Page 3 of This Beautiful Lie
Tomorrow, I’d stop avoiding him. Tomorrow, I’d stop being a coward.
Two
The valet moved fast,reaching for my door the second I pulled up to the hotel—as though he could sense I was late just from the way my tires tapped the curb a little too aggressively. I stepped out of my car and handed over my keys with a practiced smile—one that hid the chaos clinging to me like static.
Traffic had crawled, inch by infuriating inch, until I was thirty-eight minutes behind—something that wasn’t like me. I was usually early. Polished. Reliable. The woman who had her shit together.
Tonight was different, and I could feel the untamed energy buzzing under my skin.
I smoothed the hem of my dress, straightened my spine, and rolled my shoulders back. Late or not, I knew how to make an entrance. One good strut, a flash of confidence, and no one would remember the clock.
I lifted my chin and walked toward the doors like I owned the damn place.
Me:I’m here.
I sent the text as I crossed the threshold of the hotel.
Dean:I thought you’d changed your mind.
Me:There was an accident. I was stuck on the 405.
Dean:I’m inside.
Me:I’m in a black silk dress, I have short brown hair, blue eyes.
Dean:I know what you look like.
Right.
Me:What about you?
The three little dots appeared… Then vanished almost as quickly.
I slipped my phone into my clutch and let out a slow breath as my heels clicked across the marble floor. The hotel’s lobby was pure elegance—grand ceilings, gold trim, and displays of fresh white orchids that looked too perfect to be real. The lighting was soft and warm, bouncing off every glossy surface like the place had been staged for a magazine.
Eyes tracked me as I moved without a single mistake. Every step practiced, perfected, and flawless.
I’d grown used to the attention. The kind that came with a certain dress, a certain walk, the type of presence that made people stop and wonder—Who is she? Where is she going?
I held my head high and offered a soft smile to the concierge as I approached. She straightened her spine slightly, her voice clear and practiced. “Good evening, miss. How may I help you?”
I hesitated, just for a beat. “I’m here with McHenry Law Associates,” I said, matching her energy to a T. But before she could open her mouth to reply, my phone buzzed in my bag.
Dean: Meet me in the ballroom. I’ll be at the bar.
My jaw tensed. Was he watching me?
Not a question. Not a suggestion. Just another man telling me where to be, as though I were a chess piece he could move at will.
I’d always bristled at that. Even when I was being paid to play the part. In a way it was what kept me safe. I could never fall for a man who ordered me around like a puppet.
I smiled at the woman behind the desk. “Actually… I think I know where I’m going.” Then I turned on my heel as I headed toward the ballroom.
I smoothed my hand down the front of my dress, squared my shoulders, and turned toward the bar. My steps were steady, but my stomach was in knots—both pretty standard when meeting a new client.
The room was alive with movement and light. Crystal chandeliers cast everything in a soft, golden glow. Laughter rose from tight little circles of people holding cocktails, their eyes scanning for the next person to impress. I paused at the edge of the dance floor, letting the scene wash over me like a veil, allowing the energy of the room to sink in.
This wasn’t my world. Not really. But I knew how to move through it. How to walk as if I belonged. How to play the part.
