MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (10 page)

“What are you talking about? How did she
take what?”

Eli narrowed his gaze. “You didn't tell her
that I'm the one she met at the club? I thought you said you
explained everything.”

Sam wrinkled his nose. “No, not exactly what
I said. I said I'd fixed it and convinced her to take me on. I
didn’t mention you or us collectively. I thought it was
better.”

“How is that better?” Eli threw up his
hands.

“Look. She wasn’t particularly happy to see
me, and she was already thinking about not taking me on as a
client, so I figured it was better to not tell her.” Sam paused,
studying his brother a moment as Eli tensed. “Eli, I need
this.”

“Fuck, Sam.” Eli hung his head. “How do you
think she's going to react when she finds out?”

“Look. It’s only for a couple of weeks until
this opening she was telling me about. Once she sees my work, and
that I’m sellable, I’ll tell her.
We'll
tell her.” He amended quickly. “I’ll have had a chance to prove my
work is good. She'll see that I’m more than just a flash in the pan
performance artist, and I’m someone to take seriously.”

Eli ground his teeth. The idea of Jessica
and Sam working together in close quarters didn’t exactly fill him
with the warm and fuzzies. “No, Sam.”

Sam mimicked him. “Yes, Eli. Come on, she's
perfect and you know it. You vetted her yourself. You've been
talking about me getting my second chance for two years. I finally
have that chance. I can’t do anything to fuck it up. And that
includes telling her we switched places. It'll piss her off, and I
think we both know what she looks like pissed off. I fuck up, and I
lose my chance for God knows how long. She's got a big name in the
industry and can trash me anywhere.”

Shit
. This was the
last thing either of them needed. Certainly the last thing that Eli
needed, but Sam had a point. If Jessica found out before Sam could
prove his bankability, she'd drop him. “Fine, but I want you to
keep your fucking hands off of her.” As much as he loved his
brother, Sam was like an alley cat when it came to women.

Sam winced. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Eli sighed and nodded as he picked up his
magnifying glass again. Trying to diffuse the tension, he asked,
“Did you need me for anything else?”

Sam studied him for a long moment before
shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on a dining room chair.
“I can’t just come over and see my brother?” His stomach grumbled
as if in an attempt to belie his sincerity.

Eli raised an eyebrow. Sam never just popped
by. He always came over to use Eli’s laundry or raid his fridge. It
was one of the reasons Eli didn’t keep any booze in the house. “You
make enough money to stock the studio with food, so why don’t you?
Not to mention, I even hired someone to do the grocery shopping for
you since I know you forget when you’re painting.”

Sam shrugged. “I have food. Just none of it
is cooked.”

Eli rolled his eyes. “You know where
everything is. There’s fettuccini, broccoli and chicken in the
fridge. I made it last night. Try not to make a mess.”

Sam didn't wait to be told twice. “God, you
know how to make an artist sing, don’t you?” As he grabbed a plate
and got to work, he nodded at the dining room table. “What are you
working on anyway?”

“Just this case.” Eli rubbed his jaw as he
stared at each painting.

“Yeah, I gathered that. What's that
case?”

Eli hesitated. Given Sam’s past this wasn’t
the kind of thing he really wanted to discuss with him. “Don’t
worry about it.”

“Oh c’mon. Maybe you need a different
perspective.”

Eli debated what to tell him. “This case of
forgeries across the country. These millionaires will acquire
priceless artwork and have it authenticated and insured, only to
come back from an extended vacation and realize it's a forgery.
Sometimes they don’t figure it out for months, if ever.”

Sam tapped his fork on the black granite
countertop as he waited for the microwave. “What kind of art?”

“That's the thing, no rhyme or reason. We’ve
got some classics with a Picasso or two. We’ve got some modern
pieces. We've also got some pop art pieces. Hell, we even have some
sculpture and jewelry.”

“How are they switching the pieces?”

Eli narrowed his eyes. “Don’t know.”

“How many forgers are you dealing with?”

He crossed arms wondering where Sam was
going with his questioning. “Why all the questions, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m trying to help. You see
me work all the time. I never get to see what you do.”

