MisMatch (A Humorous Contemporary Romance)

  Mismatch

  The Love Match Series

  Book Two

  by

  Nana Malone

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  ***

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Nana Malone on Smashwords

  Mismatch

  © 2012 by Nana Malone

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Mismatch

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Nana Malone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Kimberly Killion

  Edited by Finish the Story and Marcie Gately

  Published in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  To Erik for always betting on me. You have more faith than sense and I love you for it.

  To Misty, from the beginning, you’ve believed in me. Thank you for not abandoning me after reading TR.

  To Marcie, I have no words. Thank God we were both “on” that day we met.

  To Val, without you taking a chance on me, I would not be here today. I can never thank you enough.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Nana Malone

  About Nana Malone

  Chapter 1

  “‘I don't like this,’ said Sam I am. ‘I do not like Green Eggs and Izzy moving.’” Jessica Stanton frowned as her best friend, Izzy Connors, giggled.

  “Jess, come on. You knew this move was coming, babes.”

  Jessica shrugged, flopped into her office chair with a pout and crossed arms. The multicolored bangles on her arms jangled and glittered as they caught sunlight. “I don't have to like it now, do I?”

  Izzy rolled her eyes and flipped her thick dark hair over her shoulder. “Come on. You know Jason and I need to move the kids to Malibu. It's a bigger house for Kara and Nick to run around in, and let’s face it, that house has more security. You won’t have to field paparazzi on the front lawn of the house or the gallery anymore.”

  Izzy did have a point. Ever since her friend had married tennis superstar Jason Cartwright, Jessica had known this day would come. Izzy’s three bedroom house had been big enough for her and her adopted son Nick when she bought it, but add in a new husband and a rambunctious toddler, and it was tighter than that pair of three inch stilettos Jessica had bought on sale. Not to mention the paparazzi had long since been making a nuisance of themselves.

  It had been open season on the family ever since tennis’s purported bad boy had fallen in love with the famous photographer. Add in the scandal about Jason being Nick’s biological father, and then the birth of his and Izzy’s daughter, Kara, and it seemed like the paparazzi never went home.

  Jessica had ruined more than one fabulous-enough-to-have-Izzy-drool-over camera by turning on the sprinklers on the paps. Then there was that one pap whose foot she’d accidentally run over. Oh, and there was the one she flambéed with her stun gun. So yeah, maybe it was time for Izzy and Jason to move. Hell, they'd already stayed two years longer than Jessica thought they would. Who was she to complain? She would just miss her friend. More than that, she’d miss her family—Jessica was godmother to their daughter Kara.

  Jessica studied the sunbathed Z Con studio where she'd worked for the last eight years. She loved this place. It was home to her. Now it wouldn't be the same without Izzy. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t like Izzy wouldn’t be coming to work anymore. She just wouldn’t live in the tidy ranch house that lay across the back yard from where she worked.

  “I just don’t like change. It blows major chunkage.”

  Izzy barked out a laugh. “This from the woman who used to add a new tattoo like it was eyeliner and switched out new piercings like they were earrings. Hell, even now, most days I have no idea what color your hair will be.”

  Jessica stiffened. She’d given up some of her crazier piercings and removed some of the stupider tattoos. It’s not like she really needed that piercing in her cheek. Sometimes she missed being a misfit. At other times, she didn’t even notice her missing tats or piercings. “Well, it's not like an artist’s manager can run around with a shit-ton of ink showing and certainly not with as many piercings as I used to have.” She had loved all her metal, but at some point they stopped being important to her.

  Plus, when Izzy had parted with her last pompous ass of a manager and hired Jessica as his replacement, she'd wanted to be able to rub elbows with Izzy’s clientele and not scare them away. “We all have to grow up sometime.”

  Izzy gave a warm smile, making her dimples appear in her dark brown cheeks. “My baby’s all growed up.” She mock sniffled. “Besides, this move will be good for you too. You’re doing us a huge favor by moving into the house here. This way we don’t have to sell it, and Nick and Kara will have access to the memories that are part of their childhood.”

  “Don’t go getting sentimental on me, Connors.” Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. By living there, she would still feel close to the family that she'd made. On the other hand, she could have some Felicity-worthy crying jags just by being there without her family. Being alone was not exactly Jessica’s forte.

  “And I’ll be here at work every day, and for the love of God, we just opened a gallery together. Let’s face it, you’re stuck with me.”

  Izzy had a point. When Jessica had started looking into loft space to open a gallery of her own, Izzy and Jason had immediately jumped in. She’d had about half the funds she needed to start, and they hadn’t even batted an eye about providing the rest. When she’d made it clear she wanted a place to support up-and-coming artists, they’d supported her. That was better than Jessica could say about her own family. Her mother had tried to be supportive, but as far as she was concerned, Jessica needed to find a rich husband and forget the whole working for herself thing.

