MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance) (9 page)

She dared a glance in Izzy’s direction, who
looked disappointed.

“If you’re a man of your word, then…”
Jessica paused, not sure if she was making the right decision. But
it wasn’t like she didn’t need the client. “I can work with you for
now. My career is as important to me as yours is. If at any point
we can’t work together, we will part ways. No harm, no foul. I will
recommend you to another artist manager I know.”

He thought about it for several moments.
“And what if she’s too booked with other clients?”

She narrowed her eyes, unsure if he was
trying to pull something. But the question seemed genuine. “Then
we’ll work together until your first opening. After that point,
we’ll sever the relationship and direct you to other management
companies you might have a more successful relationship with.” Then
she added for good measure, “I take my job very seriously, Mr.
Marks.”

“Samson. You can at least use my name.”

For some reason, Jessica felt like her name
was Delilah and someone had just sold her a pair of shears. “Okay,
Samson. You’ve got yourself a deal. We’ll start with a larger
opening where you’ll perform, and we’ll display your pieces.
Anything that doesn’t sell, and any new pieces you come up with for
the next six months, will be displayed in my gallery. The official
opening is in a few weeks. You’ll be one of my flagship artists.
After that, we’ll open up your platform by doing smaller, more
intimate shows for the glitterati set. This is going to take a lot
of work and time. I need to see your work.”

“I understand, and you won’t be sorry. Why
don’t you come by tomorrow to see some pieces?”

***

After Jessica and Samson dispensed with the
contract and he left, Izzy didn’t waste any time. “Girl, you
weren’t kidding when you said he was good-looking.”

“I'm telling you, I couldn't have made him
up if I tried.” Jessica followed Izzy back into her studio.

“And holy charming. I thought Jason ‘On’ was
a sight, but that guy takes the cake. Makes me fantasize about all
kinds of things.”

Jessica smacked Izzy on the arm. “You
already have your too-good-looking-for-words bad boy. Let me ogle
mine.”

Izzy shrugged. “Just saying. I'm married,
not dead.”
Jessica frowned. “There was just something a little off about
him.”

“Really?” Izzy raised an eyebrow and put a
hand on her hip. “You discover that
after
you sleep with him?”

“No, not like that. Remember, I have
excellent crazy-dar. If they are crazy, then I immediately want to
have their babies.”

Izzy laughed then got back to work. “So
what's the problem?”

Jessica reached for the fleeting thread of
what was bothering her, but apparently it had been slathered in
bacon grease, and she couldn't grasp it. “Ah, I wish I knew. It's
like he was too slick and charming. On Friday, he was super
controlled. It's kind of why I even gave him a shot. I wanted to
mess him up. He seemed so still.” Until he danced. “Today, he was
just so loose and slippery. Less intense somehow. Does that even
make any sense?”

“Yeah, actually it does. It's kind of like
Jason in the early days. There was this kind of persona he put on
for the public world, but in private he was very different. It used
to give me whiplash. But obviously, he had a good reason for it.
Too many people get close, then you start to feel exposed.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“You okay with managing him?” she asked as
she went back to unpacking her latest piece from her last show.

“He's good. Like really good. And he works
the crowd like a rock star. All without anybody even seeing that
pretty boy puss of his. Maybe that's part of the appeal. To
separate himself from the artist. Cause you should have seen all
the crazy women there trying to get a piece of him.”

“All that without seeing him?”

“Yeah.”

“Then looks like you have the makings of a
star on your hands.”

“Let's hope so. I need to see the actual
work he produces first. It would be ideal if it was actually good
and not just shocking and provocative. I can market the performer,
but I can sell the artist. May—” The front office bells chimed
again interrupting her. “He probably forgot something.”

She told herself that she didn't stop in the
hallway to recheck her lipstick before going out to see him again.
It was all about the little lies she allowed herself.

“What did you forget? You already have my
last name this ti—” She halted at the sight of her stepfather
standing in the foyer. “Karl, what are you doing here?” Running up
in her bare feet, she hugged him. “God, it's good to see you. It’s
been like three months. Every time I come by to check on you, Mom
says you're traveling or out of town.”

