MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance)

by Nana Malone

  “They have money, Sam. Besides, you’re not afraid of a couple of horny cougars, are you?”

  Sam sneered at him. “Ha. Ha. Someone decided to play Kevin Hart tonight. One of them offered me a grand if I'd recreate the whole club scene back in her car.” He shuddered. “Gross.”

  Eli blinked at his brother, then after a moment, unable to contain the roar of laughter bubbling up, he released it. “You've got to be kidding me.”

  “I really wish I was. Why couldn't I find a hot, young heiress to buy it and make me a pet?”

  “We need to get you some better exposure, bro. I'll make some more calls this week. I think I have a lead on a couple of managers. They mostly do actors, but it's worth a shot.”

  Sam's eyes widened. “Ooh, ooh ooh ooh!” He put down the brush and started searching the stacks of papers, receipts, and wrappers on his utility table. “Where the hell did I put that thing?”

  “What thing?”

  “There it is.” Sam snatched a business card off the counter. “Some artist manager dropped off their card after the show for me. You know anything about them?”

  Eli frowned as he took the proffered card. He been sitting at the bar all night and hadn’t seen anyone hand anything to Gabe. But then again, he’d been distracted by the pixie in the wig.

  He fingered the bold lettering and examined it. It read: J. Stanton Artist Management. Good card stock, great design. “No, but I’ll do some research.” The name Stanton was a familiar one in the Los Angeles art circles, but he didn’t know if this was some fake trying to capitalize on the name.

  “Cool. Oh, and I set an appointment for tomorrow. It would rock to start doing legit exhibitions and get away from the club scene.”

  Eli's senses went on alert. The hairs on his neck stood up. “You need to call Jocelyn?”

  “Already called my sponsor. I know how to take care of myself, E. You don’t have to do it forever.”

  Said the guy who’d been on the brink of death not so long ago. “Yeah, I know. I’m just your brother. It’s my job to worry.” Rolling his shoulders, he asked, “What did she say?”

  “Well, for starters, she told me to stay away from clubs. I’m going to meet her for lunch today.”

  “Sound advice.” Guilt gnawed at Eli’s gut. He’d asked Sam to move to L.A. with him when he got the new assignment. Had that been a mistake? He sure as well didn’t want a repeat of that night in Seattle, when he’d found Sam lying in his own vomit in the middle of a crack den. The memory made Eli’s stomach roll. If Sam wanted to paint, Eli knew he had to get him a chance to make a real go at it. The right way. “I’ll check out the manager for you. I’ll see what I can dig up by tomorrow.”

  Sam wrinkled his nose. “Actually…” His voice trailed off.

  Eli took another swig of coffee sure he wasn’t going to like what Sam had to say. “Spit it out.”

  “I was sort of hoping you’d go in my place. I know art. But there’s too much riding on this. You know how I get stressed out.”

  Eli knew Sam was playing him. His brother was the charmer in the family, but Eli was the one who kept a level head. “Sam, this isn’t a good idea, man. You’ve got to learn to be able to do this stuff regardless of the pressure.”

  “C’mon. Just this time. Once I’m settled with a manager, they can handle all the negotiating stuff for me.”

  “We’re not kids anymore. You can’t just exchange one of us for the other.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow. “We’re carbon copies.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah okay, I get it.”

  “One of these days, Sam, you’ll be the death of me.”

  Sam was busy smudging a paint line on the canvas. Eli wasn’t sure his brother had heard him until he softly said, “Hey, E?”

  “Yeah, man?”

  “Thanks.”

  ***

  Jessica had awakened alone. Under normal circumstances she preferred it that way, but when she’d blinked her lids open, she’d half expected to find the sex god in her bed. What they’d done last night went so far beyond anything she’d ever done before. Hell, a one night stand wasn’t new for her—just that level of connection. And the man knew his way around a woman’s body and how to please. He also knew what got him off. He’d guided her in exactly how he’d wanted to be touched, how fast, how slow. Everything about last night had elevated her bar. Now, he was gone.

  A herd of elephants stampeded through Jessica's frontal lobe, and she wished for death. But she still made it to Izzy’s place with a smile on her face, no matter how forced. She wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to see her goddaughter.

  She strolled into the expansive living room. The expansive space was decorated by clean but comfy contemporary furniture. Modern art pieces as well as Izzy's photographs decorated the walls. Foamy bumpers clung to the corners and edges of every sharp corner she could see. Kara sat on the floor in all her chubby-cheeked afro glory, merrily gnawing and drooling all over a toy giraffe that was supposed to help with teething.

  “Hey, guys, I see you started unpacking already. You—”

  Izzy took one look at her, tossed the remote to Jason, and said, “You’re in charge.” With a mixture of determination and concern in her eyes, Izzy strode right for Jessica, grabbed her hand and led her upstairs.

  As soon as she deposited Jessica on the bed, Izzy surreptitiously glanced around, opened one of the dresser drawers, and procured a box of chocolate. “I swear, if I don’t hide these, Jason and Nick will eat all of them. Not to mention, Kara will keep reaching for them saying ‘ocolate ‘ocolate. So I eat them in secret. There you have it, the shame of an old, married woman.”

  Jessica giggled. Leave it to Izzy to immediately make her feel better.

  Izzy frowned. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Just tell me before I start thinking the worst.”

  Jessica sighed. “I, uh, I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit. You’re wearing plain jeans and a gray T-shirt. You’re lucky enough that you don’t need makeup, but I happen to know you love your eyeliner like I love chocolate, and you’re not wearing any. Plus you have no wig on or feather adornment or anything. Your nail polish is even chipped. The Jessica I know is all about her fun. What gives?”

  Well, if she didn’t want an emotional probing, she supposed she shouldn’t have come to see Izzy. “I met a guy last night.”

  Izzy’s eyes went round with surprise, and she leaned forward. “Do tell.”

  “Uhm, yeah, he was, you know—” Jessica hemmed and hawed, hoping Izzy would let it go. If the headache wasn’t bad enough, she kept having flashbacks to the hottest orgasm she'd had in over a year. Which normally she wouldn’t mind. But along with memories of the orgasm came memories of the intimacy. The way he'd held her. The way he'd made her look at him, insisted on knowing her name, insisted on not being just some faceless, nameless one night stand. Another flash of his jade green eyes in her memory, and she could feel the dampening of her panties. Shit. She needed to get a grip.

  “Don’t beat around the bush with me, young lady. I want my well-deserved deets.”

  “I took him home, Izzy.”

  “Wait, to your house? Jess!”

  Jessica winced. “Well technically to your house.” When Izzy didn’t crack a smile, she said, “Look, I know okay. I already changed the alarm code and the gate code in case he saw me enter them. And I needed a locksmith anyway; my key is sticking, so in case he took a spare off my keychain or made a copy, I’ll be covered. And I’m going to sweep for bugs later with this kit I got from the spy store.”

  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?”

&nbs
p; 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?

  Chapter 6

  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 th
e 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.”