Page 4 of Beautiful Cruelty

He's gone before I can ask how he knew my ring was platinum.

I look down at the business card: heavy stock, letterpress printing, with his name, title, and number in clean typography:

Vadim Stravinsky, CEO: Svoboda Inc.

Understated but expensive, just like everything else about him.

"He's not what you think, Lacey," Mrs. Klossner says quietly.

"He's exactly what I think." I want to crumple the card up and throw it away. Instead, I stuff it into my purse. "A businessman who sees dollar signs instead of people."

"A businessman who's offering me enough to retire comfortably, and keep all my employees on staff with better benefits." She gives me a knowing look. "Sometimes things aren't so simple. People neither."

"Everything’s pretty simple to me right now, Mrs. K." I hoist my dry cleaning over my shoulder. "Rich guy buys up small businesses. Girl catches fiancé cheating. Ring won't come off. Tale as old as time."

"What about a handsome stranger offering some perspectiveandhis phone number?"

"That's not—" I blow out a frustrated breath. "He's not—I'll see you next week, Mrs. K."

"Mhmm." She smiles that infuriatingly knowing smile. "Oh, and Lacey? Don't bother with any kind of oil. Use hand sanitizer. The alcohol breaks the surface tension. Ring should slide right off."

I pause at the door, looking back at her. "You couldn't have mentioned that ten minutes ago?"

"And miss all that quality entertainment? Please." She waves me off. "Go home. Put some ice on those feelings you're definitely not having, and I'll see you next week."

"I'mnothaving any feelings!"

"Of course not, dear. That's why you're blushing."

I push through the door, the bell's cheerful chime now sounding smug, and the business card burns a hole in my purse all the way to my car.

I definitely don't Google Vadim Stravinsky as soon as I slam the door shut. I definitely don't spend twenty minutes scrolling through one article after another about his acquisitions and investments. And I absolutely don't smile when I see he's quoted in Forbes talking about the importance of preserving craftsmanship in small businesses.

The ring slides off easily with a drop of hand sanitizer, and I plop it down soundlessly in my palm before throwing it in my purse.

Small victories.

I thought I’d feel relieved, but instead I've become hyper-aware of how naked and empty my finger feels.

I turn and see the ring resting against Vadim's business card. My hand hovers over it, hesitating even though I know what I'm about to do.

Ugh!

Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to start drinking wine and deleting pictures. I need to do something—anything—except think about adding Vadim's number to my contacts.

I pick up my phone, then put it down. Pick it up again. God, I'm pathetic.

No... I decide. I can't. I won't.

But I do it anyway, my fingers trembling slightly as I type. The rational part of my brain screams that this is crazy. That I'm not ready, that I'm still raw, and that I'm probably just desperate to prove I'm still desirable after Nathan's betrayal.

The less rational part remembers how Vadim's eyes lit up when he noticed the details of my shoes. How he didn't offer empty platitudes about Nathan. How for a few minutes, arguing with him made me forget about the hole in my chest.

I'm here because I see potential. In a lot of things.

My phone suddenly buzzes, and for a moment, I dare to imagine it’s Vadim. No words can describe the hurt and disappointment when I see that it’s from the florist: asking me as delicately as a text can to confirm that Nathan reallydidjust contact them to cancel the order for this Saturday.

Before I can respond, another text flows in. This time it’s from the venue, and their tone ismuchless delicate.

---