MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (7 page)

Izzy shook her head, laughing. “I’m cutting
off all your romantic suspense novels.”

“Yeah, you probably should. And the serial
killer television shows, too.”

“It’s just so unlike you, Jess. You’re
normally so careful. What made you decide to take him home?”

“What? You want to hear that he was hot
enough to make my skin burn?”

Izzy sighed. “Okay, lecture over. I’m taking
my mom hat off and putting my friend hat back on. So how was
he?”

Jessica squeezed her eyes shut. “Do you want
to hear that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him? Or do
you want to hear that he scares the shit out of me?”

Izzy sat up, her brows drawing down over
flint dark eyes, ready to do battle. “Did he hurt you?

Jessica blinked. “No. God, no. Nothing like
that. It's just. I—” Unable to find the right words, she tried
again. “Let's be real. I've had more than my fair share of one
night stands, and I date. A lot. Okay, again, more than my fair
share. But this guy, he made me feel like he could see into me. And
it scares me shitless. It's no surprise that I'm pretty good at
arm's lengthening guys. But no matter how I tried, it didn't work
with him. He insisted I give him my name.”

Izzy chewed her bottom lip. “Did you get
his?”

Jessica’s head ached and her body throbbed.
She tried to listen to what Izzy was saying, but her mind kept
wandering to last night. She'd actually given him her real name.
Stupid.
Note to self, next time you are feeling
vulnerable and want anonymous sex, don’t give your real
name.
But it wasn't the sharing of personal details that
worried her most. It was the way he'd made her feel. The way he'd
exposed everything she felt that she usually hid from the world.
She didn’t have that kind of intimacy with her shrink, let alone
some guy she'd barely met. “No. I was being mysterious.”

“Ok. So where’s the rest of it? You haven’t
given me a rundown of any of his cool tattoos or piercings.”

Staring into the eyes of her best friend,
Jessica knew her chin wobbled and her eyes had to be red and
watery. She gave Izzy the tamer play-by-play of what had
transpired. Izzy just nodded, peeled wrappers off the chocolates,
and handed them to Jessica.

When Jessica was done, she sat back. “God,
I'm so tired. I only got about an hour of sleep. He literally kept
me up
all
night.”

“Can I ask you a question, Jess?”

Jessica spoke around the piece of truffle in
her mouth. “Shoot, Yoda.”

“What is it about
this
guy?”

Jessica frowned. She’d been asking herself
the same question. “Fuck if I know. He's literally not my type at
all. He’s so straight-laced. He looks like some kind of stock
broker or something, except way less douchey.”

“And he has your first name but you don't
have his.”

Jessica sagged against the plush pillows.
“You think it was a bad idea to give my name?”

Izzy cocked her head from side to side.
“Neither here nor there. I mean was the sex good?”

Good, didn’t even begin to cover it. “Yes.
Better than good. More like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical
socket. “

“But now you have no way to find him again.
If
you wanted to find him.”

“Exactly.”

Izzy raised a delicate brow. “Which you
don’t.”

“That’s right.”
Liar
. Sex that good deserved an encore.

“Because it was what, more than just
sex?”

“Now you think I’m one of those fruity L.A.
girls talking about how sex is transcendent or some shit.”

Izzy gave her a little sassy eyebrow. “You
should know better. Besides, I have a solution to your problem. If
you did want to find him—which you don’t—but if you did, why not
just go back to the bar and see if the bartender knows him?” Then
as if remembering Jessica’s reason for being at the club in the
first place she asked, “So how did it go with the artist?”

“He emailed me this morning. I'm meeting him
tomorrow afternoon. Izzy, he's good. Forget the actual art; his
performance alone had the whole place mesmerized. He's pretty
incredible.”

“Well, at least one thing went your way last
night.”

Now, all Jessica had to do was get
green-eyed sex god out of her head. How hard could that be?

Jessica wobbled in her heels as she pulled
open the door to Bodega Wine Bar. Her usual wardrobe choices or
platforms seemed wholly inappropriate for her first real client
meeting. Whether she was in the mood to deal or not, she needed an
artist, and he needed a manager. And thanks to her mother, she had
the in. So big girl panties in place, here she was.