  Jessica had eventually settled on the place next to the studio and converted it into the perfect space. Now all she needed were some artists besides Izzy.

  “Enough depressing chit chat. Did you make up your mind about going to see that artist your mother recommended?”

  “Ugh. I don’t think so. I know she means well, but she's always calling with her, “I have the best new client for you.” Remember that performance artist she sent me who worked with poop?”

  Izzy grimaced. “Yes. My nose has not forgotten. I can’t believe I let you drag me to that meeting.”

  “Hell, if I was going to face the pain, so were you.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that. I mean—”

&nbs
p; The ringing phone interrupted Izzy as she put a finger on her nose. “Not it.”

  Jessica narrowed her eyes. “We need to get a receptionist.”

  “Then stop telling me every interviewee isn’t good enough.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes as she jogged to the phone. Not an easy feat in four-inch Vivian Westwood heels. “Z Con Gallery and J. Stanton Artist Management. This is Jessica, how may I help you?”

  “Jessica, this is Ryan Morgan.”

  “Hey, Ryan.” Ryan was the first artist she’d landed, and he was going to be one of the focal points of her gallery.

  “Hey, Jess, so about that gallery opening in a few weeks. I don’t think I can do it.”

  Jessica’s brows snapped down. “What the hell do you mean you don’t think you can do it? We’ve been discussing it for months. Why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?”

  “Look, I know this sucks and it’s short notice, but I’m going with Destiny Shane of Prestige Management.”

  Shitballs. That stung. Ryan wasn’t the first client that had left her for Destiny. Jessica gritted her teeth. “Ryan, you know I’ve taken care of you since I found you in that gritty little hovel downtown. I’ve bent over backwards for you. Can’t you just stay on until the opening?”

  “Jessica, I’m really sorry about this. You’ve been amazing to me, and I appreciate it. I just think Destiny can do more for me.”

  “And I’ll bet that’s exactly what she told you.”

  What the hell was she going to do? There was no way she could tell Izzy that her faith had been misplaced. She had to get another flashy client. Ryan was the last of three artists Destiny had poached from her over the last two years. It was like Jessica found them and built them, then Destiny swooped in and took the credit. “Ryan I’m disappointed. We have a contract.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. The pieces you’re still contracted for, you can show, but I’m not going to create any new work for you.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’m not happy about it. But I get it.” She hung up and stared at the phone for a good long minute.

  Izzy called from the other room. “Everything okay?”

  No, everything was not okay. Her hands shook. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She’d poured everything she had into the gallery. Without artists, all she had was empty space. She straightened her spine. She didn’t have the time for a full-on freak out. She could indulge after she found another artist or two.

  Patting an imaginary stray hair from her hot pink wig back into place, she called out, “Looks like I'm headed to see that artist after all. Feel like tagging along?”

  Izzy snickered from the other room. “I love you, but no.”

  ***

  Elijah Marks studied his quarry. The shifty little weasel had parked his Ferrari on the street with a precious artifact in the passenger seat. Amateur. People who didn’t take care of their belongings deserved to have them stolen. And Eli was just the guy to do so.

  As soon as the guy strolled into the restaurant, Eli was on the move. He strode across the busy street, narrowly missing being hit by a truck. Without even looking around, Eli made quick work of the lock and was inside the Ferrari in less than thirty seconds. Looked like his past wasn’t as misspent as he’d thought.

  Only once he was inside the car did he scan his surroundings. He picked up the tube in the front seat, unscrewed the top, and pulled out the soft canvas material to confirm it was what he was after. The fabric spoke of the age as did the faded coloring. Eli didn’t need his tools to know this was the original. The bright, sea green paint and delicate dancers told him it was. Carefully, he laid the painting back in the tube and screwed the top on. He didn’t bother to lock the Ferrari behind himself as he jogged back across the street to his BMW M3.

  Eli tossed the canister into the front seat as he pulled out his phone and called the office. “Trevor, I’ve got the Degas.”

  Trevor Winchell’s surprised voice and litany of questions bored him. If he were lucky, he’d have time to call into his other job and check on the case he was working there.

  “You’re sure it’s the Degas?”

  “Positive. I trailed him to two fences, and like I suspected, it’s the daughter’s ex-boyfriend.”

  “Excellent work, Eli. Please bring it back to the office as soon as possible. I don’t want to risk anything else happening to that painting. The owners will be thrilled to have it back. And the higher ups will be even more thrilled to not pay the insurance. Oh, and Del Monaco has been calling the office looking for you.”

