Page 16 of Van Cort

RIVER

Everett’s been true to his word, and after our dinner, he did contact me.

There was still an air of formality, of stiffness, and I couldn’t work out if that was because of me or just his natural state.

But I’ve seen a fraction of something else on our weekend coffee trip and in the hallway.

If he’d not shown me that, perhaps I wouldn’t stay hung up on it.

He did, though.

Either way, I’ll have to wait to see him again. One of the drawbacks of dating him, apparently, is the multitude of business trips and obligations.

If we get to the point where he takes me along, then I’ll worry about fitting in then. That’s tomorrow’s problem and not today’s. Today’s will involve avoiding Antony at work and make it home for the weekend.

***

My run on Saturday morning clears my head, and I think about how to occupy my time without the distraction of Mr Van Cort this weekend.

I pick over my sandwich for lunch and scroll through some market analysis in preparation for next week, keeping an eye on a few options to build the plan in my head. I’m distracted as I answer the door and have to shield my instinctual reaction to the man standing behind it.

“No flowers this time.” I tilt my head and smile at him, surprised that he’s standing there.

“I had hoped that they wouldn’t be required on this occasion.”

“You’re right. But that leads to the question, what exactly is this unexpected visit for? I thought you were away on a trip?”

“Plans changed. And I thought we could spend some time together. Real time.” My eyes narrow.

Is that code for sex? He didn’t seem interested when he dropped me home the other night.

As if he can read my hesitancy, he goes on.

“I told you about dating the likes of me. Well, I’d like to offer something a little less formal, but something I think you might enjoy. ”

“Okay. What did you have in mind?” I attempt to stand my ground.

“Do you trust me?”

I try not to scoff. “Considering our past encounters, no.” It’s a firm answer, and true.

“Well, I’d like to change that.” He grins. And I can see why he never has to date more than once or twice. Every girl is going to give over their hearts and panties with that type of smile. “Are you busy this weekend?”

“Weekend?”

“I want to take a trip. Back by tomorrow evening. What do you say?”

“You’ll have to tell me where we’re going. We talked about trust – you don’t have any of it. I’m not going to blindly go where you lead.”

“Not yet, at least.” Another grin, which makes me smile in reply despite myself. “Look, I want us to have some fun. A trip to Portland.”

I shift my weight, still keeping him on the doorstep. “And if I were to agree, what would I need to pack for this trip to Portland?” I run over all the preparations I’d want to do before a night away in my head. At least I shaved my legs this morning.

“A dress. Something not appropriate for the office.” Mentally, I pick out the red fuck-me dress.

“Will I get my weekend workout in?” God, I’m playing with fire.

“You could pack your running gear,” he says with a straight face, and I remember this is Everett. “You’ve got ten minutes to pack or we’ll miss the train.”

My eyes widen, and I can’t stop smiling at the spontaneity of it, even if he’s not smiling yet. His eyes look threatening, though, which twists something in the pit of my stomach.

“I’ll be back tomorrow evening?” I check, my muscles ready to race to my bedroom.

“Promise.”

“Ten minutes. Wait here.”

I close the door and race to my room, shoving the essentials into my overnight case before folding the dress in. Underwear. What underwear? Black. Simple and sexy. If he wants lace and corsets, he’ll have to give me more time.

I add a pair of jeans and heels and a smart top, and change into something a little less Saturday morning.

Leaving my hair down, I check myself in the mirror, apply a little more colour to my cheeks and grab my light jacket before pulling the case to the door.

Off to Portland for the weekend. I’ll check in. Promise. See you soon.

I hit send to April, so at least one other person knows where I am.

“Ready.” I open the door, and he turns to look at me, cool green eyes drinking me in.

He reaches for my case and offers me his arm. “Shall we?”

An hour later, we’re on our way. Sitting in first class, speeding down the country to Portland.

***

“A casino?” I question, as we enter the space.

He pulls my case and his bag and checks in at reception. “You like money. And numbers. I thought this could be a good mix.”

“I don’t like money, I work with it. And I’m certainly a novice here,” I admit. Although risk and probability will come into it.

My interest is piqued.

“Good. I’ll be able to see how quickly you learn. How can you not like money? Everyone likes money.”

