by Kat T. Masen
But she was different.
“Charlotte, I’m not everybody else,” I told her with confidence.
Her lips pressed together in a slight grimace, and her eyes widened with a longing gaze.
“No, you’re not, Alex,” she stated, never breaking her stare. “You certainly are not.”
LEX
Present Day
“Mr. Edwards.”
Everyone at the table rises, extending their hands. Shaking each one of them in turn, I take a seat and motion for the waiter to come over. This is one of my final meetings before I finally fly out on Monday morning, and I’m itching to get back home.
“Can I have a short black, please?”
The waiter scurries away as I turn to face Mr. Klein and the rest of his associates. The purpose of the meeting today is to discuss our chain of clubs in Manhattan, specifically After Dark, our newest and most profitable club.
Klein produces our latest figures, then delves into our budget. The club is profitable, thanks to reaching full capacity every Friday and Saturday night. The paparazzi swarm the outside as celebrities make it their new favorite spot. Overall, I’m content with the numbers along with the other clubs along the East Coast.
As I look over a paper forecasting this year’s return, I’m distracted by someone laughing at another table. The laugh, sounding almost angelic, if not a little familiar, is making it difficult for me to focus.
To drown out the incessant noise, I focus on Klein’s recommendations for minor improvements we can make to the club to ensure long-term profit.
But then I hear it again.
I turn my head to the left to see where it’s coming from.
A woman is sitting with a man at a table a few feet away. He must be telling her a funny story because her head and shoulders are shaking uncontrollably while her laughter barrels through the restaurant. This fucker is surely going to get laid tonight.
The woman is sitting with her legs crossed to the side. I eye her long, lean, tanned legs right down to her shoes. Oh, fuck me, Louboutins. If there’s one thing I have a fetish over, it’s Louboutin pumps. Something about the black and red screams dominatrix. I adjust my pants slightly under the table, knowing all too well meetings and hard-ons don’t go hand in hand.
It’s almost impossible not to check out the rest of her. She’s wearing a high-waisted gray pencil skirt and a white silk blouse buttoned down low enough I can see the curves of her breasts. Her tits look fabulous, nice and full. What a lucky bastard. Her hair is pinned up, and yes, of course, she’s a brunette. Fuck my life.
“Mr. Edwards?”
Klein breaks me from my daze by producing more spreadsheets, sliding them across to me. Analyzing the graphs on the sheets, my head is unable to shut out the noise.
“Sorry, Mr. Klein, you were talking about profit margins?”
The woman laughs again. I turn to look at the same time she lifts her head. She’s wearing black-rimmed reading glasses, very librarian. Don’t go there again, Edwards. I let out a small breath with the sudden realization at how unprofessional I am being.
Focus.
But something pulls me toward her, this force consuming me without any rhyme or reason. Quickly, I allow myself one last glance to squash this obscene curiosity I have about her.
She turns to look my way, and the most beautiful deep chocolate brown eyes meet with mine, and the second our gaze locks, my heart stops, the beats now at a complete standstill.
This can’t be.
The ghost of my dreams, my fantasies, and most importantly, my memories. The past comes flooding back to me like a movie being replayed in my head.
I can’t believe it’s her, nine years later.
With a surge of panic, my mind is swirling with all the things I need to say to her. This is my chance, and I have to begin with apologizing for what I did. There are so many things I need to say because I never got a chance to. I’m so overcome with mixed emotions, unable to string together a coherent thought in my racing mind. My palms start to sweat, the voices around me droning in a low and incomprehensible murmur. My eyes feel like they are betraying me. This has to be my mind playing tricks, but as I focus once again, it’s undeniable that everything I see before me is indeed the woman I once loved.
She does a double-take, panic-stricken, her eyes wide and cheeks flush. Leaning over to the man sitting across from her, she mouths something before rising from her chair.
