Page 53 of Van Cort

RIVER

He left.

But he did spend most of the night. He didn’t even try to sneak out when he did leave.

He trailed kisses down my spine before getting dressed instead, reminding me of the night before.

That’s progress, I guess. The kind of progress that brushed against my heart and whispered to let him in while the embers of my anger lay smouldering, almost forgotten.

The bed might have been empty when the alarm blared at me, but I could still smell him on the pillow as I rolled to the spot he fell asleep in.

He’s down the hall now, but I didn’t go to see him before I entered my office - my temporary office that’s far more comfortable than the small box I have at my actual job.

I lean back in the high-back ergonomic chair and look at where I am.

Working and having a relationship with the same man?

If April told me this was her situation, I’d be yelling at her.

But with Everett, it kind of just… happened.

Our arrangement has emerged into this complex thing that has my heart mixed up in it, too.

Much to my disdain, when I let my mind dwell on it.

And that’s usually when he’s being curt and provident with information.

But he stayed last night. And he offered the dinner, showing me that he could leave work here, in the office.

If I keep holding onto that, stop analysing everything in minute detail, and just relax the band around my heart… It’s harder to do than say, but my lips twitch, betraying that part of me that’s giddy over all of this. Things that are this good come with a catch - my whole life has taught me that.

I just hope this one doesn’t wreck my heart.

***

At lunch, I log on to check my real work emails and scan the usual internal requests and regular names. One sent yesterday stands out. From HR on behalf of Mr Whitham. I click it and read the words on the screen, my heartbeat quickening in pace until I hear it thrumming in my ears.

Opportunity. New York.

My eyes scan over the words, picking up the important ones.

And then start from the beginning.

Following your successful secondment at Van Cort Industries, we’d like to offer you the opportunity to work in our New York office as Senior Analyst. This package will include relocation expenses for a temporary position of one year. This coincides with the restructuring of East Coast operations.

I haven’t finished my time at Van Cort, and I’d hardly call it a secondment.

New York?

My mind begins to race, hurtling through thoughts that lead back to two big questions. Was this Everett’s doing? No. Why would he try to get me to New York? Maybe it’s because I’m simply working for him?

Both taint the offer in front of me, and I think back to the conversation with Mr Whitham, and the horrid interview with Pierson, Walter, Smith. If this offer had landed before working with Everett, I’d be celebrating, taking it, and running with the opportunity. So why am I second-guessing?

Can’t I be rewarded for simply doing a damn good job? For proving that my snake of a boss doesn’t have the acumen he should in his position, and is happy to cut corners to make himself look good?

Do I ask Everett if he had any involvement?

Would his answer make any difference to my response to the job offer?

Is this punishment for not telling him I was with April – sending me away?

No. Stop.

I stand and grab my jacket as I leave the office. Part of me wants to let Everett’s personal assistant, Devon, know I’m leaving, but I don’t.

Leaving the lobby, I look for a cab, needing to get across town in a rush. Van Cort would have a car service. In fact, I know Andre’s number. But wouldn’t that be a double standard? Calling on the perks, but complaining about what they can do for me in the same breath?

I head back inside and walk to the lavish reception desk with the gold emblem behind, scrawled for everyone to see. It’s the same VC stamped on the signet ring Everett wears.

“Excuse me, would you have a car available for me to make a meeting I have?” I smile.

“Why, yes, Miss Anderson. One moment.” She turns and picks up her phone and orders a car. How does she know who I am?

“Thank you.”

“Your car will be around in a moment.”

I drum my fingers on my thigh the whole way there, going over and over if this is or isn’t a good plan.

But as the car pulls up, I decide I can’t make this decision without knowing the reason behind it.

It’s already eating me up inside, the fear that I’m not good enough, a shadow in my mind that just won’t leave.

“I’ll be quick. Please wait for me,” I instruct the driver, as I open the door and stare up at the building. Here goes nothing.

I breeze past reception and, instead of pressing the button up to my office, call for the executive floor. This could do more damage to my career, but I have to know.