“Well, yes but… it’s not everything, is it?”

He chuckles. “It is here.”

The train journey took several hours, and we ate in the first-class dining carriage, so it’s late afternoon by the time we get to our room. Or should I say suite? It’s lavish and opulent, and I can’t help but think that while this is pure luxury for me, it’s probably his norm.

The thought is a little sour on my tongue as I think about the differences between us, but I shove my insecurities away. They’re for when this moves past fun, which, given his track record, will never happen.

“Feel free to change and freshen up, and then we can play.”

“Play?” I turn and raise my eyes at him.

“Roulette, craps, blackjack. Take your pick.”

“Oh, well, betting isn’t something I’m overly familiar with. I know the basics.” Thanks to college and the boys pretending they were worth something with their weekly poker games.

He comes in close, taking my shoulders in his hands.

“That’s all you need. The rest comes from mistakes made.

” He stares for a few seconds, looking at my eyes before dropping to my lips, and then back.

It feels like an eternity, one I’m happy to get lost in.

“You need to lose to win, Andie. Learn to back the right option.” He backs off without kissing me, picking up his phone.

“I’ve got to make a couple of calls. I’ll be back in a few minutes. ”

I take the opportunity to unpack and take a breather. The bathroom is ridiculously small given the size of the room, but apart from that, it’s gorgeous, with dark emerald tile and gold fixtures.

I change into the red dress, feeling brave and sexy for once. Although, despite looking fantastic, I still can’t escape the feeling that I don’t fit in.

Arrived safe. This place is gorgeous. I’ll fill you in soon.

I send the message to April and ignore the half dozen messages she’s left me following my announcement that I was leaving for Portland. She’ll be firing them off or ringing me, I’m sure, so I turn the phone off and set it on the side.

I could do with a drink, but don’t raid the minibar.

The click on the door sounds and I wait, a little nervous, as Everett returns. His eyes scan over the dress, my hair free and untied, and I lock my arms in place, refusing to fidget while it feels like he’s assessing me. Without a word, he grabs his bag and shuts the door to the bedroom.

Okay. Not the reaction I was hoping this dress would cause.

And it doesn’t help that he comes out of the bedroom in one of his signature suits - sharp and devastatingly handsome. I can’t stop my appreciative glance and wish I was more immune to him.

“Playtime.” He offers me his arm, and I take it with a small smile as we head down towards the lobby. “I’m assuming you don’t like to lose?”

“It’s not something I like,” I admit. “And seeing as this is something I’m not an expert in …” He leads me to the small kiosk barred with gold rails and hands over his credit card. “Five thousand.”

Okay. I cannot match him in the money stakes, that’s nothing new.

He watches me as I slide my card over but take a zero off his amount. It still makes my stomach cramp with the thought of how much it is, but I swallow it down.

“Roulette first. How’s your appetite for risk?” he asks.

“I’m here with you, so clearly I’m less risk-averse than I should be. With my client’s money, it’s not as simple as red or black.” And it’s how I feel about my own money, too. He can afford to lose, I can’t. And I also won’t tell him that.

We step up to the table, the gold wheel sitting, waiting, and listen as the croupier asks for bets.

Adrenalin floods through me as I scan over the bets and my mind switches on, looking for patterns. Each of the other players makes their move, sliding their chips onto the coloured numbers on the plush green deck.

Everett doesn’t say anything, but his hand stays resting at the base of my back, as if a reminder that he’s there.

He doesn’t place a bet and lets me watch.

The wheel spins, the ball circles, and my eyes flick between the table and the wheel, the sound of the slowing ball ratcheting up the tension.

“Black thirty-three,” the croupier calls and the people around the table make a variety of responses ranging from indifference to glee.

“Your turn. I can see your mind churning just watching.” His voice is soft but goading, and he presses his hand into my spine, pushing me forward.

My eyes snap to his, but he just holds my stare.

Fine.

I flick my hair to one side. My hand moves forward and hovers before I double-check my calculations and place the first of my chips on the table with my heart in my mouth.

For the next half an hour, I break even – winning a couple, and then proceeding to lose, just as I think I’m getting the hang of it. At least I’m not out of chips. The thrill of the risk is exciting. It’s real. Live. Not hidden behind spreadsheets and files.

