Broken Halo Read online

  If I believed in coincidence I'd say that's what this is. But something within me thinks it's destiny.

  I give myself a mental shake. Seriously? Destiny? It can't be destiny. I'm already engaged. And, for all I know, this man, being so handsome, is probably taken. There's no way the women of Washington D.C. would let a man this hot float around single.

  I realize I'm staring again, but I can't help myself. I forgot to tell Gina and Leah about the gold flecks in his eyes. They're like shavings of sunshine. I'm being poetic again, but this man warrants it.

  He looks almost like some kind of predator in the shadowy corner of the gallery with those glowing eyes.

  "What's your name?" I ask.

  He's quiet.

  He doesn't want to tell me his name?

  He must be married. It's the only reason I can think of for his being so guarded. He must already have a woman in his life.

  "I think your name begins with a 'C'," he tells me.

  I look at him in surprise. "What makes you think that?"

  "We're the coolest people," he says lightly. "Colby." He holds out his hand.

  I look at his hand. Everything about this guy is overtly masculine. From his voice to his large hands. I'm almost afraid to touch him. Like I'm going to get some kind of electric shock that will scald through my veins and rewire my brain to have eyes only for him.

  I slip my hand into his. His large hand closes around mine, swallowing it. My whole hand tingles. I feel warmth flood my heart.

  "Chloe," I manage.

  Chapter 6

  Colby gives me a triumphant look. "I was right."

  "How in the world would you know?" I ask.

  He pauses. He's giving me this assessing look like he's not sure whether to tell me.

  "Spit it out," I say.

  He lifts a dark brow. "Are you in college?"

  "Yeah."

  "Your college-speak is adorable."

  "Stop acting like you're that much older. You've got to be like twenty-four."

  "I'm flattered. I'm twenty-eight."

  Whoa!

  Six years is a lot. But it doesn't put me off him.

  "How did you know my name begins with a C?" I ask.

  "I didn't know. So that I don't think seeing you again today is 'destiny'," Colby rolls his eyes, "and break my 'no serious relationships' rule, I told myself I can only ask for your number if your name begins with 'C'."

  We both believe in destiny.

  "Right," I say. "Two questions: Why do you have a 'no serious relationships' rule? And why do you think I'd be willing to get into a 'serious' relationship with you anyway?"

  "I'm not telling you the answer to question one, Chloe."

  My name rolls off his tongue like music and I want to hear him say it again and again.

  "As for question two," he says, cocking a dark brow, "I can be very persuasive."

  He gives me a lingering look, and I have no doubt that it's true. He could probably persuade anyone female into anything. His eyes alone are like a hypnotist's spirals.

  I have to look away. I focus on the yellow flyer he's holding. "What's that?"

  "Nothing." He quickly stuffs it into his pocket.

  But I get a glimpse. It's a flyer for a drama class. I'm reminded that I saw him on Quin's computer screen. "Are you an actor?"

  He gives me a dark frown. "What?"

  Not many people you come across are actors, so it's another bizarre question. But I know I saw him on Quin's screen. I'm about to say so when he laughs shortly.

  "Am I an actor?" He shakes his head. "No. That would be nice though."

  Hmm. Maybe Quin was looking for new talent. Maybe he found Colby's picture on the Internet and is planning to approach him about becoming a model or something. Colby certainly has the looks.

  But why would Quin quickly close the picture and refuse to talk about it?

  Something isn't adding up.

  "I'm a property developer," Colby tells me.

  He must be doing pretty well if his flashy car is anything to go by.

  "Since you seem to want to know everything about me," Colby adds, "maybe I should save you the bother of asking whether I enjoy my job, whether it's what I really want to do, and what my real passion is."

  I feel like he's mocking me. I square my shoulders and nod. "Yes. I would, in fact, like to know the answers to those questions."

  "No, I don't enjoy my job. My real passion is writing."

  He's a fellow creative! I'm totally intrigued. "What do you write?"

