Page 5 of Van Cort

RIVER

Oh boy!

I shut the door and take a breath.

It took every ounce of courage to walk away from him – to stay strong and not let myself get pulled into what he clearly wanted. I’ve met plenty of men like that before, although perhaps not so confident. And maybe not as handsome.

If there’s anything I’ve learned over the years of fitting in with the wealthy and entitled, it’s that if you give an inch, they’ll take more than the mile they think they deserve. And I’m not ready to give Everett the satisfaction of screwing me.

But, gosh, his eyes.

Such a pale green. But somehow, not washed out. There was depth there, so deep I could feel myself slipping and ready to fall if I watched them too long. And it was only our first date. It was rude to stare. Even if his ego thought I should.

I step out of my heels, walk down the corridor, and head straight for the fridge.

The wine was easily drunk at dinner, but I deserve another glass. So, I pull the half-empty bottle from the door and pour a small glass before curling up in the lounge chair. My favourite chair.

The apartment is compact and perfectly serviceable for one. It’s in a nice building in a good part of Seattle. And while I was more than happy, even pleased, to pay my half of the dinner bill, I’ll begrudge the cost for the rest of the month.

And then I think about Everett’s eyes again. Maybe they would be worth the cost.

And maybe they’re worth the weird pickup arrangement with the driver, Andre.

I sip the wine. The difference in taste between what’s in the glass and what I was drinking earlier is stark and bitter.

I check my phone and ignore the text from my mother – I’ll call her tomorrow on my way to work. Instead, I text April.

Good food, great company and only one slightly red flag. I’d call that a win.

I pick up my glass and walk over to the bedroom to change.

She replies soon after.

We can all live with a little red flag? Although it will depend on if he still lives with his mother. Hard no.

I smile at her message.

Nothing like that. I hope. He sent his driver to collect me and had to wait for him at the restaurant. It was a midweek date.

He has a driver?

He’s $$$

Did you do your usual and insist on paying your half?

I roll my eyes and finish getting ready for bed before sliding under the covers and hitting the video call button on my phone. It will be easier if we talk.

“I wondered how long it would be before you called,” she says as she springs to life on screen. Her hair’s already tucked into her silk bonnet ready for bed, but April even looks good in that. Her dark skin and even darker eyes don’t need any assistance in making her look beautiful.

“I’m never going to assume, and a part of me likes paying. Keeping my independence.” My words come out defensively.

“Even if he’s ‘I’ve-got-my-own-driver-rich’?”

“Even then. Especially then.”

“It’s not a crime to accept a dinner from someone, Andie. No one’s going to judge you.”

“I know that. But I can pay my own way. I don’t need handouts.” April has known me since before college and knows the scholarship I had was the only reason I was able to go to Berkeley. She also knows that money is a sensitive issue for me.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Maybe? I’d like to. He’s very formal, I mean, you could cut a finger on the edge of his suit. And oh-so good-looking.”

“Call him.” She’s always the optimist and never holds back from what she wants.

“Well, I have his driver’s number. So I’m going to have to wait.” And I can’t appear too eager. I already know what could happen if he comes to the door, which is exactly why I asked him not to.

“The driver’s? Really? That’s a little weird.”

“I told you that.”

“Being picked up by his driver is one thing. Having a buffer so you can’t contact him is a whole other level.”

“Well, we’ll have to see. Catch you soon.”

“Keep me posted. And don’t just do what you think you should do.”

“Byyyyeeee.” I end the call, and my arm flops down on the bed.

Maybe it was a one-time thing.

At least my imagination will be full of inspiration tonight.

***

I arrive at work at the usual time – at least forty-five minutes early, and usually at my desk before my boss.

I pull up the latest market data and the portfolio options for my favourite client, which is part of my morning routine. I should be managing them, but I have to work under Antony - who is an absolute ass.

“Oh, good. You’re in. I need you to re-run the projections on the Swanson account.”

“I did the report for their monthly accounting only last week,” I answer back, confused.

“And I’m saying it needs to be done again.”

“There’s not going to be any change unless you have any other data to report, sorry. I just—”

“Jesus, Andie.” His face reddens. And I know what this is about.