Klein is still talking, and quick to cut him off, I excuse myself abruptly, desperate to follow her to what I assume to be the restroom. Her pace is fast, darting in and out of the waiters serving, making it difficult for me to catch up. I increase my steps until I’m only an arm’s length away.
“Charlotte, wait.”
I know she heard me, but she doesn’t turn around. Stretching forward, I grab her arm, immediately hit with the familiar surge of electricity jolting through me as I touch her—how much I crave it, how much my body misses this feeling. Closing my eyes for a millisecond, I allow myself to get lost in this sensation.
Frozen on the spot, her body stiffens. Slowly, she turns around cautiously to face me. Her once-loving eyes turn to fire, her smile and laughter no longer apparent. Shaking her arm out of my tight grip, she manages to pull away, only to fold her arms under her breasts.
Oh fuck, no, no, no, now it’s all I can see.
My eyes, unable to peel themselves away, admire the beautiful sight—round, full—and how I so desperately want to reach out and caress them.
Yet, despite being drawn to her body, the fire in her eyes bores into me, warning me of what’s to come.
“Charlotte, please…” I beg again.
As soon as her name leaves my mouth, she clenches her jaw, a pained stare following as the color drains from her face. Her icy silence gives me a chance to examine what stands before me, connecting my memories to the present moment.
She’s tall, of course, the pumps she wears giving her height. My eyes drift toward her arms, noticing the sun-kissed tan enhanced by the white blouse she wears. Her hair is pinned up into a tight-knit bun. With a longing ache I want to take it out, have it flow down her back, just the way I remember her.
As my gaze wanders back toward her face, it’s evident my memory stayed true to the past with nothing much changing besides her wearing a little mascara accentuating her long eyelashes, a trait from her Cuban heritage.
And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I allow myself to be drawn to her mouth. Unknowingly, my eyes soften over her full, luscious lips covered in a ruby red lipstick. My mouth becomes moist, remembering how she tasted when our tongues would battle feverishly lost in a deep kiss.
But nothing stands a chance against the deep chocolate-brown eyes staring back at me which completes the picture-perfect beauty in all its essence. Capturing me and making my heart beat so fast, I could’ve sworn it fell out of my chest the second I saw her. She has become this beautiful woman, even more so than the girl I left behind.
“I looked for you after you left,” I tell her, desperate with my tone. Dropping my chin to my chest, the words seem frivolous when the pain runs so deep. I’m never at a loss for words, and this overwhelming feeling of shame is tearing me to shreds, overshadowing my normal confident persona.
“Obviously not hard enough,” she angrily shoots back.
My eyes dart back up to meet hers, caught off-guard by the angered tone. I knew my leaving abruptly would hurt her, but we were young. You’re supposed to get over these things. How ironic to be thinking that because one look at her and I know it’s far from over.
“Can we please go somewhere and talk?” I plead.
I’m never one to beg for attention, let alone from a woman, but I want her to know how sorry I am. I need a chance to explain what happened, for her to understand my reasoning for leaving her behind.
“Alex, there’s nothing left to say. It was years ago, a high school fling. It’s all in the past. I really need to get
back.”
She called me Alex.
No one calls me that anymore.
I’m known as Lex in the business world because of my ruthless behavior. I have been compared to that of Lex Luthor. Overhearing a bunch of interns call me it once, instead of firing them, I enjoyed them being afraid of me. Not long after that, I demanded that my family stop calling me Alex because it was a shadow of who I used to be.
I’m no longer the Alex Edwards she knew. But this isn’t the moment to correct her because her other words linger, a high school fling.
Charlotte tries to push her way past me, but I grab her arm again. She doesn’t turn around. Instead, she stands completely still with her back to me.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I don’t know why I ask, maybe it’s the sadist in me. I know it will infuriate her, but the fucker was all over her, and knowing it’s her now, I want to go back and beat the living shit out of him. Drag him out of this place and demand he return what belongs to me.