And I’m having fun.

“Time to switch it up.”

“Oh?” I ask, turning to him.

“Time for dice. Craps should be fun. Especially when I give you my chips.”

“No. Absolutely not. I can’t waste your money.” My brows pull down into a scowl.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s yours. Remember, we had this conversation.”

“Call it an investment. If I asked you in a professional capacity, would you do it?”

“That’s different. I know what I’m doing at work.”

“Weigh up the risk, make your bet. I want to see you do it.” I study his eyes, trying to see if he’s joking or playing around, but he looks deadly serious. “Learn.”

“This could end up being a very expensive date,” I joke.

“Only if you lose.”

My eyes bulge in panic, and he cracks that sexy grin of his. “I’m going to get us both a drink. What would you like?” I tilt my head a fraction at the question. “I’m not allowed to ask?”

“White—”

“Not wine. Champagne, spirits, take your pick.”

“Fine. Vodka tonic with ice.”

He leaves for the bar, and I assess the table one more time and place my chips. All of mine first, and my heart is in my mouth again. My hands splay on the shiny wood surface of the edge of the playing table as the balding gentleman throws the dice.

And I lose.

Fuck!

I step back, edging away from the table, but I’m blocked.

“Going somewhere?” Everett’s voice startles me.

“No, I just.” I turn to see him with two drinks. “I thought you didn’t drink?”

“Who says it’s not water?”

“Fine.” I reach for the tumbler and take a long draw of the dry liquid, as if it might help me forget I just lost a lot of fucking money. But it’s not panic rushing through my veins; it’s excitement.

“Again,” he whispers against my ear, and I’m distracted from my next move.

“Then let me think.” I block him out the best I can, then look at the bets and the numbers and calculate the sums in my head before moving the small pile of three chips from his collection to play.

We win. Several bets all build, and I get into a fun rhythm, not risking too much, but with each win, I grow a little braver.

Win. Win.

Another drink. Another win.

He takes my hand, and I gather up the chips as he pulls me back over to where we started.

“All of it. One bet. Win or lose.” He holds my gaze.

“I’d never recommend that.” I shake my head and stare right back at him, firm against his advice, even with a couple of drinks down.

“Well, I’m growing impatient to fuck you like you deserve for wearing that dress.” My breath hitches.

Swallowing any sense I have, I answer him, “And what do I deserve?” I can be risky with my words, right?

“Hard, brutal, punishing sex.” He tugs the end of my hair, tipping my neck back to him. “Make the goddamn bet,” he all but growls. “Patience is not a virtue of mine.”

So I do, with my hands trembling and my heart pounding. Every fibre of my body seems to have awoken at his dirty mouth, and now I’m just as desperate as him.

The stack of chips sits on red, and I keep my eyes on the white ball, about to be rolled into the wheel.

“Appropriate. Betting on the colour of your dress. Maybe it’ll be lucky for you after all.

” He skirts his hand down lower to the hem and brushes the exposed skin at the top of my thigh.

“I could run my finger up the side of your underwear and see how wet you are from the thrill of this. Prove my point right now.”

My breathing spikes, but I don’t move, I don’t turn around and mortifyingly, I don’t object.

The white ball spins around the golden wheel, and I can feel the slow creep of Everett’s hand as he slides it up my thigh under my stupidly, or not so stupidly, short dress.

“Black eighteen.”

“Shit!” I sigh, my nerves and my breath leaving at the same time.

“You just lost all of my money.”

My chest squeezes, and my stomach churns, but he’s got a smirk on his face as I turn to him.

“Upstairs. Now.”

I balk for a moment, but then start walking, straight through the casino floor and out into the lobby to the elevator and our floor.

With each step, my pulse quickens and my stomach knots with anticipation.

He doesn’t touch me, guide me or speak to me the entire way back, and I don’t know if it’s because he was expecting me to win and he’s pissed, or if he’s just thinking of what to do with me in the room.

The door slams behind me and I mentally brace for his attack, but it doesn’t come, and disappointment worries my nerves. But as I turn to Everett, my worries scatter. His eyes are burning with heat, predatory in their gaze, as he follows me, stepping back into the room.

“Shoes off. Panties off. The dress stays on.”