Page 17 of Van Cort
Whilst it isn’t unusual for me to think of a woman a few days after the event, this isn’t exactly that. This is like it used to be years ago. She’s constant in my mind. At least, her excessively long, blonde hair is. It must be more than that, but for the last fuck knows how long, that’s the main thing about her I’m remembering. I can still feel it in my hands and still smell the sweet, light aroma of citrus fruits. I’m almost infatuated with the thought of it. Which is not how it should be.
Devon comes into my office and places a stack of folders on the desk. A puff of dry air wafts across my face, nothing butpaper and cardboard in the odour. “Your five pm just cancelled,” she says. “There’s been a crash downtown. He can’t get here. I told him I’d reschedule.” I nod, and, momentarily, the thought of Andie dissipates until Devon leaves and the air settles again.
My fingers twitch on my pen as my thoughts drift back to the glossy feel of her hair alongside the image of lemon groves. Pale skin in that sort of heat? Damaging. The corner of my mouth curves. This is ridiculous. She’s just another woman. A highly attractive one, no doubt, but one with too much beauty and far too much intelligence for playing one-nighters every now and then.
Closing down my computer, I leave the office, walk for the elevator, and let it take me downwards. It opens and I walk straight into a woman carrying folders of work. She screeches, and I grab her before she falls sideways, but the folders go everywhere. Reams of paper and documents scatter the lobby floor – untidy and in disarray. My whole body tenses, hand on her arm included. She tries to pull away, and whilst part of me knows I should let her go, the other needs something to direct my irritation on.
“Mr Van Cort?” she says, quietly. My head snaps round to look at her for the first time. It’s an intern I briefly remember seeing. “You can let go.” No. “Please. You’re hurting me.” I look at my fingers around her arm, see the whiteness in them and the pressure they’re causing. “Mr Van Cort?” My hand eases. “I’m so sorry. I was rushing and…” I release my grip from her dark skin, staring at my own hand for too long, and look back at the floor – my floor. “I didn’t see you.” How could she not fucking see me? And now this because of her idiocy? It’s a fucking disaster zone, full of mess and disorder.
She bends to the floor and starts attempting to reorder the chaos, her ruddy face showing her embarrassment. Her knees hit the marble, and her body reaches and stretches around her.I should help. I don’t. Instead, I watch something immaterial to me enthusiastically do what it should to attempt placating me. It doesn’t work, but what it does do is bring images of long, blonde hair back into my mind again. She’d have to tie it up for this kind of endeavour or she’d trip on it and constantly wrench her own pain out.
My brow arches, a wry smile landing on a face that has no right to even consider such thoughts. I can’t help it now, though. Not while I’m watching this mediocre female grovel and crawl around on the floor for me.
“Everett.” I half come out of the fog I’m in and turn my head at the sound of Philip Renfield, my senior lawyer. “I’m glad I’ve caught you.” He reaches downwards and picks up some paperwork near my feet. “That deal with the warehousing is complete. It’s all yours. What are you doing with it?”
I look at him as he hands files to the woman who’s still fucking around down there. “Demolishing it.”
“I thought so. I’ve already contacted Hardy’s for a quote, and Pearson’s for planning.” The woman starts getting up, having crawled her way back to us, and shows too much leg via the split in her skirt. “What happened here?”
“Stupidity.” She looks at me as the word snarls from my mouth. Fear and nerves skitter over her gaze, given her screw up. I take it all in, enjoy it, and swallow.No. “On my part as much as anything.” The last words brighten the look on her face, and I watch her turn, her head down again, and scurry off. At least the floor’s clean.
“Who was that?”
I begin walking again, hopeful I can get all these distracting views and images out of my head. “No one. An intern, maybe.” Most men would have a drink right now. They’d go and seek comfort in the calm that comes after the first few shots. Or they’d get on with the very thing they were thinking about. I don’t havethat luxury, so hitting the gym until I’ve exhausted myself will have to do.
“Do you want her fired?” Yes. Immediately.
“No, Philip. Like I said, I walked into her. I wasn’t thinking straight.” I’m still not.
We say our goodbyes when we get out of the revolving door, and I stand, hands in my pockets, and watch the world go by for a few minutes. Traffic struggles to move. People bustle and barge at each other on the sidewalk. It should be noisy out here – it’s not. I’m too far in my own head again – still thinking, still imagining. My thumb runs along the material of my suit pants, intent on feeling the slightest bumps and ridges – the imperfections and flaws in the seam. Andie could’ve been under my thumb like that if I’d let myself go. I could have enjoyed every ridge for longer, letting myself dwell in curves and heat. There might have been some silence, some peace. I could have even stayed over and woken next to her.
No one I know knows her, do they? She’s an unfamiliar; a woman I could enjoy without the need to think of how it looks to the wealth set. I don’t like assumptions about me being circulated. And I sure as hell don’t like my private life being mauled over by the wives who gossip daily because they’ve got nothing else to do.
She’s away from that, though. Separate. We could fuck for weeks if I was careful, and no one would ever have to see us together or know who I was using. I could finish work and take the impending, regular frustration out on pussy rather than weights. Every day, she could be mine – waiting for me, desperate for me.
My head shakes. The fact that I’m even thinking those thoughts and letting something come back to me is the very reason why I shouldn’t. Singular fucks are always the way forward. No attachment. No unhealthy obsession. No messyand difficult thoughts to manage or process. Simple fucks. Straightforward and enjoyable, like it was the other night with her. One night and then I find another, less interesting version of female anatomy to dispel any fascination. That’s the way it has to be.
CHAPTER SIX
RIVER
Ishould have known better.
I sigh for the dozenth time and put my phone away.
Still nothing.Six days later.
It’s clear now that the second date was only so he could sleep with me. I told him no after the first, and it dented his ego. I bet nobody tells him no. Not in the usual course of his life. The shame of it is, I thought we got on well, despite everything, but it turns out he’s just an arrogant bastard.
Now, all I need is for my mind to stop thinking about him. Especially what he looks like out of that shirt, because that was even better than him in the shirt. And I swear, even days later, I can still feel him inside of me. Or at least I can stillremember just how good he felt – how good he made me feel. The command in his voice, the insistence in his tone, was mortifyingly sexy. And while I normally hate my hair being held, he did it, and it made me…
No.
I chastise myself. I’m not going to fall for a guy simply because he can make me orgasm. Multiple times.
At least tomorrow is the weekend. Mom has insisted I go over on Sunday, and it has been a while since I’ve visited her and Dad.
Pizza, wine and a good film are sounding pretty good for a Saturday night. It would be better with April, but she lives in Sacramento, so we don’t get to see each other as often as we like, but maybe a visit is overdue. I could fly down and spend the weekend. Just this afternoon to work through, and then I can reset, hopefully putting Everett Van Cort out of my mind for good.
