Page 29 of Van Cort
“I know you’re here,” I murmur.
Footsteps sound near the guest bedrooms. They’re deliberately slow, just like mine. Heavier, though. Still. “How did you get in?” I brace the countertop and wait, staring at the sound getting closer to me. “This is going to be a dull reunion if you don’t speak.”
“Reunion? No.” He turns into the space I’m in and leans on the doorframe, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a folder. “Anniversary. And honestly, getting into anything that you do isn’t hard. You know that.”
It’s been so long I’d almost forgotten the precise replication staring back at me. Same eyes, same hair, same skin. I look over his suit, amused that he’s bothered going for the exact same look I choose to dress in.
“Busy day in the office, brother?” he asks.“Oh no, you haven’t been, have you? Well, you have, butyouhaven’t.” My eyes narrow as he kicks off the frame and walks back into the lounge area. “Come see your gift.”
I move to follow him and eventually find him sitting on the sectional in front of the music box he sent me an image of. My head rears back slightly, unable to stop itself.
He points at the folder next to it. “That’s for you. An efficient man with a stake up his ass gave it to me today. Interesting read.” I move to take it and open it, dismissing the box for now. Philip’s marriage contract is bound neatly in it. “It reads like a prison sentence. Who the fuck would want to marry that? Honestly, brother, still so lacking in romance.” I throw the damn thing back on the table. “I suppose that’s your style, though. Always was. Cold.”
“Who else did you talk to at the office?”
“There was this cute, organised brunette who seemed to know a lot about what you were doing. Your PA, I assume. She was quite confused at you being there. Asked why you weren’t at Pearson’s.” I was. “Have you fucked her? I didn’t, by the way. Maybe tomorrow.” Devon needs a vacation. I go back to the kitchen and swipe my phone, sending her a text to tell her to take the next two weeks off. “And some other guy who wanted your signature for a piece of land you’ve been thinking about buying. I signed for you. You’re welcome.”Fuck.
“Where?” I shout through the rooms.
“I don’t know. Don’t care either.” Jesus.
I walk back into the lounge. “How much?”
He snorts and picks up a glass of whiskey he’s helped himself to. “Why should that matter to me? I’m not here for that. Drink?”
“No.”
He pours me one anyway, as a text comes back from Devon, nothing but question marks as the response.
Just do it, Devon. You could use the break.
Okay, thank you.
I throw the phone back on the table, irritated that I’ve just lost my only sanity in this world of constancy.
“Have you given her time off now and spoiled some of my plans? So serious.” He laughs and picks the folder up, flicking through it. “Sit. Have a drink, Rhett.” Everything about me stiffens at the sound of him calling me that. Only two people ever have.
I snarl, to myself mainly, and walk over to sit opposite him.
“Why are you here, West?”
“Europe and the rest of the world became tiresome. Twenty years is a long time. How do I look?” I frown. Look? He looks good. Like me. Still. “Took a little time to let the tan fade. And then there was this stiff as fuck haircut and clothing that I’ve seen on you the last few years. Slightly surprised at the latter, to be honest. There was a time when you were more carefree than this formality.” Carefree. I’ve never been that. As he well knows.
“How have you seen me the last few years?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re everywhere I am, Rhett. Online. It’s fucking dull. But once I’d made a decision, it was useful to see you again and hear your voice. This,” he points to his hair, his body, is overall appearance. “Is not me.”
“It could have been.”
“Hmm. Well. It isn’t. Do you really intend to give whoever you’re thinking about marrying five million a year?” I’m not discussing that.
“What decision are you talking about, West?”
“And a fifteen-million bonus every ten years? Lucky girl.” He drops the folder open beside him. “Is it your little blonde-haired thing? I didn’t even know her name until I read these papers. She is quite lovely. Feisty for you, though. Although, tight little cunt. Far more our style.” He smiles and lounges back. “She thought I was you. Called your name while I rutted into her against the wall.” Despite my rising jealousy regarding that, I stay passive and keep staring. “No reaction at all, Rhett?It doesn’t irritate you that I dabbled in your belongings?What’s yours is mine. You remember, don’t you?”
“She doesn’t belong to me.”
He runs his fingers over the text on the contract. “You’d like her to, though. These papers prove it. Mrs Andie Van Cort. Or is she Andrea? And then a child will come for Van Cort.” He looks at his own signet ring. “Yours or mine? Wouldn’t matter really, would it? The old man would be pleased. Do you think we’ll have a son?”
