand-picked by Mr Van Cort was what brought your name to our attention, so we re-looked at the work you’ve done for us here at Thornton’s.”

“So, the conversation the other day?” His eyes scrunch at the corners. “You caught me here in the morning,” I remind him.

“Yes, right. A coincidence. You should be having this conversation with Antony. Now, can we say the matter is concluded, and if you would like to share information regarding Van Cort, I suggest a formal request for a meeting.”

“Very well, Sir. Thank you.”

“Good. Good.”

He turns his attention back to the documents, and I leave.

I’m back at my Van Cort office in under an hour. And back to the figures and files I was working on this morning.

By late afternoon, I’ve made little progress. Usually, I can get lost in numbers. They’re where I find a solace of sorts. They make sense, they don’t lie and are plain to see, even if you haveto dig a little deeper, but they don’t quiet my mind or pull my attention far enough away from the option, or dilemma, even, in front of me.

I shoot a quick text to Mom about visiting this evening. She is, of course, delighted and offers dinner in the next message, less than a minute later. Imagining leaving them, even for a year, opens an empty pit of guilt in my stomach.But I shove that down and ignore it for the rest of the day.

Before finishing for the evening, I walk through to Everett’s reception and smile at Devon. “Is he in?” I ask, my eyes flashing to the door.

“He’s in a meeting. He’ll be done in about half an hour.”

“Okay, thank you. Do you know if he has any other meetings tonight?”

“Well, isn’t that something you should discuss with Mr Van Cort?” She stares me down. Fine.

I nod. “Please tell him I’m visiting with my parents this evening. I’ll make sure I tell him, too.”

“I’ll pass it on.”

Frosty.

But then, she’s his assistant. She’s not going to be meek or forgiving of anything interrupting his schedule.

The familiar journey to my parents’ house gives me time to organise my thoughts. I pull my hair from the tight chignon I keep for work, and run my hands through the strands, wrapping it into a loose twist over my shoulder.

New York. A job I want – that I know I can be great at.

So why aren’t I excited?

“Hi, Mom!” I call out as I close the front door behind me.

“Oh, you’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until later. Your father’s not even home yet.”

“I’m not in a rush.”

“Let me get you a drink. How was your day? You’ve been so busy lately, it’s good to see you again.” Her questions form the base of the general catch-up and bring a needed smile to my face. I’d miss this if I were on the other side of the country. They would miss me, too.

I look around at the cosy living room and take a seat on the sectional I sat on just the other day when April visited. They were fine when I was away at university, I scold myself, and it might not even be permanent. And New York? That alone would boost my future potential in any firm.

Mom walks in and hands me a glass of lemonade. “While it’s a delight to see you, I can tell that there’s a reason you’re here on a weeknight.”

“Guilty.” I take the glass from her, silently wishing it was a large white wine, and she perches on the chair in the corner that’s always her seat.