Page 48 of Van Cort
“Sounds interesting.” And I realise I am genuinely interested in what he’s telling me. And that this might be one of the most normal conversations we’ve had. A simple phone call.
“I was hoping we could see each other this week.”
“Wow, I’m still getting over the last surprise you pulled, and you’re talking about another date.”
“You didn’t like that it was a surprise?” Although it’s a question, it feels more like he’s checking if it was his surprise, or surprises in general, I was referring to.
“Sometimes surprises can be a lot to process. But I loved the fact that you did it, perhaps because it seems so out of character for you.”
“I see. How about drinks then? Nothing involving an overnight bag this time.”
“That sounds nice, I appreciate you calling, too.”
“I meant what I said; you put the ball in my court.”
“And you’ve delivered.” My grin is annoying.
“I’ll send you the details. And don’t let your boss ruin your day.”
With that, he hangs up, but I don’t even mind the abrupt ending.
Everything seems to be different now, and maybe something in my chest relaxes that he’s not going to drop me, and I’ll never hear from him again.
Annoyingly, for the rest of the day, and even during my run, Everett’s the one filling my thoughts, and despite my better judgement, he’s certainly made an impression.
Ever since my outburst at Andre, things have shifted. And I’m caught between liking that and annoyed that it took my intervention for things to change. But the fact that he’s calling, that he’s taking me away, is seeing me more and more – shouldn’t that all mean something?
No. I’m reading too much into this. He was happy to fuck me and never speak to me again. That’s what I have to keep grasp of.
The evening passes in a blur of numbers and research for the new client team I’ll be part of. There’s a pitch and presentation in a few weeks, and I’ll be required to do a preliminary financial review and pass it off to the investment division for their take.
Maybe this is the opportunity I need to be recognised. Or the additional line on my resume that will get me in the door, even though I know it’s not my resume that failed at the last interview- that was solely down to the fact that I had morals and wouldn’t whore myself for a promotion.
The next day starts just like Monday, minus the interruption from Antony, which is a bonus.
At just before eleven, my desk phone rings, which it barely ever does. I pick up.
“Yes?”
“There’s a Mr Van Cort in reception for you. He’s insisting he has an appointment.”
“Um, yes. Yes. I mean he does. I can come and meet him.” My cheeks heat, and my eyes widen that he’s actually here. “Thank you.” I hang up and brush my skirt down, as I stand, and leave the office for the elevator.
What’s he doing? How does he even know where I work? The small smile at my lips that he’s come here is, once again, annoying. Being this happy to see him again isn’t safe for me.
He’s standing with his back to the reception, looking out onto the street beyond the two-story high glass window, and I take a moment to appreciate him. The lines of his suit are as sharp as always.
I clear my throat, and he turns to face me, a slight lift to the corner of his lip. He steps towards me, his hand offering a tall takeout coffee.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This is a…surprise. I thought we were going to have drinks later in the week?” I think back to our conversation from yesterday.
“Perhaps I couldn’t wait. I was in the area.” Really?
I walk us through security and head towards the elevator that will take us up to my floor. “And you thought coffee would be nice?” I press the button to the sixth floor.
