Page 1 of Beautiful Cruelty

1

LACEY

"Come on!"I groan in frustration, but the engagement ring refuses to budge, a perfectly circular reminder of my imperfect life.

I guess that’s what happens when you catch your fiancé balls-deep in his secretary three days before your wedding.

Giving up on the ring for now, I pull into the parking lot at Mrs. Klossner's dry-cleaners, kill the engine, and stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My mascara's held up better than expected, even though I haven't been able to stop crying after catching my fiancé Nathan fucking his secretary Caroline on his desk last night.

Small victories.

Don't cry.I tell myself.Just open the door. Walk in, say hi to Mrs. Klossner, grab your dry cleaning, and get out.

I take a deep breath and push open the car door. The humidity hits me like a wall, making my cotton blouse stick to my skin, and I wobble for a second.

"Get it together, Lacey," I mutter, snatching my purse from the passenger seat. The leather strap has seen better days, just like everything else in my life right now.

The familiar whir of the automated rack greets me as I—eyes still fixed on my own shoes—push through the door. Hangers click along their metal track like a demented wind chime. The whole place smells like fabric softener and steam.

The smell usually comforts me, but today it just reminds me of pressing Nathan's shirts while he was working late.

Allegedly working late,I remind myself.

"I'm surprised to see you today. You usually send someone else to pick up your orders," Mrs. Klossner says to someone at the counter. "There was a piece of paper in your pocket. I saved it for you."

"That piece of paper is very important for the event I'll be attending." The voice draws me up short. It's deep and powerful, the kind that suggests old money and older connections.

"And what event is that?"

"The Vorobyov memorial retrospective. Unfortunately, it's not something that I'm allowed to miss."

At the mention of the event, I look up and my breath immediately catches in my throat.

The man at the counter towers over Mrs. Klossner's tiny frame. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his tailored suit, and blond hair falls across his forehead in a way that makes my fingers itch to brush it back. When he glances down to check his watch, the movement draws my attention to his sharp jawline and the rigid lines of his neck disappearing into his crisp collar.

My left hand falls to my side, the stubborn engagement ring I've been trying to wrench off now temporarily forgotten.

"Oh!" The sound escapes my lips before I can stop myself.

He turns and looks at me. The deliberate movement is fluid and graceful. Dark gray eyes—like storm clouds—meet mine as I gawk at him like an idiot.

With his attention turned towards me, his presence is even more overwhelming. He shifts slightly, and a light and spicy scent wafts to my nose, practically commanding me to lean in closer.

"I'll be at the Vorobyov event too!" I blurt out, and immediately want to crawl under the counter and die.

Real smooth, Lacey.

His gaze pierces right through me as he looks at me. Suddenly I'm focused on a small coffee stain on the fabric of my blouse. I can feel his eyes looking at my sensible black slacks and scuffed flats, before they travel back up towards my face with the kind of slow appreciation that makes my skin tingle.

Not uncomfortable, exactly.

Just... aware.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he points at my flats. "Those are custom-made, aren't they?"

"They are!" The words come out before I can stop myself. "Patent leather ballet flats with a memory foam insole.”

“And the vamp?” he asks. “Hand-stitched?”

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