  He palms his forehead. "Screenplays. Any more questions?"

  "Do you have an agent by the name of, uh, Quin?" I figure Quin must be helping him submit his screenplays to film studios.

  Colby scowls. "Are you stalking me?"

  "Nope."

  "How do you know?"

  "He's my agent, too. I'm an actor."

  "You mean actress."

  "Yeah, but I've started trying on the word 'actor' for size. It's the new trend. Female actors think it's the first step towards getting equal pay with male actors. We don't call female teachers 'teacheresses'. We don't have lawyeresses and doctoresses."

  "Right. You're going to go all political on me now and give me the whole lecture."

  "Yup." I grin. "I see both sides of the debate. There should be a distinction because women usually play a female and men usually play a male. So if you need a female you should be able to use a word that makes it obvious you need a female. Other professions aren't like that. Teachers teach the same content. Doctors practice the same medical science. Until male and female actors can play either male or female roles a distinction has to be made."

  Colby is just looking at me.

  "You may be wondering how a woman can convincingly play a man in a movie, or vice versa."

  "I wasn't," Colby replies. "But you're going to tell me anyway. Aren't you?"

  "Actors have to do a lot in preparing for movie roles. Some lose weight, some have to gain weight, some have to bulk up and build muscle. In the near future, hormones can be used to help actors play any gender role. I shouldn't be limited to playing only a female. I should be able to play any role I want."

  "That's weird."

  "No, it's progressive."

  "It's weird, honey. If I'm admiring an actress in a movie, I want to know that she's a real woman, not a man pretending to be a woman." He pauses, as though considering it, and then makes a horrified face as though the full impact of the grossness of my assertions have just sunk in more. "No. That should never happen. Even a movie lover like me would stop watching them if I didn't know who was a real man and who was a real woman anymore."

  "Yeah. You might have a point." I would hate to find out that Will Smith, who I've loved forever, is an illusion and not a real man.

  That would be criminal.

  Colby shoots me a look from the corner of his mesmerizing eyes. "I bet your sweet, traditional Christian mama is scandalized by such borderline feminist assertions."

  "How do you know I have a sweet, traditional Christian mama?" I don't bother telling him Mom isn't all that 'sweet'.

  Colby smiles, but it doesn't look very happy or friendly. "I can read you like a sappy YA screenplay. You're from the Bible belt. From your funny accent you're a missionary kid. Sounds like you lived in Africa."

  My jaw drops. How does he know? I do not have an accent. Mom made sure I didn't pick one up. She sent me to a posh American private school that Nana paid megabucks for until it was time for high school and we moved back to America.

  Then, I realize I've been talking pretty passionately about my thoughts on the whole 'we must call ourselves actors and not actresses' issue. Leah and Gina tell me that my accent comes out when I'm either excited or mad. I was getting pretty passionate just now, so it must have come out.

  "Only child," Colby continues. "Momma's and Nana's girl. Pure as the driven snow. Probably hasn't even had her first kiss yet."

  I can't hold his gaz
e on that last comment. Discomfort tickles down my spine. He's read me perfectly. My cheeks begin to heat. My heart is shuddering at feeling so exposed.

  The only times I've kissed someone, it was for work—something Mom and Nana must never find out.

  Colby has to be some kind of seer. "How do you know?" I ask him.

  He gives me a wise look. "Facebook."

  I laugh out loud.

  In fact, I find it so hilarious, I snort. It's totally unladylike but I can't help myself. I clutch my belly as I laugh the hardest I have in a long while.

  I love this guy.

  He is a total enigma. I can't predict him.

  The difference between Timothy and Colby is like the difference between a rain shower and a thunderstorm.

  A rain shower is annoying and ruins your hair and makeup. But a thunderstorm is both majestic and terrifying. They drench you, dishevel you until your eyes are wild and your cheeks are flushed, and leave you breathless. I have always loved storms. They're both dangerous and compelling. Scary and awe-inspiring.