Eli answered cautiously. “Again, don’t know,
but given the skill level, I’d say one. From what we’ve seen of the
paintings, these guys are good. They’re aging the canvases
expertly; the technique is near perfect; there’s nothing out of
place. To the untrained eye, there would be no way to know. I mean
they faked a Picasso twice.”

The microwave beeped, and Sam dragged out a
heaping plate of steaming fettuccini. Around a hot mouthful, he
asked, “What’s the signature?”

Eli frowned. “I just told you there isn’t
one.”

“Check again. I know I couldn’t help myself.
I had to sign my work. Mark it somehow.”

Eli worked his jaw. Any revisit of Sam’s
past made him edgy. As if by talking about it, Sam could end up
back there at the lowest point in his life.

“Sam.” Eli shouldn't be talking to his
brother about this.

Sam shrugged. “What? We're not going to talk
about the fact that I went to jail for grand larceny because I was
accused of forging artwork? C'mon. I've paid my debt. I can help
you, if you want.”

Eli needed the help but he hesitated. Asking
Sam to go back to that dark place wasn’t something he was willing
to risk. And his brother’s line of questioning had his mind working
overtime. Sam certainly had the skill. But would he risk everything
again? “I don’t think it's a good id—”

Sam rolled his eyes and sauntered into the
living room. “If you haven’t been able to find the signature then
start looking for what isn’t there. Look for an uneven patch of
paint or inconsistencies in the canvas. It'll look like a water
mark or something somewhere in a layer of paint or on that canvas.
The artist has marked it. He wouldn’t have been able to
resist.”

Eli nodded. “Thanks. I’ll have to go back
and examine the originals.”

“Also, whoever’s doing this has probably
been doing this for a while. Once you start, and you know you’re
good enough, you can’t really stop.”

Eli pinned a narrowed eyed gaze on his
brother. “What the fuck are you saying? You still do copies of
pieces?”

Sam shrugged. “Relax, E. They are only for
me, and I burn most of them after they’re done. But I need to keep
the skill active. I need to know deep down that I’m still good
enough. When I was using, it’s one of the things that kept me
going. To know I was still capable. I would never throw away the
chance you’ve given me or try and pretend that I had the real thing
again, but once you have the skill, it’s a skill acquired.”

Eli shook his head, incredulous. “Sam, do
you know the kind of risk you’re taking? How stupid it would be for
you to get caught?”

“Like I said. They’re just for me, and I
burn them. You don‘t have to worry. I swear, Eli.”

Eli didn’t like it, but at the end of the
day there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Sam, you’re going to
be the death of me.”

Sam chewed thoughtfully. “You know, you
should be the artist instead of chasing after criminals. There
would have come a time when you admired the work of these
forgers.”

“What they are doing is wrong, Sam. It’s my
job to catch them.”

“I know it’s wrong. I’m only saying, you
can’t help but admire the skill. I mean to pull off a Picasso
forgery—that takes some talent.”

“Tell me about it.”

At least Eli had something to go on now, but
taking Sam’s help still didn’t sit well. It wasn’t the way of the
world. He was the one who took care of his brother. Or at least
he’d tried. He also didn’t need Sam’s past finally catching up with
them.

“That’s okay, I don’t need any thanks. As
long as you keep me fed in fettuccini.”

The following morning, Eli rubbed his eyes
with the heels of his hands. He’d only managed four hours of sleep.
After Sam had left, he’d spent the rest of the night going over
every inch of the case again. Then Sam had called at an ungodly
hour with his latest emergency. So, of course, Eli had dragged
himself out of bed and gone to the studio with nothing more than
four hours of sleep.

“Hey, Sam, can we get this show on the road.
What do you need me for that’s so urgent?”

“You know what your problem is, Eli? You’re
too wound up. Can you let a guy have his coffee first?”

“You called me, remember? You said it
couldn’t wait. Everything okay?”

A lithe brunette walked out of the half bath
to the side of the studio. “Hi, Eli.”

“Hey, Jocelyn. How’s it going?” He managed a
small smile for her. After all, she was helping keep his brother
clean.

“Can’t complain.”

