Page 134 of Van Cort

“Did West get beaten, too?”

“No. Well, not much. Only a few times.”

“Why not?” I lick my lips and stand, not ready to talk about something that’s between West and I alone, let alone show her a side of him she wasn’t aware of. Not that she’s aware of any side of him in reality.

“That’s his story to tell if he wants to. He’s gone to get you some breakfast. He’ll be back soon.” She nods, then leans forward and puts her cup down, frowning about something. Everything, maybe.

“Is there anything I can do to make this make more sense for you?”

“No, I just… There are other things to consider, other opportunities, and this is, well, something I did not expect.”

“What opportunities?”

The door opens just as she’s about to answer, and West walks in carrying a bag full of something. She smiles a little as he approaches the island but doesn’t offer anything else on the conversation we were having.

“Haven’t run away then?” he says, getting items from the bag.

“Not yet.”

He places a plate of bagels, with varying different fillings, down on the surface. “Going to?”

“Unsure.”

“Eat. Everything makes more sense when you’re not hungry.”

“What opportunities, River?” I ask again.

“I’ve been offered a job, and I’ve been assessing the pros and cons. You’ve helped me make my decision.” She looks to both of us. “I’m going to take it. And give you an answer in a year.”

CHAPTER FORTY - FOUR

WEST

WEEKS LATER

He’s already sitting there when I approach from behind. Of course he is. Everett Van Cort wouldn’t be late for a damn thing, would he? Maybe, if the stake up his ass was removed, we wouldn’t be sitting here womanless. A fucking gold vault?

Honestly, I could still kill him for that.

I frown and keep moving towards him.

He should have left it to me. There would have been at least some romance and a far better build-up towards the actual proposal. Although given that I came back here to ruin something and ended up in love, maybe this screw up is partly my responsibility. Either way, I’m still irritated about the whole damned situation. Here we are, brothers, wealthy bachelors ready to tie the knot, and she’s off in New York deliberating her answer? His fault.

All. His. Fault.

“Did you bring coffee?” he asks as I get close.

“You don’t deserve any gifts from me.” He holds his hand out, ready to grab the takeout coffee that Ihavebrought with me. “I should pour it over your head.” He sighs, takes the coffee from me as I pass it to him, and looks back at the view again.

“Are you still going on about this?”

“This? You mean Andie? Andie is not a this.”

“She’ll call when she’s ready. Stop acting like a lost puppy.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s angry constantly.”

“I am not angry. I’m pensive.”