Page 12 of Van Cort
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.”
I run the figures through the software, and, on a very brief overview, they’re fine. “Don’t spring work on me that requires more attention to detail and time to complete. It makes you look incompetent, and I won’t sign off officially on this, but the figures should hold up. I would advise not sending this through to the client, though.”
I stand and leave, nearly running from the office and out of the building.
Late. I’m now late, and I hate that.
The commute home is still tolerable because it’s still early, but everything is at a run now.
