MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (20 page)

“Nothing. Took a stray punch doing something
for Vince.”

He chuckled as he followed her. She still
wore neon, but it was in a somewhat muted outfit than he was used
to seeing on her. A simple dress that flared over her hips
accentuating her slim waist. She looked very vintage pin-up.

As the men set up, she stepped around every
piece, assessing, exploring, sometimes seemingly getting lost in a
piece before moving on to the next one. She did that for every
single painting. He drank in her obvious joy. She looked at every
one as if she was examining them merely for the enjoyment of the
work. Not in a professional capacity or a critical way, but because
she seemed to like it.

When she stepped in front of the last piece,
her hand flew to her chest. “Eli, is this your mother?”

Because she blocked his view, he didn’t see
the painting until after he walked right up behind her. His breath
stopped. Yes, it was his mother. This was new. Probably what Samson
was painting the other night when Eli had wrecked their family
bonds for good. The photo was haunting in its elegance, but the
eyes were strong and fierce like she was ready to do battle. And
she had. Right up until she died of a heart attack, she'd fought to
keep Samson clean. It was only fitting that he painted what looked
like his final memory of her.

Eli cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s my
mother.”

“She's beautiful. What fierce love in her
face. It’s visceral and palpable. It's outstanding.”

He wanted to beam with pride in Samson’s
work. But the compliment felt hollow. Only because he wasn’t the
one who should be receiving it. What the hell could he say to her?
He only nodded.

She looked around him. “What’s that?”

The movers rolled in one more piece mounted
to a pedestal, and Jessica squealed. “Holy shit, Eli. Is that one
of the pieces I saw the other day? This is—”

Unable to stop the rush of emotion, he
clamped his jaw shut and stared at the offending piece. It was the
last one he'd done before he'd quit sculpting. The last one before
Sam had gone to prison. The pain sliced deep as Jessica walked
around it, touching and examining his work. How the hell could
Samson have done this to him?
Easy, you accused
him of using again.
Eli felt raw, exposed, like he’d just
gone to work completely buck-ass naked.

“Jesus, Eli, you certainly love the female
form. There is something so raw and still so delicate about
this.”

He cleared his throat. She was staring at
him, expecting him to say something. Anything. But all he could do
was stare at the piece. The end of his wild days. When he'd grown
up. He had no words.

A light
click click
sound brought him out of his reverie. Jessica was standing in front
of him snapping her fingers. “Yo, Earth to Eli. Want to tell me why
you're doing your best walking dead routine?”

When he finally found his voice, he didn't
recognize it. It was so raw with emotion. “I'm not showing the
sculpted piece.”

“Are you insane, Eli? That should be the
center piece of the whole show.”

The hell it would be. His brain scrambled
for a reason. “I-I'm not ready to show it.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It's
already been cast. All you have to do is name it. I'm not letting
you get away with this shit. I know you’re a sensitive artist, but
sometimes as your manager I know best. Left to you, you wouldn’t
ever show anything. You hired me to make your career sparkle, and
this piece helps me do that. What do you call it?”

The word was out of his mouth, before he
even knew his brain had formed the thought. “Imperfection.”

“Imperfection. Fitting. I'm going to want a
complete look at all your finished pieces.”

Eli's vision grayed. He needed to breathe.
Take a breath man, your brain could use the
O2.
He drew in a breath and immediately felt better, so he
dragged in another one. Samson had done this on purpose. His way of
saying,
fuck you
maybe? Though, subtlety
was not usually Sam's style. He would have just busted out a big
ol', “Fuck you.” Like that hit to the jaw. No, Imperfections'
miraculous appearance said that even though Eli had hurt him, he
still believed in him, even if Eli couldn’t return the feeling.

How the hell was Eli going to get away
without showing the damn thing? Jessica was stubborn enough to
insist, and at this point, regardless of what was going on with
Samson or the case, he couldn’t tell her the full truth until this
was all over.

