Page 11 of Van Cort
“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.