  I'm drawn to Colby like I've never been drawn to anyone else my whole life. There's something about his aloof, standoffish attitude that intrigues me.

  He's watching me while I laugh. I'm willing to bet that behind that stoic mask he's totally proud of himself for making me laugh so hard.

  "So you're acting all disinterested," I say, managing to pull myself together, "but you've been spying on me on Facebook?"

  I almost clamp my mouth shut. I have never said anything so direct to a guy. Never alluded to chemistry between us. But with Colby, I feel like I can say anything I want and do anything I like. I can be sassy. He can handle it.

  Colby doesn't respond.

  Thankfully, I've never posted anything about Timothy on Facebook. Not even a single picture. I didn't even change my relationship status when we got together.

  I pull myself together and rake my hair back from my face. "I thought you were going to say something profound like: 'If you look into the windows of a person's soul, you will see all you need to know'."

  Colby gives me a 'you freak me out' look.

  "Wait a minute, so you already knew my name was 'Chloe' before you gave me that 'I'll bet your name begins with C' line that totally impressed me."

  "That was an honest guess," Colby replies. "I didn't know your name until you told me. My cousin found you on Facebook last night. Total coincidence. The minute I saw your picture I looked away and didn't want to see. But I did ask him to read your profile and tell me about you."

  I instantly have a zillion questions.

  Who is his cousin and how did he happen to find me on Facebook? Why didn't Colby want to see my picture?

  I decide to begin with, "Why didn't you want to know my name?"

  "Because I had a feeling it would start with 'C'," Colby replies. He sounds totally stressed out. "I didn't want to know. By the way, Facebook didn't tell me you haven't had your first kiss. That's me looking into your eyes, the windows of your soul, and seeing all I need to know."

  He's right. Timothy and I are waiting until our wedding day to have our first kiss. I don't have any real desire to kiss him so it doesn't bother me. Waiting won't be hard.

  I've never felt reckless around Timothy. Never had my emotions take over or felt like I can't wait we're married. Mom and Nana say that's how love should be. Sensible and clearheaded. Love is a choice not a feeling.

  They're right. My attraction to Colby isn't love. But I don't think whatever I feel for Timothy is love either.

  I still have so many questions for Colby. About this whole Facebook thing and about his life, but Colby's gaze lowers to my lips and all the questions vanish. Except one: Is he thinking of doing something about my 'never been kissed' status?

  Then Colby clears his throat and looks away.

  I feel like I've been released from a spell. Suddenly, I can breathe again.

  I don't know what I would have done if he'd tried to kiss me just now. I should know. But I don't.

  Thank God he didn't.

  "I told you which was my favorite exhibition, but you didn't tell me yours," Colby says. "Have you ever posted about these exhibitions on Facebook?"

  "No."

  "Then you'll know that this is truly me looking into your soul."

  I look up at him. His eyes are deadly serious. I wonder why he wants to prove that he can read me.

  "I'll bet your favorite exhibition is Tiger Lady."

  I nod slowly. "I kept comparing myself to her and wishing I could be that sure of my choices and that brave. I'm subscribed to her on YouTube and I follow all her social media accounts. She's so confident and focused and crazy. She inspires me."

  Tiger Lady moved to Africa as soon as she finished high school. She trains wild animals. For her exhibition she did a choreographed dance with four tigers while shouting her way through a speech about finding yourself.

  I smile at Colby. "Good guess."

  "Her exhibition had a powerful message about being misunderstood, independence and following an unconventional path to find your purpose. From talking to you over the past few minutes, I figured such an exhibition would resonate with you. I'm good at reading people. I read you wrong the first time I saw you, but now I've nailed you."

  "With a little help from Facebook?"

  He looks almost like he's going to smile but his expression just stops short. "Touché."

  "I'm not great at reading people," I tell him. "At least not at reading you. So I have to ask questions. Are you a Christian?" That's the first question I should have asked him. Not all the other ones.

  His brows lift slightly.

