Page 9 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Not sure yet." I recall the flash of guilt on his face. “But I’m sure we’ll find out in a few days.”

"We could get a restraining order," Megan says, but her voice lacks conviction. We both know she doesn't have the heart to do it. Despite everything, he's still our brother.

Megan’s brother, not yours.Freddy's voice echoes in my ear.

Ugh!

"He'd just ignore it." I sit up straighter, rubbing my temples.

"I know, I know." Megan sighs, running a hand through her short bob. "But what else can we do? Change the locks again? He'll just come when Dad's confused and be let in the front door."

"At least he's not taking anything Dad needs day-to-day anymore."

"Small mercies." Megan's laugh is bitter. "Thanks for keeping an eye on him, I know it can't have been easy. What with Nathan and all. You won’t be here tomorrow night, right? Working that event? What was it again?"

"The Vorobyov memorial retrospective." I pick at my cupcake, remembering a pair of storm-gray eyes. "Actually, something else happened today. At Mrs. K's." I suppress a smile when Megan's eyes widen. "Nothing serious, but… I uh, kind of met someone."

"Wait, back up." Megan perks up, sensing gossip. "You met a guy? Today? Right after catching your fiancé cheating and in the middle of your emotional breakdown?"

"Not exactlymet." That smirk of his flashes through my mind again. "More like verbally sparred with while he tried to buy Mrs. K's business."

"Details, Lace, details.” Megan sits up straighter. "How about we start with his name?"

"Vadim Stravinsky."

"The fashion mogul?" Megan's eyes go wide. "From Svoboda?ThatVadim Stravinsky?"

"Youknowhim?"

“I work for the Voice, Lace. It's my job to know who's who in this city.” She pulls out her phone, fingers flying. "Let's see. Svoboda was started fifteen years ago, and for the last ten, they've been buying up fashion boutiques left and right in Seattle. Usually they send representatives, not..." She trails off, staring at her screen for a moment before holding it up to my face. "Oh damn, he's hot."

I look on the screen and feel my heart skip when I see Vadim Stravinsky's face grinning back at me.

Does pretending to hate me usually work for you?

"I hadn't noticed." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

"Bullshit." Megan zooms in on whatever photo she's looking at. "That jawline could cut glass. And I bet if you strip that shirt off, you could grate cheese on those abs."

"Cheese-grater abs or not. He's arrogant and pushy and—" I catch myself. "And he gave me his number.”

"Hewhat?" Megan practically squeals. "Well, have you called him?"

"No, I haven't called him." I toss the rest of my cupcake back in the box. "And I'm not going to."

"Why not?" Megan grabs my phone from the coffee table. "This is like, fate or something."

I snatch my phone back before she can start dialing. "It's not fate. He's just some rich guy who?—"

"Who's clearly into you. Why else would he give you his number?”

“Pump your brakes, Meg. He's not into me." I sink deeper into the couch. "Besides, I need some time to myself. Which is going to be impossible because he'll also be at the Vorobyov event tomorrow night."

"What?" Megan stands up so fast she almost knocks over the cupcake box. “How many times do I have to ask you for details before you start giving me details?”

"He'll be there as a guest." I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. "Not serving up appetizers like me."

"Appetizers like you?” Megan winks. “You plan on serving yourself up to him on a platter?”

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