The stunning blonde hostess slinked up to
her, and Jessica felt like a painted Harajuku doll in comparison.
“Hi, I have a reservation under Marks.”

The hostess eyed her and took in her
multicolored patchwork designer suit, and Jessica suddenly wished
she'd gone more conservative. Regardless of Jessica’s appearance,
the hostess plastered a neutral smile on her face and led her
through the back to the private tables. Only a few diners littered
the ultra-modern courtyard dining area. With the chill in the
spring air, the warming pits and lamps were on full blast.

As the hostess led her to the far corner,
she noticed the man sitting with his back to her. Dark hair curling
at his collar, something about him had Jessica halting in her Jimmy
Choos. She tried to shake off the heebie jeebies crawling up her
neck, but her inner alarm bells kept ringing.

The hostess’s smooth soprano lilted out,
travelling to Jessica in a fog as the man stood. Over six feet of
lean muscle unfolded out of the chair and turned in her direction.
Hair so dark she would have thought it jet black save the lighter
brown highlights. California tanned skin, yin and yang tattoo on
his forearm.

Jessica froze.
No
.
This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.
Her brain
tried to assert authority and tell her to run. But her body
continued its path as if drawn by a magnet. Her eyes roved over the
familiar body, and she bit back a groan. When she met the intense,
jade green stare, she swallowed hard.

The hostess placed the menus on the table
and looked between the two of them like she was watching a tennis
match. She must have been bored because she eventually excused
herself, and Jessica was left with the man from the club.

“So your name is Samson Marks?” She might
have asked the question, but it was more like an exclamation.

The corner of his lips twitched, and
Jessica's skin pricked. She knew what he looked like when he
smiled. And she was not mentally prepared for the libido
inducement.

“And you're J. Stanton.” He waved her
business card. “Or should I say Jessica.”

The way her name rolled of his tongue should
have been illegal. It sounded like dirty talk. But no, he'd just
said her name.

What to say, what to say? She obviously
couldn't continue with the meeting, but she certainly couldn't run
away form a client. “Well, this is awkward.”

He shrugged. “Wouldn't have been if you'd
given me your full name last night.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be seeing you again,
remember?”

This time he did smile, and Jessica
swallowed again.

“That’s what I love about L.A.. There's
always room for the impossible.”

***

Eli knew Sam would be the death of him. But
what could he do? Sam was his twin. Sam loathed the business end of
being an artist, so he always tapped Eli’s expertise. Eli had a
feeling it was more out of laziness than inaptitude. If he had to
guess, Eli would bet money Sam was still in bed. Probably with some
hot groupie.

Wide, electric blue eyes met his, and
Jessica’s lips went from a welcoming smile to frozen grimace. “Oh,
fuck me.”

There it was again. That mouth of hers. It
wove its way through his shock and made the corners of his lips tip
up. “We already did that, remember?”

Her hand flashed up to cover her lips, and
she muttered something that sounded like, “Of all the fucking men
in Los Angeles.”

Eli shoved his hands in his pockets,
suddenly glad he’d taken Sam up on his request to trade places for
the day. If Sam had come, Eli would never have seen her again. “I’d
wondered if you’d given me a fake name or not.”

She sighed and lowered herself back into her
chair as she took a swig of the white wine he’d ordered. “I should
have.”

Eli slid into the seat across from her. He
caught a whiff of her perfume, and his whole body tingled as the
scent evoked memories of the other night. The way she’d fit around
him. The way her breasts plumped in his hands. The feeling of the
nipple ring between his teeth. The way her body softened when he
licked her. “Okay, so this is a bit of a surprise, but it’s not a
big deal. At least now I know your name. Maybe we—”

She pinned him with her stare. “Stop. Stop
right there before you think about asking me out. I can’t do this.
You’re supposed to be a new client. I was not supposed to sleep
with you.” She covered her face and took several deep breaths. When
she removed her hands, her expression was more composed. “If you
are still looking for representation, I can recommend several other
artist managers. I—”

