MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (15 page)

“Well it’s in your blood right? The Stantons
have a serious reputation in the art world.”

She shrugged. “But I’m not my family. I
struck out on my own. I want to do this on my own merits. Yet this
job is in an arena where it helps to have the connections. I used
to feel guilty about it, but at the end of the day, if I can use
what I have to do the best for my clients, then why shouldn’t
I?”

“I personally don’t mind benefitting a
little from your nepotism.”

She giggled. “So, are we going to sit in
this car and pretend there isn’t a white elephant between us?”

“The one where we pretend we don’t want each
other?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I was serious when I said I wouldn’t touch
you again until you asked me to. Do you want me to touch you?”

She nodded her head emphatically as she
said, “No.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You can see how that
is confusing, right?”

She chuckled on a sigh. “Yeah. And I’m not
trying to be a pain in your ass. I have a bad track record with
guys. And I’m the one forever picking the wrong men. Either
unavailable, or unapproachable, or unemployable, or just plain way
too old.” She shook her head. “When I met you at the club, I
thought…I dunno…I thought you were kind of straight-laced, maybe a
little uptight. I thought you were an accountant type. A
hot
accountant type but still. When we met
at the restaurant, I had the sex symbol Samson Marks in front of
me. It didn’t gel in my mind. “

Eli mulled the thought over in his head.
“I’m the same guy you met on both occasions. It doesn’t change
anything.”

“It changes my perception. I’m used to being
the girl who doesn’t have to think about anything. I jump feet
first because I know what I’m getting into. Right now, I’m not so
sure. It’s disconcerting. It feels like my man meter is off.”

Doesn’t help that I’m a
lying asshole
. “You can be into that accountant type of
guy.” Art authenticator but close enough. “You can also be into the
guy you met at the restaurant. Same person.” His phone buzzed in
his pocket, and he muttered a curse. It was Vince, but there was no
delicate way to take the call without exposing himself.

“You gonna get that?”

Eli considered his options. “I’m sorry. Do
you mind?”

“No, go ahead.”

“Yeah.” He kept his tone brusque.

“Eli, where the hell you been man? We need
to talk.”

“Something came up. What’s going on?”

“Grab your gear, we’ve been called in.”

Eli sat up. “Is there a sig?”

“There may be. I need you to authenticate
it. From my undistinguished eye, it’s a forgery, probably by our
man. But I need my resident nerd. You coming?”

“Yeah, I’m coming. But it’ll take a minute.”
When he hung up, Jessica looked at him expectantly.

“I guess show and tell time is over?” She
gave him a rueful smile.

“Yeah I have to go. I’m sorry.” Then,
feeling like taking a risk, he said, “So given that we can’t seem
to stay away from each other, how about we have an actual date? For
real this time.”

Jessica bit her bottom lip. “I’m not sure
that’s the best idea.”

“You really want to keep fighting this?”

Jessica sighed. “Not like I could continue
fighting even if I wanted to. I know what I want. But your career
stuff comes first. I need Samson the artist more than I need Eli
the man. Can you live with that? This gallery is my life. I’ve got
everything tied up in it.”

That stung. But Eli hoped when this was over
she could have both.

Eli pulled up to the curb and eyed the
stately Tudor style mansion. As he strode to the front door, he
noted the gnomes on the AstroTurf grass in the yard. “I guess being
rich doesn’t mean you have taste,” he mumbled to himself.

Ducking under the yellow tape, he followed
the booming sound of his partner’s voice into what looked like the
living room. The dark hardwood floor was dusty. He did a quick scan
of the room. If this was a burglary, they might not be able to tell
what was missing. On the ornate antique desk, stacks of paper and
tchotchkes littered the dusty surface.

Eli stared at Vince. “You called me for a
robbery scene, but how can you tell anything is missing? These
folks are not exactly neat freaks.”

Vince smirked. “Tell me about it.”

“You want to tell me why I’m here right
now?”

Vince nodded. “Yeah, over here.” He led him
into a back office. “So the owner never would have even noticed, if
his granddaughter hadn’t brushed up against the paint and noticed
it was still wet.”