“You pressed them into the Quartzar backing, which, looking at the market this morning, is now half what it was operating at previously.”

“Just run the report and upload it to the portal by lunch.”

I nod, any fight in me to argue simmering under the overriding need to do as I’m told. He won’t listen to me, anyway. If he did, he’d have put my analysis forward.

After working through the numbers and feeling the anger build at what an incompetent analyst he is, I load the file and leave my desk to grab some lunch. As I walk out into the main foyer of the building, my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Miss Anderson, Mr Van Cort has asked me to collect you tomorrow evening at six-thirty.”

“Oh.” What? “Well, that’s a little presumptuous of him, given he’s not asked me out.” But my mind is already spiralling with thoughts of Everett. He asked, so clearly wants to see me again. Even if it’s in an odd way.

“Shall I collect you from the same address?” he prompts.

“Well, do you have any details? Are we having dinner?” I stumble through the sentence while heading in the direction of the sofas near the exit I was heading for.

“I’ll be picking you up at six-thirty from your home address.”

“Will Everett be in the car with you this time?”

“I’m not in a position to confirm Mr Van Cort’s movements.”

I’m too intrigued and have too many questions to say no. We did have a good time, and maybe I’ll regret this, but I can’t bring myself to say no. “I’ll be ready at six-thirty tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” He hangs up immediately after confirming.

Well, he’s obviously stupidly rich. Generational wealth is going to give you that, and of course, he’s arrogant; they all are.

One more date, I mentally allow myself. He did rescue me at our first meeting.

I avoid Antony for the rest of the day and leave an hour or so after everyone else.

On the way home, I check in with Mom, who asks about the job interview. I tell her that I turned the offer down, rather than go into details about why I would never receive an offer. She’ll only worry if she knew about the likes of Mr Pierson.

When I’m home, I change into running gear and head straight back out. Living in Green Lake means that I have a ready-made gym on my doorstep, complete with beautiful scenery. The three-mile run is my de-stress ritual, and the easy trail means if I need to, I can simply repeat the circuit.

Tonight is one of those evenings, and it means I can enjoy the wine on my return. There’s still enough in the bottle for a small glass.

I text April when I’m in and update her on the date for tomorrow, and then I jump in the shower before working on something for dinner.

At least I have Everett to look forward to tomorrow.

***

I arrive at work extra early, beating all the morning rush, and do my usual market check. If Andre is collecting me at six-thirty, I’ll leave earlier than usual to make it home to shower and get ready, but I’ll still be here for longer than the rest of the floor.

Despite the bad mood yesterday, Antony stays out of my way, but I can see from my office that he’s not having a good day. He’s been up and out of his seat and pacing for a good part of the morning already, and I can feel the satisfaction in his discomfort.

When four-thirty finally arrives, I shut down my laptop and stand to leave.

Antony meets me at the door to my office. “Where are you going?”

“Home. See you tomorrow.”

He folds his arms over his chest. “You can’t leave. I have a report for you to check.”

“Okay. I can do it first thing tomorrow. If you upload it to the client portal—”

“It’s due out tonight, so you have to do this now.”

“It’s already four-thirty,” I protest. “Usually I wouldn’t mind, but—”

“But what, you’re going to say no to your boss?” His jaw tenses and he stares me down.

I can feel the anger simmering, but that part of me that always needs to please the people around me screams in my ear. “What client?” I bite out.

“It shouldn’t matter.”

Taking a breath, I state very clearly, “I’ve worked over my contracted hours today already. You had all day to issue this instruction to me.”

“You’re saying no?” The worry on his face should make me happy, but it just reinforces the fact that I can never say no.

“What exactly do you need me to do?”

“You’re the fastest analyst. I just need the figures double-checked.” He steers me from my office door into his and sits me at the computer. The spreadsheet is already up.

My eyes scan over the details, and I can already see what he’s doing. He’s manipulating the market data in his favour. This isn’t the report I ran for him yesterday.

“Stop hovering if you want me to concentrate.”

He backs off, his whole demeanour shifting now.

“Do you want me to pick out what you’ve done or just give you the okay that the figures are technically legitimate?”

His eyes snap to mine. “They are legitimate. I just need you to double-check them.”