All This Time

20 ⦿ in which i dream of an unknown future

REMINDER: FROM HERE ON, THE STORY IS SOLELY SET IN THE PRESENT.

I forgot how much harder it is to hold onto self righteous anger when the object of my discontent is right in front of me. I can feel my tenuous control slipping with every shallow breath I take. The air is crackling with tension and the ring still gleams innocently at me. "Get that thing off my desk," I say finally, giving the diamond a contemptuous look.

"Not big enough for you?" Wolf makes no move to reclaim the ring. His words are tipped with sarcasm. He just watches me, his eyes hungry. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me - the girl who fell under his spell five years ago or the woman who sits before him today?

The differences are slight, but significant. Flat-ironed hair has been traded in for choppy waves set in artful skew, at least three shades lighter with just the slightest hint of an ombre. A voracious approach to a gym membership has made the girl thirty pounds lighter, her collarbone more pronounced against her olive skin. The woman no longer sees the world with trusting eyes, as though every day is a seed of hope, of promise. That's naive, remember, Charlotte?

Not dignifying his comment with a response, I lean over and push the lid of the box until it snaps down with a sickening crack. "I'm working," I huff, sliding it until he's forced to either make a grab for it or let it fall off the edge of my desk.

He opts for the former, catching the little black box with lightning-fast reflexes. "I haven't seen you since Graeme's Christmas party. That was a year ago. How have you been?"

I scoff. Small talk, seriously? I may have gotten past the things she said about me five years ago, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to bury the hatchet with Wolf. If anything, I momentarily fantasize about driving the hatchet into the base of his skull.

"I've been fine," I bite out. "Busy working," I add pointedly, picking up a pen from the penholder on my desk. "Now, if you don't mind?" With a little click of my thumb, the ballpoint tip peeps out in my favorite color of ink - violet.

"How would you like to never worry about money again?" He leans forward, changing tack. His eyes are pools of liquid mercury, swimming with challenge. "I will pay you one million dollars if you marry me."

It's a tempting offer until the money-induced haze fades away and I realize exactly who I'll be married to. "That's chump change in exchange for a life sentence," I say.

"Fine." He lets out a heavy breath. "You only have to stay married to me for a year. And then I'll give you a divorce. Five million upfront, no alimony, no drama."

Even though he's sweetened the deal to five million, Wolf of all people is in no position to offer me no drama. "Look," I say, exhaling loudly in frustration, "if it's just a business transaction, find someone else. The streets are full of women who would kill for a date with the van der Waal heir."

My own words come back to haunt me. "But those women aren't you. I need someone who won't play games. Easy come, easy go," Wolf says. "Someone practical. Someone who won't read more into things."

"Your archaic marriage clause is not my problem, Wolf." I drum my fingers on my desk with harsh, mechanical rhythm. "What the hell was Marcus thinking?" This last I mumble more to myself than the man sitting opposite.

"Probably something along the lines of forcing me to grow up," Wolf mutters, the words thick with reluctance.

I shake my head in understanding. Wolf's never ending parade of party girls and Manhattan socialites are usually splashed all over the Internet. Marriage would be an effective way of culling Wolf's crusade to sow his wild oats. At thirty-two, he is already older than Marcus had been when he'd gotten married.

"It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to settle down," he admits, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "Assuming I had the right girl."

"Settling down in a fake marriage with a guaranteed shelf life of one year is not the same thing as settling down for real." I give him a severe frown. His inability to tell the difference does not bode well for his future wife.

Irritated now, Wolf scowls at me. "I know that, Charlotte." He says my name like a curse and a prayer, the words sharp on his tongue, but coated with an emotion I can't identify. "I'm not that deluded."

At first, I admit I harbored some adolescent desire to make him see what he was missing, to become the it-girl I clearly wasn't. The weight loss had gone a long way in doing that. My younger self had some wild notion that he would apologize to me the next morning after tossing and turning in his bed, the restless slumber of the guilty. He hadn't. When I studiously avoided him the next two days, he too had kept his distance. Finally, on December 26th, Levi drove us to the airport. Normally a chatterbox, this time Xander too was silent, picking up on the air of finality in the car.

But when the gossip started circulating about the latest model or actress Wolf was dating, I soon realized that he wasn't pining or withering away with guilt. It was unreasonable of me to think that he was. But it hurt all the same. Sadness is like that, it defies reason and logic even in the most sensible of people.

Wolf stands, the movement surprising me. I expect him to throw his weight around, to cajole, to plead his case. I wait for the noose to slip around my neck, the chokehold of my attraction to him. "I'll leave," he says, the words blunt.

"Wait."

He freezes, his eyes darting to me with renewed hope.

The words are dragged from my mouth. "I'll do it. Five million." My tongue feels fuzzy and thick, like it's stuffed with cotton balls. "I want a contract."

If a smug smile had spread over his handsome face, I would have taken it back. Instead, his face reflects his surprise. His tempestuous gray eyes flare and his jaw goes slack before he regains his composure.

"Sure." Wolf sits down again, eyes still wide. His words are hesitant and ginger, like I'll spook if he says the wrong thing. "I'll go over the details with you," he offers.

"Nuh uh." I wag my finger at him. "I'll have my own lawyer look over it, thank you." Not that I think Wolf would try to swindle me, but since he has a vested interest in this marriage of convenience, I'm not letting anything get past me.

"Seems reasonable." Wolf's brow furrows. "Should I risk it by looking my gift horse in the mouth and asking why you're helping me?"

"Ah, a horse, am I?" I level a stony gaze at him. "Better than a ladder-climbing opportunist, right, Wolfie?"

"I apologized for that." The furrow between his eyebrows deepens.

"No, you didn't, actually."

"Yes, I did."

"No," I say with painful slowness. "You. Did. Not. I think I would have remembered that."

The years haven't made me bitter. It would take more than a few days with Wolfram van der Waals to do that. I haven't nursed a grudge or plotted vengeance. In fact, there were entire weeks when thoughts of him didn't cross my mind. But it's ironic that he's the one standing between me and finding happiness with someone else, all the same. I've dated men more handsome, some even more wealthy, and some a decade younger than him - and yet the ghost of Wolfram still lingers in my mind, curdling any hope I have of meeting Mr. Right.

I need to get him out of my system. That's the only reason I agreed. I am going to use Wolfram van der Waals and at the end of my one year contract, I am going to throw him away.

And, I promise myself, I will never look back.

Author's Note: And we're back to the present day! This chapter was a little shorter just to ease back into the new perspective, but there will be a longer chapter on Friday. What do you think of the changes in Charlotte? Do you think she and Wolf have matured enough to make it work this time?