  "You picked up a tract yesterday, and now you're looking at this sculpture."

  Colby nods to the sculpture. "It makes me think of my brother."

  "What happened to your brother?"

  Colby's eyes seem to dim and his gaze shifts to the sculpture. "He went to jail for something he didn't do. Kind of like Jesus, taking the punishment for our sins."

  Just then, Colby's cell phone chimes.

  He digs it out of his pocket. "Excuse me," he says to me.

  I nod and focus on the sculpture while he answers the call.

  "Hey," he says. "I'm here. Are you in the lobby?"

  I wonder who he's meeting here. A female?

  "I'll meet you in the lobby," he says and then hangs up.

  I rake my hair back and Colby's gaze locks on me. His eyes seem to darken as I run my fingers through my hair again. I immediately stop and clasp my hands behind my back.

  Still, he's looking at me with an intensity I've never experienced before.

  I'm not sure how I feel about that. It's kind of heady having a guy look at me the way Colby is looking at me right now—like I'm some kind of temptation to him. At the same time, it's scary.

  Timothy says I'm beautiful, but I sense no raw emotion from him like I'm sensing from Colby now. Colby seems like a bundle of pent-up passion waiting to explode. I feel like that kind of explosion would be fun and exhilarating. But it might also be dangerous.

  Timothy is safe. Predictable. That's how true love should be. All the high emotion and reckless passion portrayed in books and movies is false. Lust masquerading as love.

  "I'm not interested in a relationship," Colby says.

  I lift a brow.

  He gives me a small smile. "I said that more for my own benefit, than for yours. It's been a long time since my last relationship. I'm done with relationships. But there's something about you that makes me want to break my own rules."

  I can't believe my ears. I don't think I've ever inspired any rule-breaking desires in a man before in my life—Shreks and Dumbos excluded.

  "I'm not going to ask for your number," Colby tells me. "I believe in destiny. If we run into each other again, I'll know. And I'll ask."

  It sounds like he's looking for reasons not to ask for my number. That's fine. I have a pretty big reason not to give him my number even if
he asks. I'm engaged to another man.

  "If we never see each other again," Colby says, "I'll go back to living my life and you'll go back to living yours, and we'll both act like we never met each other. Everything will go back to being nice and normal."

  He gives me a look that tells me he's waiting for my response.

  Is that what I want? Or do I want him to ask for my number now?

  I think of Timothy, and then nod. If providence throws us into each other's path again, then we'll know.

  Colby turns and walks away.

  I give it a few moments and then follow. I have to see who he's meeting in the lobby. When I get there, I hang back behind the doorway and peak around it.

  Colby is sitting in the small café area. There's another man at the table. He's handing Colby paper after paper. It looks like Colby is signing each of them. When he's done, the man gathers them up and then leaves.

  Colby leans back in his seat, his eyes haunted. He really doesn't look like a happy man. I wonder what's going on with him.

  He rises to his feet, his eyes strained, and heads for the exit. It's then that I realize he didn't answer my question about whether he's a Christian.

  I think he is. His brother reminds him of Jesus.

  Once he's gone, I make my way to a display of leaflets in the lobby and find more copies of the yellow one he was holding. It's an advert for a Monday night drama class. They're running a taster session for half price this Monday.

  I wonder whether Colby is into acting, not just writing screenplays. He definitely has the looks. But it would be too much to hope for a guy to be gorgeous, Christian, and into acting. That would make him way too perfect.

  I tuck one of the leaflets into my pocket. If I were to show up at the class, it wouldn't be destiny throwing us together again. It would be my own scheming.

  But I'm curious about what could happen.

  And I'm also afraid.

  Chapter 7

  When I get home, I discover that Gina has eaten the last of my spaghetti, but I don't freak out. I have fifty dollars from Colby that I can use to buy as much spaghetti as I want to tide myself over until payday next week.

  I head up to my room and search Facebook for Colby. I should be rehearsing, but my audition is now the last thing on my mind.