“Excuse me?” She turns around abruptly, blazing eyes with her nostrils flaring like a bull ready to attack. “First of all, you have no right asking me that. It’s none of your business who I’m fucking, Alex.”
My blood boils as the words ricochet like bullets spraying against my bruised ego. So what, she’s fucking him? Had she turned into a cold-hearted woman fucking men without attachment?
I’m losing control, ready to walk over and show him who the fuck she belongs to, but as I bow my head to calm the storm lashing within me, the shimmer of a large diamond catches my attention.
My eyes widen, my stomach twisting in a gut-wrenching knot as my heart pumps hard while my adrenalin spikes. Without hesitation, I yank her hand toward me to make sure what I’m seeing is indeed a ring on her finger.
“What’s this? You’re engaged?”
She allows her hand to linger for a moment, but then, with force, she pulls it back. Her face looks slightly guilty, then it quickly transforms into anger.
“Julian is my fiancé.”
“Your fiancé? So, you’re marrying that jerk?”
“Typical Alexander Edwards. It’s all about you, right? Remember, you left me without a goodbye, without an explanation. I’ve moved on just like you did with her. Goodbye, Alex. Have a nice life.”
I loosen my grip, stunned by her words as she storms off back to her table. Resting my back on the wall, I close my eyes for a brief moment to compress the rage consuming me. My pulse is elevated, and my vision is clouded as the pounding inside my head is dominating my normally rational thoughts. With my heart still beating erratically on the verge of combustion, my feet move on their own accord back to my table. I need to end this meeting now.
But like a force of nature, I’m drawn back to her again, unable to turn away. Charlotte sits back down before leaning in, whispering something in his ear. He places some bills on top of the black check holder, and they both stand. She grabs her purse and starts walking toward the main door. For a split second, her eyes meet mine, and undoubtedly something passes between us.
The same look which passed between us nine years ago.
The guy grabs her hand, holding it firmly.
My anger is on the brink again, losing control, my temper getting the better of me. I need to find a way to talk to her, to get her alone and to have that chance to explain everything. I’m certain if she knows my side of the story she will forgive me, understand my mistakes and regrets.
In a moment of clarity, it all starts to make sense.
I rule the business world, I am on top of my game. I have everything I want, at least everything I thought I wanted. Now, it stands before me, the one thing I never knew I desired more than life itself.
The one thing I would give up everything I own for.
It’s no longer a figment of my imagination.
I touched her, felt that surge that no other woman in this lifetime will make me feel.
It’s Charlotte who has been missing all along, and now, I’ll stop at nothing until she’s completely mine.
CHARLIE
Eric yanks my hand toward him so fast my body jerks forward, crashing into his.
“Oh-em-gee,” Eric screeches like a hyena on crack.
After I gain my composure, I allow him to examine the diamond ring adorning my finger, reminding me how surreal this all is.
“Charlie, this is a Harry Winston princess-cut diamond. I need a total replay. What were you wearing? What was he wearing? The speech… oh, did he get down on one knee?” Catching his breath he sits on the chair, crossing his legs in anticipation.
I replay the entire night to him and even re-enact the proposal part, getting down on one knee, which was interrupted when Nikki walks in. Her face falls slightly as if she thinks me accepting Julian’s proposal is a bad idea.
She sways her head, motioning Eric out of the room. “Charlie, I think we should talk about this.”
“Whatever it is, Nikki, it can be said in front of Eric.” I laugh as Eric shrugs his shoulders, laughing with me.
“Okay fine, have it your way. Don’t you think you should get to know him for a little bit longer rather than jump into marriage? I mean, what’s the rush? You’ve only been dating, what… three months?”
I saw this coming, of course. Most people’s reaction will be the same, but who are they to judge what the two of us have? I love him, that’s what matters. I don’t need to justify that, not to anyone. Funny, though, I have been putting off telling Mom and Dad, knowing their reaction will be exactly the same.
“C’mon, Nikki, you’ve met him. He’s a great guy.”