Jessica put a hand on his shoulder. “This is
for you, Samson. I know how artists can get. Like Erykah Badu said,
you guys are sensitive about your shit, but I wouldn’t insist if I
didn’t know it was good. You have to trust me.”

He inhaled and let out a slow breath. “And I
still need to feel comfortable. It's my soul out there.” Wasn't
that the truth?

Surprisingly, she backed off. Putting her
hands up, she said, “Okay, fine. I understand. I'll back off for
now, but when we have the smaller gallery opening. I want you to
consider it.”

Not on your life.
But to assuage her, he nodded. Knowing his foul mood was bringing
her down when she'd been so happy, he plastered the brightest smile
he could muster. “Look, these guys need to set up for me anyway.”
He massaged the back of his neck. “Are we still on for
tomorrow?”

Her smile was bright. “Yep, I have a dress
picked out and everything. And don’t worry. This one doesn’t have
skulls all over it or anything. I’ll be very sedate and
proper.”

“What if I like the skulls?” Her style was a
bit gothy punk, but also ultra-feminine.

“And I’ll be on my best behavior, no matter
how much I loathe Destiny.”

Eli forced a grin. Her mild jealous streak
was cute, but he knew better than to tell her so. “I’ll pick you up
at seven tomorrow, okay?”

“You, sir, have yourself a deal.”

***

An hour after Eli left, Jessica tried to
sort out which pieces would stay in the gallery and which ones
would move to the larger venue. She worked with Miranda to pick the
larger show stopper images for the larger exhibit.

“God damn these shoes are murder.” Jessica
slipped off the three-and-half inch silver nightmares and wiggled
her toes. “Miranda, I want to make sure I give Raul some
instructions about pick up for the opening. Can you hang out for a
minute?”

The brunette nodded. “Sure, I'm all
yours.”

Jessica bit back a smile as she hopped on
the walkway to reach Raul. She had an assistant. Well, one she
shared with Izzy, but an assistant none the less.

With tender feet, she gave up on the gravel
walkway and went for the grass. “Hey, Raul, one thing. I want to
make sure we have enough space on Saturday. Can you go into the
venue and double check the measurements, so we don't have any
problems trying to get the larger installation items in? I don’t
want any of this to go wrong.”

Raul nodded and gave her a brief run-down of
what had already been done and what still needed some work. She
watched as he climbed into his truck, praying she hadn’t forgotten
anything. She’d never pulled off a show like this with someone like
Eli. It was one thing to do photo gallery shows for Izzy. Izzy was
already established. It was a whole other thing to work with an
unknown client.

She wiped her hands on the back of her
jeans. This would work. It had to. Izzy and Jason had believed in
her, so she'd better pull it together. As she watched Raul's truck
pull off, she stood outside a second longer, soaking up the
sunshine.

Miranda joined her on the lawn. “Come on.
You can do that in Malibu. Izzy called; you’re already late for
Nick’s tournament.”

“Okay, I’m coming, I can see—”

Tires screeching to her right diverted her
attention from Miranda. A late model Oldsmobile swerved into the
middle of the street. It was when she heard the combination of a
gunned engine and Miranda's shout from the door that she realized
what was happening.
Oh God, oh God, oh
God
.

The car was barreling straight for her.

Heart thudding and brain flowing in slow
motion, she darted away from the sidewalk, rolling onto the front
lawn. The car missed her by a foot.

Holy shit, had someone just tried to kill
her?

Jessica’s tights itched. But she knew better
than to scratch; she'd only put a hole in the thigh highs and where
would that land her? Then she'd be that holey girl Samson Marks had
brought to the benefit.

She kept telling herself that it didn’t
smart that she hadn’t been the one to be able to get him an invite.
But who was she kidding? As a nod to decorum, she'd worn her
natural hair tonight. No feather adornments or jewels, only
platinum. She’d worked it into a fifties-inspired Greta Garbo
style. The only part of her that told her she was still her was the
dress color. Though it was formal, strapless with a simple
sweetheart neckline, it bore a shocking slit and was a wholly
inappropriate fushia color. The dress drew enough looks to give her
a chuckle.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Eli’s velvet voice enveloped her. She warmed
instantly.

