MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance)
Read MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) Online
Authors: Nana Malone
Tags: #romance, #romantic comedy, #contemporary romance, #nana malone, #love match, #game set match
The Love Match Series
Book Two
Nana Malone
SMASHWORDS EDITION
***
PUBLISHED BY:
Nana Malone on Smashwords
Mismatch
© 2012 by Nana Malone
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living
or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely
coincidental.
Mismatch
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Nana Malone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used
or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission
of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art by Kimberly Killion
Edited by Finish the Story and Marcie Gately
Published in the United States of America
To Erik for always betting
on me. You have more faith than sense and I love you for
it.
To Misty, from the
beginning, you’ve believed in me. Thank you for not abandoning me
after reading TR.
To Marcie, I have no words.
Thank God we were both “on” that day we met.
To Val, without you taking
a chance on me, I would not be here today. I can never thank you
enough.
Table of Contents
“‘I don't like
this,’ said Sam I am. ‘I do not like Green Eggs and Izzy moving.’”
Jessica Stanton frowned as her best friend, Izzy Connors,
giggled.
“Jess, come on. You knew this move was
coming, babes.”
Jessica shrugged, flopped into her office
chair with a pout and crossed arms. The multicolored bangles on her
arms jangled and glittered as they caught sunlight. “I don't have
to like it now, do I?”
Izzy rolled her eyes and flipped her thick
dark hair over her shoulder. “Come on. You know Jason and I need to
move the kids to Malibu. It's a bigger house for Kara and Nick to
run around in, and let’s face it, that house has more security. You
won’t have to field paparazzi on the front lawn of the house or the
gallery anymore.”
Izzy did have a point. Ever since her friend
had married tennis superstar Jason Cartwright, Jessica had known
this day would come. Izzy’s three bedroom house had been big enough
for her and her adopted son Nick when she bought it, but add in a
new husband and a rambunctious toddler, and it was tighter than
that pair of three inch stilettos Jessica had bought on sale. Not
to mention the paparazzi had long since been making a nuisance of
themselves.
It had been open season on the family ever
since tennis’s purported bad boy had fallen in love with the famous
photographer. Add in the scandal about Jason being Nick’s
biological father, and then the birth of his and Izzy’s daughter,
Kara, and it seemed like the paparazzi never went home.
Jessica had ruined more than one
fabulous-enough-to-have-Izzy-drool-over camera by turning on the
sprinklers on the paps. Then there was that one pap whose foot
she’d accidentally run over. Oh, and there was the one she flambéed
with her stun gun. So yeah, maybe it was time for Izzy and Jason to
move. Hell, they'd already stayed two years longer than Jessica
thought they would. Who was she to complain? She would just miss
her friend. More than that, she’d miss her family—Jessica was
godmother to their daughter Kara.
Jessica studied the sunbathed Z Con studio
where she'd worked for the last eight years. She loved this place.
It was home to her. Now it wouldn't be the same without Izzy.
Though, to be fair, it wasn’t like Izzy wouldn’t be coming to work
anymore. She just wouldn’t live in the tidy ranch house that lay
across the back yard from where she worked.
“I just don’t like change. It blows major
chunkage.”
Izzy barked out a laugh. “This from the
woman who used to add a new tattoo like it was eyeliner and
switched out new piercings like they were earrings. Hell, even now,
most days I have no idea what color your hair will be.”
Jessica stiffened. She’d given up some of
her crazier piercings and removed some of the stupider tattoos.
It’s not like she really needed that piercing in her cheek.
Sometimes she missed being a misfit. At other times, she didn’t
even notice her missing tats or piercings. “Well, it's not like an
artist’s manager can run around with a shit-ton of ink showing and
certainly not with as many piercings as I used to have.” She had
loved all her metal, but at some point they stopped being important
to her.
Plus, when Izzy had parted with her last
pompous ass of a manager and hired Jessica as his replacement,
she'd wanted to be able to rub elbows with Izzy’s clientele and not
scare them away. “We all have to grow up sometime.”
Izzy gave a warm smile, making her dimples
appear in her dark brown cheeks. “My baby’s all growed up.” She
mock sniffled. “Besides, this move will be good for you too. You’re
doing us a huge favor by moving into the house here. This way we
don’t have to sell it, and Nick and Kara will have access to the
memories that are part of their childhood.”
“Don’t go getting sentimental on me,
Connors.” Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. By living there, she would
still feel close to the family that she'd made. On the other hand,
she could have some Felicity-worthy crying jags just by being there
without her family. Being alone was not exactly Jessica’s
forte.
“And I’ll be here at work every day, and for
the love of God, we just opened a gallery together. Let’s face it,
you’re stuck with me.”