“Hi there,” I say to the assistant outside the office of Mr Whitham. “I’d like to speak to Mr Whitham. Just briefly, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I’m here regarding a position he offered. If he’s free, it will only be a minute.”

“Miss, you need an appointment—”

I feel the frustration edge into panic as I argue with her, so I play my only hand. “Please tell him that Miss Anderson is here and it’s about Van Cort.” Giving her a little nod, I turn away, my pulse racing and my hand tensing at my side.

Every part of me wants to smooth this over, not make a fuss, and apologise for barging in here and insisting, but that was before Everett Van Cort.

“Miss Anderson, you may go in,” the woman calls, and my heart sighs in relief.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I march for the door.

Mr Whitham eyes me from behind his desk, his attention split on the documents spread out before him. “Yes, Miss Anderson. I hope this is important.”

“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 have to 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.

“Well,” she encourages.

“We can wait for Dad.” I smother the air of excitement with my words.

“Oh, it’s serious then.”

“It’s good news. Nothing to worry about.” I force a smile and try to swallow my own words. This should be good news.

It’s an opportunity I’d have jumped at a few weeks ago, and while my first response was scepticism, now I’ve simmered, and confirmed that I have earned this on my own merit, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be accepting this.

Except for one Everett-sized reason.

***

“So, come on, come on.” Mom hurries as she serves the tuna casserole.

“Well,” I pick up my fork and consider how to rip the plaster off. “I had a job offer today.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s fantastic news. Are you excited? Where is it? Is it a promotion?”

“Calm down, Mom, I’m not even sure I want to take it yet.”

Mom places Dad’s dinner down and looks at me. “Why not?” She straightens, serving spoon still grasped in her hand.

I open my mouth, but I’m not sure what to say first. “Come on, sit. Eat,” I encourage. Mom’s face is shadowed in worry, though. “Look, it’s only for a year. And it’s in New York.”

Mom finally sits, and a silence drops over the table.

My fork scrapes against my plate as I take another bite. “And I’ve been seeing someone. And, it’s going…” Well, fine, great? No. None of those words can be used to describe me and Everett.

“Yes?” Mom’s face is alight with expectancy.

I smile, imagining Everett meeting her. His charming exterior and knight-in-armour routine would surely win her over in a matter of moments.

“He is a businessman, very successful, and we’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now.

” As I start, I realise I want to keep talking, sharing this part of my life with them, but I start running out of things to say because, outside of the obvious, I’m not sure how much I know about Everett.

In some ways, I know it’s more than almost anyone, but there are times when I don’t recognise him.

“He’s intense, and can be single-minded beyond belief, but then he’ll surprise me with…

” I think of our dates, and the mystery trips and turning up unannounced, and can’t find the words to finish the sentence.

But I know he lights something inside of me.

“And he’s nothing I thought I wanted, yet he is…

” My cheeks hurt as I fail to contain the smile showing when I talk about him, despite all my reservations.

“Oh, honey, you sound like you’re pretty smitten with him.” Her smile is wide and beams with happiness, which calls to something in my heart.

“I am. Although smitten doesn’t feel quite…”

“Enough?” she offers.

“No.” I shift in my seat. “It doesn’t fit with Everett. You’ll understand when you meet him.” The words slip out, and the smile on Mom’s face eclipses the one from a moment ago.

“It sounds like you have some thinking to do,” Dad finally says.

“But you guys are here. New York is on the other side of the country.”

“Oh, no. Don’t put this on us,” Mom says.

“We might love that you’re in our lives so close, but we will never hold you back.

” She wields her fork at me. “If this is what you want, what you’ve worked so hard for, then you grab it and don’t let go.

I thought we taught you that already.” I sit back, a little shocked at the intent in her voice.

“If you’re looking for excuses because of another reason you might not want to move all that way, then you need to think about that on your own. ”

“It’s time for you to shine, darling.” Dad never says much. He doesn’t have to.

“Thank you.”

The rest of dinner is comfortable and makes me think of how simple life could be. Only, the knot at the pit of my stomach hasn’t lessened, even with speaking to my parents.

Everett is the puzzle I need to work out. My feelings for him and all the associated questions and fears. And that’s before I throw in the New York curveball.