“Just thinking how everyone is staring. It's
like you brought Hester Prynne as your date.” She hadn’t told him
about the incident with the car at the gallery. For that matter,
she hadn’t told Izzy either. She didn’t need them fawning all over
her. Miranda didn’t like keeping it quiet, but she’d done so under
the deal that Jessica would call the police.

And she would. Later. Much later.

A sharp chuckle made Eli’s chest rumble. “I
doubt Hester Prynne had your talent in the bedroom. That thing you
do with your tongue. It’s—”

She smacked him on the arm. “Eli, people can
hear you.”

He rolled his eyes. “How long are we staying
at this shindig anyway?”

“You have yet to make a full revolution
around the room. It’s important for you to meet everyone in here.
This will be your audience for the opening and exhibit. At least
some of them anyway.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Are you coming with
me?”

“That's a negative. Besides, these women
want the air of availability on you. I'll be right here. Don’t
worry. If you need help, send up a signal flair.”

He nodded, and Jessica scanned the crowd.
“Hey, is that your friend Vince over there?”

Eli nodded. “Yeah, he was invited by his
date, I think.”

“Go on, mingle.” She stepped away, even
though she wanted to hang onto him. No self-assured woman worth her
salt would be attached to some man, trying to make him keep her
company because she was terrified of social situations. Certainly
not her.

Making her way over to Vince she smiled.
“Fancy meeting you here.”

He looked a little startled to see her. “I
see pink is definitely your color.”

“And you're still a charmer, I see.”

He grinned. “So how's uh, Eli, doing?”

“He's good, I think. The idea of schmoozing
up people is a little clinical and cold to him though. He’d rather
be painting. But I'm trying to make him see it's a necessary
evil.”

“You know, I think he'll be okay.”

“Yeah, should be, but left to him, he'd be
in the studio all day. He's always working.”

Vince’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, as his manager, I'm thrilled. But I
want him to learn to relax a little.”

“You and me both.”

After chatting with Vince for another
several minutes and dancing to one song, she searched the crowd for
Eli.

“So are you going to let me buy you a
drink?”

Jessica turned to find Mr. Tall Dark and
tattooed to her right. He was clearly an artist and not one of the
old money financiers. Just her type. Just her
old
type. She held up her glass. “Thanks, but I have a
drink.”

“Well, I always say a beautiful woman needs
another.”

Okay, not taking the brush
off.
“But I’ve barely even started this one.”

“Fair enough.”

He was pretty, in that too-thin guitar
player way. Before Samson, she’d have leapt at the chance. His
dangerous edge appealed to her. It was a language she spoke and
understood. She eyed his arm. “Impressive ink.”

He indicated her shoulder. “Yours, too.”

She shrugged. It had been so long since
she'd even taken a proper look at hers. She quickly looked around
the room for Samson and found him surrounded by women, including
Destiny. Destiny said something to him, and he grinned at her. Not
the usual lopsided one Jessica was used to seeing, or the smirk he
often wore if he was talking about Vince, but a full on grin. Then
the evil cow put a hand on his arm and leaned in
conspiratorially.

White-hot fury had Jessica clutching her
hand around the glass.
He’s a free agent,
she reminded herself.
It doesn’t matter who else
he's talking to.
That’s not the kind of
deal you guys have.
Or rather, that’s the deal she'd given
him right away.

Refocusing her attention on tatted and
lanky, Jessica plastered a smile on her face. “So let me guess,
you're an artist masquerading as a guitar player.”

His expression confused, he gave her an
unsure smile. “How did you know I was a guitar player?”

Jessica laughed. “I have this weird thing
where I can pick out the guy in the band in a crowded room. It's a
pretty great skill to have.” She smiled at him sweetly. If Eli
could flirt, so could she.

The brunette beside Destiny ran her hand
across Eli's shoulders and down his arm. Staying there a moment too
long.

“What's your name anyway, guitar guy?”

“Blake.”

“Well, Blake, how about a dance?”