  As an art authenticator for Banes Insurance, re-acquisition wasn’t usually in Eli’s job description. But in this case, he’d known the piece well since he’d done the original authentication. Not to mention, he’d known the fences who’d be looking to unload a piece like it, so he’d volunteered for the duty. And the daughter’s ex-boyfriend had practically shouted, “I stole the painting, I stole it,” when she’d been questioned.

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll call him back.” As he hung up with Trevor, Eli spotted the shadow lurking on the edges of his peripheral vision, and he instantly palmed the knife at his ankle, his senses on alert. He didn’t need this kind of trouble.

  “No need to call me back.” Eli’s passenger door opened, and Vincent Del Monaco climbed in.

  Eli released his hold on the weapon. “Jesus, Vince. You know that could have ended badly for you.”

  Vince shrugged. “Not likely. What’s that about bringing a knife to a gun fight?”

  Eli rolled his eyes. “How the hell did you even find me?”

  “I‘m an FBI agent. I have excellent investigational skills.” Vince grinned and added, “Trevor gave me your GPS coordinates.”

  “Big Brother at its best. So what’s so important that you called me at the office and now you’re stalking me?”

  He handed Eli a file. “You think it's our guy?”

  Eli grabbed the folder and studied the images of what looked like a very expensive Picasso. Normally, Eli didn't spend his time speculating on something as important as art. But in this case, he shared the sentiment with his partner. “Yeah, I think it’s him, Vince. But he's smart. Based on the way he’s been getting in and out of these homes, I don’t think it’s just some forger testing his skill and getting some jollies. This is a professional team. This asshole's good.” There were photos of several jewelry pieces, too. One item in particular, a gold bracelet that looked like a sting of diamonds had been woven into it, caught his attention. “These are related I assume?”

  “Yeah. These pieces were also copied and replaced. I’ve got my precious gems and metals guys on it. But we haven’t had a lead on the jewelry pieces in years. It’s like our guys figured precious stones were too risky.”

  Eli rarely missing anything. It was important for him to focus on the details, and he loathed feeling like he was missing the bigger picture. His thoroughness was the reason Vince came knocking on his door six months ago looking for help on this case. Over the years, he’d garnered a reputation for being the best and being meticulous. And given his past, forgers were sort of his specialty.

  Vince nodded absently. “I know that look.”

  Eli frowned. “What look?”

  “The one that tells me you’re about to be obsessive on this case and start taking it personally that we’re not already far enough along. We’re here because of you.”

  Eli gave a harsh chuckle. “You mean nowhere?”

  “Well, those art school wannabes I was dealing with before at the bureau couldn't tell that half these paintings were forgeries.”

  “That's why you brought me in.” They'd worked together on enough cases in the past to understand how the other operated. Vince was a classic white hat kind of guy. Good and evil, black and white, home team versus visitors. He never wavered. Which is why Eli liked working with him. It made things far less complicated.

  “I wish I had more to go on. This guy's got skills not to mention he's got th
e funds behind him to get what he needs to produce these fakes. He can age his canvases and use the right paints. Any expert authenticator could tell you that much.” Vince's dark brows drew down over his forehead. “But you, you’re able to tell by brush stoke technique and usually just by looking. It’s spooky.”

  Eli cracked his neck as he massaged his nape. He'd been crammed inside this car for most of the day doing surveillance. He also didn’t want to clue Vince in to the nature of his forgery knowledge. He was in no kind of mood for show and tell. “Yeah, random lucky knowledge. You see enough forgeries, and you start to piece it together.” Never mind that he’d once thought himself an artist. But that was a long time ago. He’d made a choice and left that behind.

  “Strange being you, isn't it? Your whole life is about spotting fakes.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, I sound nice and cynical.”

  Vince's dark brows shot up. “Aren’t you?”

  Eli chose not to answer. He checked his watch and handed Vince the file back. If he didn’t hurry, he'd miss his brother’s show. Samson might not mind, but Eli would. His twin brother, in a club, with alcohol and all kinds of illicit drugs—now that was a recipe for disaster. Not that Eli could stop Samson from using if he chose to, but Eli felt like if he could act as a deterrent and buffer the cravings he could help keep Sam on the path to recovery. Plus he’d made a promise to Samson to help get his career back on track, and there was no way he was letting his brother down. He owed Sam too much. He’d invited several managers and agents to the show tonight, so hopefully one of them bit.

  “I’ll check you later, Vince, I have a thing. I'll give you a call after I take another look at the original fakes we found this weekend. Maybe I missed something.” The fuck he did. He was meticulous about finding fakes, but it never hurt to look with fresh eyes.