Page 26 of Van Cort
“It wasn’t meant as a slight, I assure you.”
“I think we’re past that, Everett. I’d appreciate the truth. Do you have any intention of seeing me again?”
“That was the intention of the call, actually. To restart, if you like.” I hear the edge to his voice, how careful he’s being with his words.
“Funny, and here I was thinking that was what the coffee and flowers were for. You certainly like to keep a girl guessing.”
“Well, let’s look to change that. You must understand that there are certain parameters to dating me. The phone number, my driver, my schedule.”
“And none of that is a problem. It’s the ghosting and lack of contact after you fucked me, twice, that’s the problem. I have no idea where I stand with you. Or why I should even continue talking with you if this is just going to end in the same way. Placate me, sleep with me, and only call when you’re bored or want another fuck?” I squeeze my eyes shut as my anger presses the words and hope it doesn’t piss him off, even if he deserves it.
He’s in the wrong. He needs to make amends.I repeat the words in my head.
“I’d like to take you out on a date.” Not a question.
“Okay. So, back to wining and dining?”
“Last weekend was…an exception. But I would like to see you again. Dinner?”
“Dinner. And will I be seeing Andre on this date?” I ask.
“No. I’ll pick you up myself. But understand that he will need to be present at times in the future.”
“You understand that for there to be a next time, you can’t ignore me. This can remain casual, I have no intention of wanting anything more given the track record, but that is my condition.”
“I’ll ensure that’s the case. So, tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.” Another non-question from that tone of his.
Before I agree, I offer a slice of my vulnerability, this conversation being the most honest perhaps we’ve had, besides idle chit-chat.
“My head is telling me there’s too much to risk in this for me. You’ve fooled me twice already. And I’d never advise to invest in this.” And I’ll be keeping my feelings well and truly out of it.
“But it’s a yes?”
“Seven-thirty.”
***
Déjà vu hits as I riffle through my wardrobe looking for something for our date, or should I be calling it his final chance? My hand stills on the obscenely short red dress. It was an indulgence and one I’ve only been able to wear once. If he wanted a casual fuck, it certainly screams that.
But that’s not for tonight.
And it’s not me, really.
Everett’s call seemed to suggest he’s back to the formality that I’d first seen in him, so I sack the rest of my wardrobe for something feminine, but sophisticated, and certainly not as casual as the running gear of the weekend.
The pale blue dress I try on works. It’s cut a little short for business attire but delivers the right silhouette for a formal date. My hair is still shiny, so I brush it out until it gleams, twist it over one shoulder and braid it. The fine strands will only get in the way of eating and drinking later, and this style keeps it on the right side of formal.
At precisely seven-thirty, Everett knocks on my door. No flowers in hand, the sharp lines of his suit like armour once again. “Shall we?” He crooks his arm in offering.
Just as I go to accept, my body freezes as if warning me to take a second thought. His list of red flags is growing, and all I seem to be doing is ignoring them.
“Are you ready?” Everett checks, knocking me from my final deliberation.
I feign a smile and take a calming breath. “Thank you.”
He leads the way to his car. A sleek, silver Mercedes this time, all business. No hint of the Range Rover from the weekend.
He drives us towards town, and I anticipate a stale and clinical location again, like our first date. Instead, he takes us closer to the Pike Market area. It’s bustling and lively, and somewhere that neither of us is appropriately dressed for. Although Mr Van Cort, I doubt, wouldn’t be out of place wherever he went. He has that air about him. The same one that rich and entitled people have, born with the confidence that nothing will ever be beyond their reach.
