All This Time

24 ⦿ in which i win the argument

Two days later, Wolf and I are face to face again, this time without any element of surprise. It's weird seeing him so soon after our last impromptu face-to-face, but I convince myself that building up a tolerance to him before I actually, God forbid, marry him, would be a good thing.

He looks bored and plays with his phone, casting surreptitious glances at me every so often as if to ask what are we waiting for? The answer would be: my lawyer.

"This guy is really unprofessional," he finally comments, finger pausing in mid-slide over the screen of his phone. "We've been waiting"—he glances down—"almost ten minutes".

"He texted me a few minutes ago to say he was running late," I respond, not looking up from my Excel spreadsheet. In front of me is the Holy Grail - every possible thing I could wish to know about my clients, right down to their medical history and favorite TV show.

I zero in on Liza Donoghue's name. Liza's standards are high and her sex appeal is low - in other words, it's the perfect job for Dash. They have a lunch date planned for this afternoon, and even though Dash is confident in his ability to woo and impress her, I remain a little doubtful. Liza's exacting and Dash's charm and good looks notwithstanding, she's going to be more than a match for him.

"Everything okay?"

I glance up, surprised to see Wolf staring me.

"It's just, you're staring at that thing," he says, waving a hand at my Mac.

I try to relax my face. My face must have looked strained, I realize as I wheel my chair back a few inches. My eyes burn a little, so I decrease the brightness of the screen. "I'm fine. Just doing some work."

"Hooking people up?"

"Not hooking," I stress. "Matchmaking. It's precise and scientific." Since he doesn't look undeterred, I elaborate. "A difficult client has a lunch date in about an hour that really, really needs to go well."

"Isn't it kind of weird she wanted a lunch date?" Wolf asks, setting his phone on my desk. He leans back in his chair, contemplative.

"Not really. Should it be?"

"Depends on her job. Most offices wouldn't let their employees take off a whole hour for lunch."

"Oh." My brow creases. Liza works for a magazine as a copy editor. Nothing glamorous, but maybe she's senior enough that she can take a long lunch hour if she wants. "Maybe she just wanted something quick, in case it didn't work out." That's a little dismaying; she's been a pretty good client. If this latest date doesn't pan out, I'm going to lose her.

"Maybe." He shrugs and glances at my hand, seeming to notice the ring for the first time. "Is that a...?" he asks, clearly at a loss as to why there should be a wedding band on my ring finger.

"It's for the clients. No one trusts a matchmaker who's still single."

"So who do they think your mystery husband is?" he asks, intrigued.

I can tell that he's interested by the way he leans forward, just slightly, head cocked like he really cares about my answer. His eyes are bright and beseeching, and he barely blinks at all.

"It remains a mystery," I reply, smiling. "I tell them that I don't like to talk about my personal life when I'm at work."

"Smooth," he congratulates, a broad grin slipping over his face. His mouth opens, about to ask me something else, but then there's a sharp knock on my door. Three successive, evenly spaced knocks.

Before I can call out "Come in!", the door opens and in walks my lawyer. The years have been gracious to him, allowing the gangly youth to morph into the sophisticated man before me today. His suit and pants are ironed into sharp corners and lines, his briefcase and shoes are made of the finest Italian leather, and there's still the vague scent of a Brooks Brothers store lingering on his shirt. Only the slightly crooked tie gives him away - he's not as grown-up as he looks.