A Broken Kind of Beautiful by Katie Ganshert Read Free Book Online

elbow and gave it a few clicks. “She wants you to be the face of her new advertising campaign. I said you’d do it.”
    “You can’t be serious.”
    “Why not?”
    “Wedding dresses? You want me to model wedding dresses for Marilyn?” She tipped her head back and laughed, only the notes came out warped. “Please tell me you see the irony.”
    “It’s a good idea. She’s got an editorial shoot lined up with Southern Brides magazine and several other jobs after that.”
    “Why would Marilyn want me?”
    Bruce shrugged. “Does it matter?”
    Ivy shook her head. Go back to Greenbrier? Work with Marilyn? Model wedding dresses, of all things? The idea was beyond ludicrous. “Send me on some go-sees. I’ll get other jobs.”
    Bruce dropped his pen. “Ivy …”
    “What do you want me to do, Bruce? Dye my hair? Lose weight? I’ll do whatever it takes.” To get jobs. To win the public’s approval. She’d do anything.
    “There’s nothing you can do, Ivy. You’re getting older, and younger models are flooding the market. It’s the way this industry works. You know that.”
    She hated the softness in his voice. She didn’t want his pity; she wanted his confidence. “You’re not even trying.”
    “Nobody wants a twenty-five-year-old model at their go-sees. Especially not one who is losing it.”
    “I don’t turn twenty-five for a few more months, and I’m not losing it. Send me to Europe. Or Tokyo. I don’t care. I’ll even go to Toronto. But I’mnot going anywhere near Greenbrier.” The last thing she needed to do was cuddle up with her past.
    “You’ve already done those circuits. Twice. And I don’t have time to baby-sit.”
    “Baby-sit?”
    “Your interactions with Ventino aside, you got wasted at a party in front of some of the industry’s top professionals and you represent my name.” Bruce pointed to his chest. “Charles Creighton called me to report that you were wild and out of control and, quote, ‘had a tongue like a viper.’ ”
    He thought she was wild and out of control because she had a few drinks and spoke her mind? Never mind the models strung out on coke, like Annalise, or the ones flashing the paparazzi, like Vera Morrell. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt like a moldy bag of cheese tossed in the trash because she’d reached her expiration date. “Why don’t you say what this is really about?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    She brought her hands to her lap. “Your brother’s dead, so you no longer have to do him any favors. He didn’t want me around, so you took me away, and now you don’t have to bother anymore.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “I’m being ridiculous? He hasn’t even been buried two weeks and you’re already trying to get rid of me.”
    Bruce shook his head, like he was disgusted by her accusation. “This was never about your dad.”
    “What was it about, then?” But even as she asked the question, Ivy already knew the answer. It was about Bruce. It was always about him and how much profit he could make off her. Well, he’d made plenty. He’d wrung her dry. He’d taken everything. Her soul included.
    “You’ve had a ten-year career and enough money in savings to set you up comfortably for a long time to come. You should count your blessings.”
    Ivy laughed. “My blessings?”
    “Do you know how long models usually last in this industry from the time they sign with an agency? Six weeks. Six weeks, Ivy. Most of them don’t make it into a single editorial. They walk a few runways and that’s it.” Bruce leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been around for a decade.”
    And it wasn’t enough. At least not enough to be remembered. That ever-elusive door into the supermodel realm—where age mattered much less than fame and name recognition—still remained out of reach. She’d thought, after a year with Reynolds Cosmetics, she’d reached the threshold. But now, with that ripped away, her future