Izzy had a point. When Jessica had started
looking into loft space to open a gallery of her own, Izzy and
Jason had immediately jumped in. She’d had about half the funds she
needed to start, and they hadn’t even batted an eye about providing
the rest. When she’d made it clear she wanted a place to support
up-and-coming artists, they’d supported her. That was better than
Jessica could say about her own family. Her mother had tried to be
supportive, but as far as she was concerned, Jessica needed to find
a rich husband and forget the whole working for herself thing.
Jessica had eventually settled on the place
next to the studio and converted it into the perfect space. Now all
she needed were some artists besides Izzy.
“Enough depressing chit chat. Did you make
up your mind about going to see that artist your mother
recommended?”
“Ugh. I don’t think so. I know she means
well, but she's always calling with her, “I have the best new
client for you.” Remember that performance artist she sent me who
worked with poop?”
Izzy grimaced. “Yes. My nose has not
forgotten. I can’t believe I let you drag me to that meeting.”
“Hell, if I was going to face the pain, so
were you.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. I mean—”
The ringing phone interrupted Izzy as she
put a finger on her nose. “Not it.”
Jessica narrowed her eyes. “We need to get a
receptionist.”
“Then stop telling me every interviewee
isn’t good enough.”
Jessica rolled her eyes as she jogged to the
phone. Not an easy feat in four-inch Vivian Westwood heels. “Z Con
Gallery and J. Stanton Artist Management. This is Jessica, how may
I help you?”
“Jessica, this is Ryan Morgan.”
“Hey, Ryan.” Ryan was the first artist she’d
landed, and he was going to be one of the focal points of her
gallery.
“Hey, Jess, so about that gallery opening in
a few weeks. I don’t think I can do it.”
Jessica’s brows snapped down. “What the hell
do you mean you don’t think you can do it? We’ve been discussing it
for months. Why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?”
“Look, I know this sucks and it’s short
notice, but I’m going with Destiny Shane of Prestige
Management.”
Shitballs
. That
stung. Ryan wasn’t the first client that had left her for Destiny.
Jessica gritted her teeth. “Ryan, you know I’ve taken care of you
since I found you in that gritty little hovel downtown. I’ve bent
over backwards for you. Can’t you just stay on until the
opening?”
“Jessica, I’m really sorry about this.
You’ve been amazing to me, and I appreciate it. I just think
Destiny can do more for me.”
“And I’ll bet that’s exactly what she told
you.”
What the hell was she going to do? There was
no way she could tell Izzy that her faith had been misplaced. She
had to get another flashy client. Ryan was the last of three
artists Destiny had poached from her over the last two years. It
was like Jessica found them and built them, then Destiny swooped in
and took the credit. “Ryan I’m disappointed. We have a
contract.”
“I know. I’m sorry. The pieces you’re still
contracted for, you can show, but I’m not going to create any new
work for you.”
“Yeah, I get it. I’m not happy about it. But
I get it.” She hung up and stared at the phone for a good long
minute.
Izzy called from the other room. “Everything
okay?”
No, everything was not okay. Her hands
shook. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She’d poured
everything she had into the gallery. Without artists, all she had
was empty space. She straightened her spine. She didn’t have the
time for a full-on freak out. She could indulge after she found
another artist or two.
Patting an imaginary stray hair from her hot
pink wig back into place, she called out, “Looks like I'm headed to
see that artist after all. Feel like tagging along?”
Izzy snickered from the other room. “I love
you, but no.”
***
Elijah Marks studied his quarry. The shifty
little weasel had parked his Ferrari on the street with a precious
artifact in the passenger seat.
Amateur
.
People who didn’t take care of their belongings deserved to have
them stolen. And Eli was just the guy to do so.
As soon as the guy strolled into the
restaurant, Eli was on the move. He strode across the busy street,
narrowly missing being hit by a truck. Without even looking around,
Eli made quick work of the lock and was inside the Ferrari in less
than thirty seconds. Looked like his past wasn’t as misspent as
he’d thought.
Only once he was inside the car did he scan
his surroundings. He picked up the tube in the front seat,
unscrewed the top, and pulled out the soft canvas material to
confirm it was what he was after. The fabric spoke of the age as
did the faded coloring. Eli didn’t need his tools to know this was
the original. The bright, sea green paint and delicate dancers told
him it was. Carefully, he laid the painting back in the tube and
screwed the top on. He didn’t bother to lock the Ferrari behind
himself as he jogged back across the street to his BMW M3.
Eli tossed the canister into the front seat
as he pulled out his phone and called the office. “Trevor, I’ve got
the Degas.”
Trevor Winchell’s surprised voice and litany
of questions bored him. If he were lucky, he’d have time to call
into his other job and check on the case he was working there.
“You’re sure it’s the Degas?”
“Positive. I trailed him to two fences, and
like I suspected, it’s the daughter’s ex-boyfriend.”
“Excellent work, Eli. Please bring it back
to the office as soon as possible. I don’t want to risk anything
else happening to that painting. The owners will be thrilled to
have it back. And the higher ups will be even more thrilled to not
pay the insurance. Oh, and Del Monaco has been calling the office
looking for you.”