Eli’s blood ran cold. Another painting. His
conversation with Michael Fenton was clouding his mind. But he
couldn’t ignore the fact that Fenton either knew his brother or was
intimately acquainted with Sam’s past. If Sam did know Fenton, then
this string of suspicion had just gained more substance. The doubt
crept in and wormed its way insidiously into his heart. He wanted
to believe in his brother. Samson had had enough to deal with over
the years and wouldn’t endanger his recovery.
But
you’ve been here before
. Eli’s heart stuttered.

In the best circumstances, his brother was
charming and engaging and people wanted to be around him. At his
worst, that charm turned into expert level lying and manipulation.
And sure, people wanted to be around him, but he attracted the
wrong type of people. It had taken Eli five years to get his
brother back, and the thought of losing him again made Eli ill.

In the center of the office, a Thomas Kane
painting of a 60’s mod girl in tribute to Nancy Sinatra, sat on an
easel. Thomas Kane’s work had come to prominence with Warhol. The
two of them had run in the same circles. Rumor was they were also
occasional lovers. Eli frowned as he approached the painting. “The
color matching is exquisite.” Pulling out his glasses, he set his
carrier bag on the nearby table. “The stroke work is almost an
exact match.” Eli shook his head.

Vince whistled low. “This guy is good.” He
peered at the painting. “I mean, you’re the expert, you tell me.
Would you have known this was a forgery?”

Eli shook his head. That was what scared
him. He quickly took a paint sample. “I won’t know until we test
it, but I’d estimate the thief made the switch not more than 48
hours ago.” He looked up at his partner. “Do you have a timeline
for the owner’s whereabouts over the last week?”

“Yeah. They were home. In and out, but it’s
not like they were on vacation or something.”

“So it has to be someone with knowledge of
the family’s movements.”

Vince nodded. “Whoever did the switch’s got
a set on him, too. Old man was saying he’s had his grandkids in and
out. They’ve been planning for their big anniversary party in two
weeks.”

Eli puffed out a breath and examined the
painting. Sam had said every forger he’d ever known couldn't help
themselves. At the core of every forger was an artist waiting for
recognition. Who for some reason didn’t have the talent or the
imagination to create something new, but could copy flawlessly. Had
the artist signed this one, too?

Then he saw what he was looking for. Exactly
where he’d expected to find it. Carefully, he took his scraper and
adjusted a pencil size amount of fresh paint. There, under the bold
strike of blue. He saw the stroke of an etched bold S. His insides
went icy.
Samson
. Blood rushed through his
ears and his breathing sped to match his galloping heart. Samson.
His twin had lied to him.
What the fuck have you
gotten yourself into, Sam?

“Well? Is it our guy?”

Eli cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, seems
that way.” What could he say? Vince was no moron. Eli might be the
art expert, but his partner was like a dog with a bone; he’d
discover what the signatures were soon enough and chase them down
until it tied back to Sam. Eli would have to figure out some other
method to protect Samson. He’d put his own life on hold trying to
take care of his little brother If this forgery was Samson’s, Eli
would risk it all again to save him. No matter the cost.

But maybe there was hope. He had to talk to
Sam first.

“So what are you thinking, Vince?”

“I’d say the painting was worth, what, an
easy quarter mil?”

More like three hundred. “Yeah about.”

Vince shrugged. “Well, given that the paint
is so fresh, this was a well-timed heist, if you want to call it
that.”

Eli nodded. “I have something for you, too.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed Vince the photo
he’d taken of Michael Fenton. “This is the guy I texted you about.
He’s Jessica’s mother’s new fiancé.”

“Jessica as in the girl you’re…” his voice
trailed off.

“It’s a very long, complicated story.”

“Then why don’t you tell me, because if I’m
going to put you under with his guy, I need all the details I can
gather.”

Undercover? “You really think that’s a good
idea? I’ve got him dead to rights weaseling into her mother’s
life.”

“I need a little thing called proof.”

