Read Online A Broken Kind of Beautiful by Katie Ganshert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie Ganshert
Tags: United States, Literary, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Religion & Spirituality, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Christian fiction, Religious, Christian, Women's Fiction, Single Women, Christian Books & Bibles, Religious & Inspirational Fiction
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holding the steering wheel with two fingers. “Why did you agree to model for my aunt?”
She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “It’s a job.”
“Somebody like you probably has a million job opportunities to choose from. Why would you choose this one?” A few weeks ago she couldn’t get away fast enough—even admitted to running—and now she was back?
“It’s one editorial shoot.”
“Marilyn has bigger plans than one editorial shoot.”
Her head swiveled toward him like somebody had given it a forceful spin.
Davis frowned. Didn’t Bruce tell Ivy what Marilyn wanted from her? But before he could ask, his car lurched. He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. Ivy tore her foot from the dash. The car sputtered, sputtered again, then died in the middle of the highway. Davis didn’t put much stock into signs, but surely this wasn’t a good one.
Ivy ground the ball of her high-heeled shoe against the gravel. A breeze swept down the road, blowing its hot breath against her body. As she looked beyond the highway, to the wildflowers swaying and fluttering in the wind,she found herself wondering what it might be like—to be one of those flowers, loved and cared for by something as immense as the sun.
The urge to sprint across the road and dance with them swelled inside her chest. Not a club dance, but a free dance, with her arms and limbs wild and loose and bursting with joy. But she couldn’t run across the street like a child. Not with Davis pacing on the shoulder of the highway, slightly out of earshot, his phone against his ear and his thumbnail stuck between his teeth. He didn’t act like a normal man. Instead of looking at her with desire, he looked at her as if she were made of fine print and required reading glasses. Plus, he asked too many questions. It made her feel old and tired and annoyed. She held her arms out like wings and lifted her face to the sun.
If she could fly, where would she go?
Her hands dropped to her side, slapping against the outside of her thighs. She wasn’t a bird. Or a bat. Or a Pegasus. Or any other creature with wings. Or with petals, for that matter. She was stuck. With her agent hundreds of miles away in New York City—a man who hadn’t mentioned anything beyond a simple editorial spread in Southern Brides magazine. He owed her an explanation. She stepped onto the road, toward the Jeep Cherokee resting in between the right lane and the grassy shoulder, its hazards flashing like two orange strobe lights. She opened the passenger-side door, dug through her purse, and dialed Bruce’s mobile on her cell. He didn’t answer. She hung up on his voice mail and tried the agency. Maya’s voice greeted her after the second ring.
“Good afternoon. Olsen Modeling Agency.”
“Hey, Maya, it’s Ivy. Can you put me through to my uncle, please?”
“I’m sorry, Ivy. He’s gone for the day. Do you want me to take a message?”
Ivy swallowed the growl rising up her throat. It wasn’t Maya’s fault that Bruce had sent her on an assignment blind. “If you speak with him, will you have him call me, please? It’s important.” She said good-bye, texted Bruce on his cell, claiming an emergency, and tossed her phone back into her purse.Her uncle deserved to be strangled. Instead, the sun pummeled the side of her face like she was the one who’d done something wrong. She put up her hand to shade herself and turned toward Davis, who was still on the phone with his thumbnail in his mouth. How long did it take to call for a towing service?
A car flew past without slowing. Davis pocketed his phone and jogged toward her. She imagined him shirtless, with a surfboard, and made a mental note to invite him to the beach. “Do you surf?”
“Do I what?”
“Surf.” She brought her hands out to her side and pretended to dodge a few waves. “You know, like in the ocean.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“No? You should learn.”
“Okaaay.” He rattled his head,
She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “It’s a job.”
“Somebody like you probably has a million job opportunities to choose from. Why would you choose this one?” A few weeks ago she couldn’t get away fast enough—even admitted to running—and now she was back?
“It’s one editorial shoot.”
“Marilyn has bigger plans than one editorial shoot.”
Her head swiveled toward him like somebody had given it a forceful spin.
Davis frowned. Didn’t Bruce tell Ivy what Marilyn wanted from her? But before he could ask, his car lurched. He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. Ivy tore her foot from the dash. The car sputtered, sputtered again, then died in the middle of the highway. Davis didn’t put much stock into signs, but surely this wasn’t a good one.
Ivy ground the ball of her high-heeled shoe against the gravel. A breeze swept down the road, blowing its hot breath against her body. As she looked beyond the highway, to the wildflowers swaying and fluttering in the wind,she found herself wondering what it might be like—to be one of those flowers, loved and cared for by something as immense as the sun.
The urge to sprint across the road and dance with them swelled inside her chest. Not a club dance, but a free dance, with her arms and limbs wild and loose and bursting with joy. But she couldn’t run across the street like a child. Not with Davis pacing on the shoulder of the highway, slightly out of earshot, his phone against his ear and his thumbnail stuck between his teeth. He didn’t act like a normal man. Instead of looking at her with desire, he looked at her as if she were made of fine print and required reading glasses. Plus, he asked too many questions. It made her feel old and tired and annoyed. She held her arms out like wings and lifted her face to the sun.
If she could fly, where would she go?
Her hands dropped to her side, slapping against the outside of her thighs. She wasn’t a bird. Or a bat. Or a Pegasus. Or any other creature with wings. Or with petals, for that matter. She was stuck. With her agent hundreds of miles away in New York City—a man who hadn’t mentioned anything beyond a simple editorial spread in Southern Brides magazine. He owed her an explanation. She stepped onto the road, toward the Jeep Cherokee resting in between the right lane and the grassy shoulder, its hazards flashing like two orange strobe lights. She opened the passenger-side door, dug through her purse, and dialed Bruce’s mobile on her cell. He didn’t answer. She hung up on his voice mail and tried the agency. Maya’s voice greeted her after the second ring.
“Good afternoon. Olsen Modeling Agency.”
“Hey, Maya, it’s Ivy. Can you put me through to my uncle, please?”
“I’m sorry, Ivy. He’s gone for the day. Do you want me to take a message?”
Ivy swallowed the growl rising up her throat. It wasn’t Maya’s fault that Bruce had sent her on an assignment blind. “If you speak with him, will you have him call me, please? It’s important.” She said good-bye, texted Bruce on his cell, claiming an emergency, and tossed her phone back into her purse.Her uncle deserved to be strangled. Instead, the sun pummeled the side of her face like she was the one who’d done something wrong. She put up her hand to shade herself and turned toward Davis, who was still on the phone with his thumbnail in his mouth. How long did it take to call for a towing service?
A car flew past without slowing. Davis pocketed his phone and jogged toward her. She imagined him shirtless, with a surfboard, and made a mental note to invite him to the beach. “Do you surf?”
“Do I what?”
“Surf.” She brought her hands out to her side and pretended to dodge a few waves. “You know, like in the ocean.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“No? You should learn.”
“Okaaay.” He rattled his head,
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