Eli’s anger simmered under the surface. She
was giving him the brush off. The sane voice in his head reminded
him that she thought he was Sam. “Look. So we had sex,
great
sex, by the way. But still just sex. Not like we
killed anybody. From what I understand, J. Stanton Artist
Management is small but up and coming. You give your clients the
personal touch. No one gets forgotten or slips through the cracks.
I’m looking for that personal touch. Not to mention the last five
gallery openings you’ve had have been attended by curators from
around the world. I’m looking for that kind of exposure. I don’t
want anyone else.”

When he’d left her Saturday morning, he
hadn’t planned on seeing her ever again. But fate had other plans.
Now that Eli knew her name, he wouldn’t be letting her go. It
wasn’t a smart idea to let her anywhere near Sam, but he’d figure
out a way around that.

“That’s just the problem. What happened
Friday is not the kind of personal touch we offer to clients. That
was just my own poor judgment. There’s already an inappropriate
conflict of interest thingy going on.” She shifted her stare away.
“Would you stop staring at me like I’m filet mignon and you haven’t
eaten in a month?”

Eli smirked. “I haven’t eaten since the
other night.”

She groaned and buried her face in her hands
again. “You can’t be for real.”

He was losing her. “Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m
having a hard time understanding why we can’t work together.”

She pierced him with a narrowed, electric
blue gaze. “Look. I’m not into complications. I like my personal
and professional life nice and drama free. You think you can ignore
the fact that we slept together? Pretend that it all never happened
and treat me like a professional?”

“I—” He knew what she was asking. But the
truth was she’d be working with Sam. Maybe he could persuade Sam to
keep his hands off. Maybe she wouldn’t have any chemistry with Sam.
Maybe he could just tell her who he was and she’d understand.
Except she’d just made it clear she wasn’t into complications.

When he didn’t answer, she pushed back her
chair and stood. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Marks. It’s a real
shame. Your performances are extraordinary, and I would have loved
to help push your career forward. But as you’ve no doubt figured
out for yourself, there’s no way we can work together.”

Eli watched her walk out of the café and
wished he’d never agreed to stand in for Sam.

***

An hour later, Eli stepped back and stared
at the evidence wall in his office. Instead of focusing on the
case, his mind kept straying to the woman he couldn’t get out of
his head. Not only did she not want anything to do with him, but
she also thought he was Sam. Shit just couldn't get any worse.

Except that she was fucking with his
concentration. Before Friday, if anyone had asked what rattled him,
he'd have said nothing. Vince was right when he called him ice. It
was part of the facade. Now Jessica Stanton had started carving
something out inside him, and he didn't like it. He'd known her two
days, and already his control was slipping.

Eli dragged his attention back to the board.
He'd been over it a million times, and he knew he'd missed
something. Loose ends didn't agree with him, and he'd lost more
than a few hours of sleep to this.

His meeting with Jessica had him on edge. Of
course the one woman that held his interest in years had to be the
same woman who could offer salvation to his brother. Her contacts
were impeccable. Her father and grandfather had left imprints on
the art scene backing some of the most talented artists he'd ever
seen. If she had their skill, she could change things for Sam.

Too bad she wasn’t going to take him on.
Too bad you won’t be sleeping with her
again.
Eli ignored the twitch in his dick that happened
every time he thought about her and tried to concentrate.

“You find anything good?”

Eli didn't bother turning around. Vince had
a habit of just walking into his office.

“If by something good you mean nothing, then
yeah. I found something good. It’s not exactly easy looking for a
needle in a haystack; trying to find some similarity in the
forgeries other than they’re good.”

Vince waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah
yeah, you look at pretty pictures for a living and are a
professional cynic. Doesn’t make you special. I got an ex-wife just
like you.”

Eli rolled his shoulders, concentrating on
the paintings. There was no rhyme or reason behind the forgeries.
They were from different eras, classics, pop art, modern pieces.
“None of this makes any sense, Vince. I know we've overlooked
something critical.”