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his
eyes. “Hey, Jesse. How's my favorite graduate student turned artist
manager?”

“She’s great. She actually just landed a new
client that should blow up the art scene. Now how come you didn't
call to tell me you were coming? I could have taken you to
lunch.”

“Actually, Jesse, I can’t stay. I’m here to
drop off a check for the benefit. I won’t be in town for it.”
Jessica’s father had run an artist’s endowment and upon his death,
she’d taken it over. Along with her mother, she was throwing a
benefit party for the endowment. If things went well with Samson,
she hoped the board would make him a featured artist. The full
effect of the Stanton name behind him would catapult him into the
rich and famous category.

“What? No. The Stanton Endowment for the
Arts annual benefit isn’t for another two months.” Of all her
stepfathers, Karl had always been her favorite. The one most like
what her dad had been in private moments. And the one who wanted
nothing from her mother other than her love. “Surely you can change
your plans. Who do I have to call and yell at?”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I actually leave in
a couple of days.” He proffered the check.

“Thank you, but you know you could have just
had Mom bring it. And you're always too generous.”

This time, she saw a tiny frown before he
could mask it. “Jesse, when was the last time you actually spoke to
your mother?”

She had to think about that one. With her
mother, she preferred to text. It was easier that way. When they
spoke, there was almost always some kind of squabble revolving
around Jessica's love life, appearance, lack of good prospects, et
cetera. “A couple of weeks ago, I guess. Why?”

He rolled his eyes. “Then I guess she didn't
tell you. Your mother and I are separated. She left two months
ago.”

Ice settled into Jessica's bones. “She
what?”

Karl shoved his hands into his pockets and
rocked back on his heels. “I'm sorry, Jesse, I thought she told
you.”

“Karl, this is ridiculous. You can’t be
serious.” But with the flatness of his lips, his slightly pinched
brows, she knew he wasn’t kidding.

“I wish I was.”

“I’ll get to the bottom of this. I swear.
You know how she is.”

“I don’t think there's much you can do about
it.”

She smiled. “A wise man once said it would
be wise not to cross me when I have a plan in motion.”

After saying a hasty goodbye to Karl, she
grabbed her jacket and car keys, even as she called her mother.

Jessica didn’t bother knocking when she got
to her mother's house. As she opened the door to the Tudor-style
home, the smell of lemon cleaner greeted her.

The maid was so startled she barely had time
to compose herself. “M-m-miss Stanton. I—let me get your
mother.”

Jessica barreled past. “Don’t worry about
it, Angie. I’ll find her.”

She finally found her mother in the study in
close confidence with a man Jessica didn’t recognize. Her mother
stood so close to the man with the dark, salt and pepper hair that
they looked like they might start making out at any moment.
Gross
.

“You know, Mom, I got the most interesting
visit today.”

Her mother sprang up out of her seat,
sending her not quite blonde, not quite gray locks flying around
her shoulders. “J-Jessica! Darling, you should have called. I’m
right in the middle of something.”

“Right, sorry to interrupt, but apparently
you have something to tell me.”

“Jessica, maybe we could talk later. As you
see, I have a guest.”

Jessica plastered a fake smile onto her lips
and sidestepped her mother. “Ah, yes, your guest.” Striding toward
the older man, she assessed him as he stood to greet her. Nearly
six feet tall, trim body. Old man worked out. He was also
impeccably dressed, in a designer sweater vest and slacks.

“Hello, I'm Jessica, the daughter. You’ll
have to forgive my intrusion. You see, I assumed she was still
married to my stepfather and that this was my home, but apparently
that's not true, so I unwittingly interrupted your little
rendezvous.”

He didn’t respond to her jibe and instead
stuck out his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Jessica. Your
mother has said so much about you.”

Jessica eyed his offered hand but didn’t
take it. “That’s interesting. I’ve heard absolutely nothing about
you. You can imagine my surprise.”

He didn’t miss a step. “I can imagine it
must all be a shock to you, your mother and I. But don’t be angry
with her. I wanted some more private time before we went public
with our relationship.”