Eli cursed. He gave Vince the rundown of the
situation, leaving Samson out of it as much as possible. He did
tell Vince about Fenton recognizing him or thinking he did. When he
was done, Vince gave a low wolf whistle.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“She’s gonna be pissed when she finds out
you lied to her.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't really know until she starts
burning all your clothes.” Vince laughed. “You got an exit
plan?”

Besides try not to fuck her? “Plan is to
tell her the truth after the gallery opening.”

“Look, I’m not telling you to lie, but I’m
asking you to do your job. We need proof on Fenton. That bracelet
could be it. If she can bring it in, we might be able to bring this
guy down, and when we do, we’ll get the forger and his whole
network. But it means you playing Samson again.”

Right now, it looked like all roads led to
Samson.

“I am not nervous, I am not nervous. I am
not…” Ah who the hell was she kidding? Jessica was nervous. What
the hell had possessed her to say yes to a date with Eli?
Because you wanted to, and because he makes you
feel alive in the most delicious ways.
That, and he'd been
so sweet to her last night.

As the cab dropped her off, she eyed the
fancy downtown L.A. building. Since the city had started to clean
up the area, the developers had steamrolled into the city, erecting
towering, hip lofts and apartments. How the hell could Eli afford
this? It struck her then that she didn’t know much about him,
except that he was a gifted artist. Most artists she knew shared
their workspace with their living space, and there were paint
splatters and boxes and canvases everywhere. Kind of like his
studio had been, with its small kitchen area.

None of the artists she knew had the funds
to afford a loft downtown. Unless someone was funding him. “Don’t
get ahead of yourself, Jess,” she muttered to herself as slid into
the lobby.

The doorman greeted her at the front desk.
“Ms. Stanton, Mr. Marks would like you to go on up. His number is
1122.”

Miss Stanton. Jessica reigned in the desire
to snort. Instead, she murmured a ‘thank you’ and made her way to
the elevator on the right. The interior lobby was steel and glass
and marble. Cool. Modern. Nothing warm here, except for the
paintings on the walls. They were warm and embracing with their
oranges and mustards and soft golds, but they weren’t that visually
appealing. Still, it was better than concrete.

As she hit the button for the 11th floor,
she tried not to fidget. Unfortunately, there was no telling her
palms not to sweat. And of course, she'd worn satin. Satin and
sweaty pits did not a hot look make.

When the elevator slowed and came to a halt,
the doors slid open, and there was Eli in all his glory, wearing
cream-colored linen pants and a soft green sweater that brought out
the jade in his eyes. Jessica dragged in a shuddering breath. “Hi,”
she mumbled feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Hi, yourself,” he muttered as his eyes
drank her in, starting at the top of her roots, lingering on her
face, before slowly traversing to her breasts and then downward.
“You look incredible.”

“Thanks.” She looked around. Speaking of
incredible... “Nice digs.”

He grinned and took her hand. “Wait till you
see the view.”

“Oh, there's a view?” As he pulled her
closer, she drank in everything about him. The feel of his large
hand wrapped around hers, cocooning her in heat and welcome. That
cologne of his tickling her senses, daring her to do naughty
things. And his overall sex appeal—she suddenly lamented having
poured herself into a skin tight dress. They were notoriously
difficult to take off without a little assistance.

Eli hung a left at the hall and led her into
a spacious loft unit that overlooked the city. Floor to ceiling
windows covered the place; she could see as far as the night sky
would allow. Her breath caught, and she stumbled.

“Are you okay?” His soft words brought her
out of her shock.

“Jesus, yeah. I mean, would you look at this
place? I'm starting to wonder what you need me to be your manager
for?”

His brows furrowed. “Jess, I sublet this
place. A friend of mine is letting me stay while I find somewhere
permanent to live. I'd stay at the studio, but I need some
separation.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. I mean, it's
beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is. I worked in insurance before I
decided to go back to art, so I can afford the rent here for now,
but I probably won't stay, no matter how gorgeous that view
is.”

She took stock of the rest of the apartment:
cherry hardwood floors, ultra-modern furnishings, everything neat,
everything had a place. The cherry dining room table and granite
counters all sported burning candles, which cast the apartment in a
soft glow.