Van Cort

Sick of being objectified and passed over because of her looks and long, blonde hair, River Anderson heads to an expensive bar to drown her sorrows. The male elite are all the same. Privileged. Entitled. Bored. They think they can turn on the charm and you’ll come running with your panties swinging around your knees. Is it too much to ask that she’s seen for her skills, for her acumen, for the years of education?
Walking out of that interview put her directly in the path of Everett Van Cort, though. He was all of the above, and everything she hated. Gorgeous, obviously. Stern. Distant. With perfectly fitted suits and hypnotic green eyes to drown in. Somehow, one drink turned into more.
There was a mansion in the wilderness, and gold, and luxury beyond compare. She just needed to keep her feelings straight, because Everett Van Cort was a risk she would never advise. Then things got complicated.

Lines blurred. Feelings shifted. Even his armour softened, showing a glimpse of the man underneath. He’d let her in.
Or at least that’s what she thought.