“Charlie, a great guy doesn’t mean you have to walk down the aisle with him. Just enjoy him… for now.”
“I love him,” I shoot back, defensively.
“I know, but is it enough?”
Her question rattles me. Eric sits wide-eyed at both of us like he’s watching some scene from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Nikki stands there, arms folded, tapping her foot. Her usual glare, which normally has no effect on me whatsoever, intimidates me at this moment.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look, Charlie, all I’m saying is that yes, Julian is a fantastic guy, but don’t you think you’re rushing into this? It’s almost like it’s just to move on…”
Stilling my movements, my expression doesn’t waver as she trails off. I know her interrogation of my actions is fueled by my resistance to settle down with any man before Julian. My past is unknown to her and everyone else, apart from Finn. Every so often, during a drunken rant, I’d spill information about teenage years, but whenever I was pushed I’d shut down immediately.
It’s my past, therefore, it should remain exactly that, in the past.
I’m not the same Charlotte Mason, that naïve high school girl so willing to give her heart only to be chewed up and spit out like a raw piece of meat. Things have changed, people change. Settling down at my age is quite common and not something to be shocked over.
“Eric, can I have a word with Nikki in private?”
With a mixture of disgust and hurt on his face, he walks out the door but stops at my desk to grab a handful of M&Ms I keep in a large glass jar. As the door closes, I focus my attention back on Nikki. “You’re the first one to say how picky I am, that I never give any guy a chance. So here I am giving this wonderful guy a chance, and you have the nerve to tell me that I’m making a mistake?”
“No, I simply asked why the rush. Are you knocked-up or something?”
“No!” I blurt out.
“Then, I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand. All you need to do is be my friend. I love him, he loves me. Time means nothing when you know it’s right.”
“And is it?”
This back-and-forth arguing is no different than when we go to court. Nikki is playing lawyer, and I’m standing trial. I hesitate, trying to find the right words which will be good enough for her,
so she will understand.
“You know what they say, ‘hesitation is a product of fear,’” she quotes.
“Or maybe I’m just trying to find the right words, so you’ll stop nagging me about this.”
Nikki’s arms fall limp as she sighs dejectedly, her shoulders slumping while she hangs her head and stares at the ground. After a moment of silence, she straightens her posture and meets my gaze. “Charlie, I’m not nagging. You’re my best friend. I only want the best for you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so judgmental. Now show me this damn ring. Oh, hang on a sec…” her lips curve upward into a sarcastic grin, “… do me a favor and open your door?”
I know without asking why she wants me to do that. Tiptoeing to my door, I open it quickly as a shocked Eric pummels to the floor with a paper cup.
As Nikki and I break into laughter, a somewhat disheveled Eric picks himself up, wiping his perfectly pressed outfit.
“Ladies, this is an Armani suit.”
“You need a glass, Eric, not a paper cup. Such a rookie mistake.”
***
I’m just about to leave my office to meet Julian for lunch when Eric barges in unnoticed, skipping to my table like a five-year-old girl. All he’s missing are the pigtails.
“Guess what? You’re so going to love me!” he squeals. “Thursday afternoon I have Carolina, a stylist, coming to your apartment.”
“Shut the front door! But why?”
“The charity ball, silly.”
“No way!” I stand, grabbing the tickets from his hand.
There are six tickets to the New York Annual Charity Ball to raise awareness for orphaned kids. These tickets are like gold dust. I’m speechless. All I can manage to mouth is the word how.
“Let’s just say Daddy owes me big time after he accidentally dropped Mom’s ten-carat Asscher-cut ring down the drain and made me go in head-down, ass-up to get it.”
Eric comes from a wealthy background. His parents are part of an elite family that goes back generations. Surprisingly, Eric wants to get a job and not work for his father. A few times we spoke about it, Eric mentioned his father’s crowd isn’t so welcoming of his homosexual lifestyle.
