Page 15 of Van Cort
“So far.” I sweep my hair back to the side and look over at the band playing.
I need a distraction because the wine is going to my head, and talking with Everett is fun.
Our entrees arrive, and we both fall into a period of quiet as we focus on the food. And as we finish, the conversation stills, and I automatically feel the need to fill it. “Have you helped any more companies out of trouble this week?”
“No. Not yet. But there’s still time.”
“You like to help people.”
“And you conclude that because?”
“You helped me at the bar when we first met. You helped that company.”
“I wouldn’t call paying under the odds helping.”
“Something is only ever worth the price someone’s willing to pay for it. Did he have any other offers on the table?”
“No. That’s an interesting perspective from a financial analyst.”
“It’s what can make it so much fun. Sometimes, all the figures can stack up, align, and give you the perfect information to form an airtight conclusion. But there are still variables. Still curveballs. Some in your favour. Some not. Finding the right match at the right moment can give everyone what they need.” I stop talking, not wanting to get carried away. We’ve diverted from my first point about him wanting to help. He didn’t agree. Nor did he disagree.
“And what do you do for fun? Not including work.” He switches the subject.
“I’m not sure you can strictly classify it as fun, but I like to run. And a glass of wine is my reward. You?”
“Currently, getting to know the financial analyst I rescued at the bar she crashed is my fun.”
I smirk. There he goes. Keeping everything to himself. But there’s something irritatingly charming about him.
“Considering you mentioned the piano being out of tune, can I conclude you play?” I ask.
“I used to.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Life happened. There was no space for music anymore.”
Another glass of wine and more food, and our conversation balances the cordial and flirty lines for the rest of the night.
The time vanishes and we pass the allocated two hours this time, and despite the lockdown of his personal details, it’s much more relaxed.
When the bill arrives, I lift my brow in question. “Are we splitting again?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
His lips curve at the corners, as he sits back and signals for the server. The card he pulls from his jacket gets handed over to the waiter who arrives, and all the while he never moves his eyes from mine. There’s heat there, despite the cool colour of green. He embodies control; it’s in his every move, his every word. And it’s stupidly hot. I already know that I won’t be asking him to wait in the car again tonight. If for no other reason than wanting to get my hands on his crisp shirt and find out what’s underneath.
CHAPTER FIVE
EVERETT
The journey back to her house is as quiet as it was last time, but there has been flirtation this evening. I wait, as the car pulls up, for her to make a decision. I could make it for her, I suppose. It wouldn’t take much more on my part to reach over, slide a hand over her thigh, and perhaps pull it towards me to open those legs. Most women like me in that mode. And, in my experience, it doesn’t necessarily have to come from a sense of nicety either.
She looks around the interior for a few moments, unsure, and pauses her hand on the door handle. “Everett?”
“Yes, Andie.”
“You don’t have to stay in the car.”
“Andie?”