Eli wasn’t sure if he should worry about Sam
spending so much time with Jocelyn. Did this mean trouble on the
horizon?

Sam stalked over and clapped him on the
chest. “You have to change.”

“Why? I’m dressed fine. I’m not the trendy
one.” Eli rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s go ahead and get this
done. I don’t have all day. I assume you and Jocelyn want to get
going.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I have a meeting
with Jessica today to show her my work. But you’re going to take
it.”

A chill chased up Eli’s back as adrenaline
kicked in. “She’s coming here to meet
you
.
She wants to see
your
art.”

“And
you
want to
see
her
. Besides,” Samson shrugged. “I’m
not in the right frame of mind to show my work. I’m going to take a
little walk with Jocelyn.” He looked Eli up and down again. “You
might really want to change your clothes. She’ll never buy that
you’re an artist if you’re wearing slacks on a Saturday. And do
something about your hair, too. It’s too neat.” With that, Samson
stalked out the back door, his sponsor in tow.

Watching his brother ride off without a
helmet as the heavy fire door screeched to a close, Eli felt like
he’d been hoodwinked. Samson had no intention on fixing the mix up.
Ever since they were kids, his brother had taken pleasure in
torturing Eli by forcing him into situations with girls. He’d
thought it would cure him of his shyness and awkwardness. And it
had—somewhat. But this was something different. If he didn’t fix
this mix up, somebody was likely to get hurt. And he had a
sickening feeling it would be him.

He wasn’t going to change his clothes. He
was going to tell–except Jessica thought she was meeting
Samson
. She was here for business. Like it
or not, she had the connections and the love of art to take his
brother into the stratosphere. He’d tell her later. He’d take her
to a nice dinner somewhere public, so he wouldn’t end up pawing
her, and he’d tell her then.

Checking the security cameras again, he
cursed. He saw her coming from half a block away. Her hair was blue
today, but he knew how her body moved. That was her, all right. He
climbed the stairs two at a time and dragged off his shirt,
replacing it with a T-shirt out of Sam’s top drawer. He took off
his slacks and laid them neatly on the bed, then scanned the room
frantically. Where the hell did his brother keep his jeans? He
would have picked up one of the pairs off the floor, but knowing
his brother, he was uncertain of the level of cleanliness. Sam was
a slob.

Eli dashed into the closet and dragged a
pair of dark jeans off the hanger and yanked them on. He heard the
doorbell ring and muttered, “Fuck.” He ran for the door, nearly
slipping, and hopped on one foot as he dragged off his socks.
Before heading down the stairs, he caught sight of himself in the
mirror. Shit, he was the spitting image of Sam. Disheveled hair and
everything. Thanks to the hasty dressing, his hair was mussed. And,
as his brother had woken him up with his little emergency, Eli
hadn’t had time to shave, so stubble dusted his jaw.

Eli sprinted down the stairs and made a mad
dash for the front entry. Dragging the steel door open, he tried to
calm his nerves.
Easy does it.
He could do
this. He’d do this, and take her out some place. That would
guarantee he’d see her again at least. Immediately, he calmed down,
feeling instantly at ease.

“Am I too early?” She asked as soon as she
saw him. “When you said to come at 8:30, I wasn’t really sure if I
should believe you or not. I know how you artist types can be.”

Eli took a second to take her in and steeled
himself against his body’s instant reaction.

Blue hair, feather earrings, and a lip
piercing. All paired with a fifties-inspired, prim, white dress.
She wore that perfume again. The one that smelled liked spiced
flowers. Without thinking, he mumbled, “What perfume are you
wearing?”

She blinked at him with wide eyes.
“Givenchy,
Play
. Why?” She frowned.

He flushed as he stepped by to let her in.
“It’s distinctive. I recognize it from the other night.”

Her pale skin flushed pink. “Shit, it’s
back.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“The chemistry. Can’t you feel that?”

Eli watched her, hyper aware of the way she
moved, light on her toes, like she might sprint out of the room at
any moment. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I feel it. Best we can
do is ignore it.” This was why pretending to be Samson was a bad
idea. Instead of kissing her, he was stuck. And of course, his
brother was nowhere to be seen.