A Broken Kind of Beautiful Read Online Free PDF

glass of wine like it was a natural extension of her body.
    Clara abandoned the purse.
    Creighton spun the girl around, like she was up for bid. The apple martini soured in Ivy’s stomach. “I’d like you to meet Gabriela Gerbasi. She’s been in almost every fashion magazine across Europe. She’s a sensation in Milan and Paris. I’m telling you, Clara, people are in love with her.”
    The girl took a drink of her wine and had the audacity to look bored.
    Ivy shifted. She used to be the one editors drooled over. The one her agent paraded around clubs like a trophy. But it hadn’t lasted. That high that came with being loved by the world? It didn’t last at all.
    Creighton turned to Ivy, as if noticing her for the first time. “Iris, how are you?
    “It’s Ivy.”
    “Right, Ivy. How’s Bruce?” The two were longstanding competitors. Several times early in Ivy’s career, when she was the promising one, Creighton had made her under-the-table offers—swearing to take her career places her uncle never could. Maybe she should have taken him up on them. Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference.
    “Fine, thank you.” Her words fell like icicles.
    “I heard about losing that contract with Reynolds. You really ought to be more careful with your reputation. O’Banion said you were downright argumentative.”
    Ivy blanched. Downright argumentative? O’Banion was slandering her name. A simple suggestion was hardly argumentative. She shot a furtive glance at Clara. “O’Banion exaggerates.”
    “No need to get riled up. It wasn’t because of him that you lost the contract. It’s just the nature of this industry. New faces are always flooding the market. Competition is especially fierce at the moment. Wouldn’t you say, Clara?”
    Clara didn’t seem to hear a word. She was too busy salivating over Creighton’s Brazilian-looking commodity. “I’d love to talk about getting her an editorial, Charles. She’s exactly the right fit for my magazine.”
    Creighton kissed Gabriela’s cheek and took Clara’s hand. “Let’s have a drink, shall we?” He led Clara away, abandoning Ivy with the girl, who sipped her wine and rummaged through the purses as if she hadn’t understood a word that had been spoken. Maybe she hadn’t. Ivy had gone through the same thing abroad. Bruce auctioning her off in foreign languages, always fishing for the highest bidder.
    The emptiness she’d tried to tuck away all evening ripped open inside her chest. She searched the room for Annalise. Instead, she found Luis Ventino. He leaned against a high table, surrounded by three women, but he stared at her. She moved to the drinks the bartender had dropped off, picked up a flute, and took a long sip. When the champagne was all gone, Ivy strutted toward Ventino and fought against the empty chasm the only way she knew how.

5

    Cool air greeted Davis as soon as he stepped inside his darkened apartment. An early morning run along the beach with a buddy, followed by a solo ocean swim, and he still couldn’t divert his thoughts from last night’s dream—about funerals, overexposed photographs, and a pair of haunted eyes. The funeral had been a week ago, so why the dream now? He flipped on the light switch and tossed his keys. They clattered, skidded, and came to a halt in front of his answering machine.
    His stomach grumbled. He pushed sweaty hair up his forehead and ran his hand down the front of his face, scruff scratching at his palms. He hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a good two weeks, but he did have some leftover Frogmore stew and pecan pie that he’d picked up from Fried Greens after his slow-pitch softball game last night. That beat a bowl of cereal any day.
    Hopping on alternating feet, he yanked off his running shoes. They clunked onto the welcome mat. He shuffled into the kitchen, washed his hands, and pulled out the stew. He opened the container and placed it inside the microwave, but when he hit Start, nothing happened.