Jessica stuttered over the word.
“Re-relationship. Right.”

Her mother chimed in. “Sweetheart, this is
Michael Fenton, my new—friend.” Her mother beamed. “He’s an art
financier.”

Jessica glared at her mother. “Mr. Fenton,
could you please give Mom and me a minute?”

For a moment, Jessica wondered if he'd
continue to stand there gawking at both of them, but he eventually
made himself scarce.

“You know, Jessica, that was really very
rude.”

“You mean like you not telling me about
Karl? How could you not tell me that you’d left him?”

A blush spread from her mother’s neck to her
cheeks. “When I met Michael, things moved so quickly. And well, I
got caught up in the fun and escapism. But Karl, while he was
always there for me, he’s just not that exciting.”

Jessica had always thought of her mother as
a pretty bird. Always looking for the bright and shiny. Michael was
just the shiny new toy. That’s how her mother found most of her
husbands, by seeing something more exciting, then shedding the
previous husband. “Mom, he loves you.”

“And he’s lovely. But I want to feel alive.
With him, I was starting to feel like an old lady.”

“Jesus, Mom. You are an old lady.”

“I want to travel more.”

“You’ve been everywhere in Europe.
Twice.”

“Well I want to travel on the path less
traveled. Karl likes to stick to the tourist areas. You wouldn’t
understand. I need some excitement in my life.”

Jessica understood only too well; her mother
wasn’t looking to be tied down. A sentiment Jessica knew well. The
difference was her mother didn’t care about who she hurt in the
process. “Mom, you need to be careful with Michael. We don’t know
who he is. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Jessica, is it so hard to believe that
someone would be interested in my for more than money?”

“No of course not, it’s just—”

“Because he knows you control the trust and
the estate. He doesn’t care about that. He wants me.”

He didn't care about the trust or the
estate, which, at last measure, was valued at nearly a hundred and
fifty million?
Yeah right.
“I’m sure he
does. But it’s my job to protect you.”

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest.
“I am not a child, Jessica.”

Then why did she feel the irrational need to
ground her mother?

She spent another ten minutes trying to get
her mother to agree to see Karl and maybe work it out, but her
mother wasn’t having it. And the extra time did nothing to soothe
Jessica’s anger. She was going to get rid of Michael Fenton. Her
mother might be fooled by him, but she wasn’t. He wasn’t the first
guy to come looking for a sugar mama, and he wouldn’t be the last.
This reason alone was probably why her father had put her in charge
of the estate. Her mother was soft. Sweet, but naïve and
malleable.

As Jessica placed the call to her private
investigator, she impatiently tapped her nail against the gearshift
in her car. When he answered, her instructions were straight to the
point. “I need a rush job. Can you find me everything you can on a
Michael Fenton? The dirtier the better. He’s late fifties to
mid-sixties, claiming to be an art financier. I need the full work
up.”

***

“You’ll be happy to know that the situation
with the manager is resolved.”

Eli looked up from his makeshift work table
in his living room to glare at his brother. “I really have to
change my locks.”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t give me a key if you
don’t want me to let myself in.”

Eli rolled his eyes and went back to the
photos of the counterfeit paintings. There was no discernable link
tying any of them together, and he'd hit a dead end. “So did you
find someone else you want me to vet out for you?”

“No. Jessica Stanton is perfect.”

The growl bubbled up in Eli's throat before
he could pull it back. “You went to see her?”

Sam put his hands up and backed up a step.
“Whoa, easy, bro.”

Furious, Eli slammed down his magnifying
glass. “What the fuck were you thinking, Sam?”

“I was thinking that for once I have a
legitimate manager in my grasp who doesn’t know anything about my
past and who can actually help me. That's what I was thinking.”

The cold, icy bucket of guilt was enough to
douse the angry fire in Eli’s veins to mere simmer. “Okay. How did
she take it?” Now that Jessica knew he wasn't Sam, maybe he could
give her a call. She'd made it clear that she wanted things to be
simple and uncomplicated. But now that she knew he wasn’t her
client then maybe—