by Nana Malone
He was losing her. “Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m having a hard time understanding why we can’t work together.”
She pierced him with a narrowed, electric blue gaze. “Look. I’m not into complications. I like my personal and professional life nice and drama free. You think you can ignore the fact that we slept together? Pretend that it all never happened and treat me like a professional?”
“I—” He knew what she was asking. But the truth was she’d be working with Sam. Maybe he could persuade Sam to keep his hands off. Maybe she wouldn’t have any chemistry with Sam. Maybe he could just tell her who he was and she’d understand. Except she’d just made it clear she wasn’t into complications.
When he didn’t answer, she pushed back her chair and stood. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Marks. It’s a real shame. Your performances are extraordinary, and I would have loved to help push your career forward. But as you’ve no doubt figured out for yourself, there’s no way we can work together.”
Eli watched her walk out of the café and wished he’d never agreed to stand in for Sam.
***
An hour later, Eli stepped back and stared at the evidence wall in his office. Instead of focusing on the case, his mind kept straying to the woman he couldn’t get out of his head. Not only did she not want anything to do with him, but she also thought he was Sam. Shit just couldn't get any worse.
Except that she was fucking with his concentration. Before Friday, if anyone had asked what rattled him, he'd have said nothing. Vince was right when he called him ice. It was part of the facade. Now Jessica Stanton had started carving something out inside him, and he didn't like it. He'd known her two days, and already his control was slipping.
Eli dragged his attention back to the board. He'd been over it a million times, and he knew he'd missed something. Loose ends didn't agree with him, and he'd lost more than a few hours of sleep to this.
His meeting with Jessica had him on edge. Of course the one woman that held his interest in years had to be the same woman who could offer salvation to his brother. Her contacts were impeccable. Her father and grandfather had left imprints on the art scene backing some of the most talented artists he'd ever seen. If she had their skill, she could change things for Sam.
Too bad she wasn’t going to take him on. Too bad you won’t be sleeping with her again. Eli ignored the twitch in his dick that happened every time he thought about her and tried to concentrate.
“You find anything good?”
Eli didn't bother turning around. Vince had a habit of just walking into his office.
“If by something good you mean nothing, then yeah. I found something good. It’s not exactly easy looking for a needle in a haystack; trying to find some similarity in the forgeries other than they’re good.”
Vince waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah yeah, you look at pretty pictures for a living and are a professional cynic. Doesn’t make you special. I got an ex-wife just like you.”
Eli rolled his shoulders, concentrating on the paintings. There was no rhyme or reason behind the forgeries. They were from different eras, classics, pop art, modern pieces. “None of this makes any sense, Vince. I know we've overlooked something critical.”
Vince sat down in his chair and made himself at home. “Then I'm guessing now would be a bad time for me to tell you we've got another forgery for the Millionaire Doubles case.”
Eli frowned. “The what?”
“That’s what the bosses are calling it.” Vince shrugged. “I just call it the sneaky bastard case.”
“This can’t be the sneakiest shit you've ever seen.”
“And you'd be right about that. I’ve been chasing this one con man around for two years. Slippery bastard. Identity crimes con who amassed a huge fortune by conning rich women out of their life savings. Oh yeah and check fraud. I mean, who writes checks anymore, right?”
“What's the case?”
“This one came in from the Marshalls.”
Now this was getting interesting. “One of them has a hidden Picasso on his wall?”
Vince ignored him. “They have some rich bastard in Wit Sec who rolled over on some powerful friends. At any rate, he made the classic mistake of calling home to an old girlfriend, and they had to move him again. This guy has a taste for the finer things in life; they found a Picasso exactly like the one we have for the Millionaire Doubles.”
“The Femma a La Toilette?”
“Yep, that's the one.”
“If it is the same piece, then we need to start adjusting our point of view here. We’ve been making assumptions that we're dealing with a ring of forgers, since the pieces were so different. It takes years of practice and talent to be able to learn the techniques to pull this kind of thing off. And even then, to pull off a genuine classic would require time and the same steady hand. If the two forgeries are the exact same, it’s unlikely two different people could have painted them. I want to see the piece in person.”
“I already have a team bringing it over.”
Eli stared back at his evidence wall and shoved up the sleeves of his knit sweater. “We’ve been working from the angle that there is one mastermind and several forgers; operating on the assumption that given the breadth of work, he'd need a few people with a few different skills. What if he only needs one?”
“You think one person painted all these?” Vince's brow furrowed. “That would need someone with mad skills right?”
“Right.”
“How many people have the kind of skill to do that kind of thing?”
A cold chill slithered over Eli's skin. “Of legitimate artists living now in the world? To pull them off so effortlessly, I'd say you're looking at a handful. And two of the ones I can name. One is in jail and the other had a stroke. He couldn’t be our guy. We need to start working some black market art dealers and see who they flush out.” One of the handful included Sam.
“All right. I'm sending the painting to you. Please don't break it. And in the meantime, I’ll go rattle some cages. We have that black market dealer from a case in Miami. Let me go see what he has to say.”
As Vince walked out, Eli's cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without even looking at the caller ID. “Yeah, Sam.”
“That's it? I’m waiting to hear on my career as an artist, and all you have to say is, ‘Yeah, Sam?’”
“Sorry.” Eli swallowed a knot of guilt.
“Well, how'd it go?”
How the hell was he supposed to put this exactly? “You remember the other day when you were all over me about some chick?”
“Dude, can we talk about your love life after we talk about my career? This is supposed to be all about me.”
“Yeah, well, the incidents are related.”
Sam went silent for a heartbeat. “What do you mean related?”
“I mean, I went as you to the restaurant to meet the manager, J. Stanton, and ran into the woman from Friday. She was the artist manager.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re telling me.”
“You told me there wasn’t a woman,” Sam said, clearly irritated.
“Yeah, I lied.”
“Nice. So how the hell do we get around it?”
Eli rubbed the back of his neck, trying to force the words out. Of all the conversations he didn’t want to have with his brother, this was at the top of his list. “Not up for discussion, Sam. She took one look at me and you can guess what happened. She seems to think there’s a conflict of interest or something.”
“Shit, were you bad? I mean you’re my twin. It’s genetically impossible for you to be bad in bed, right?”
Sometimes he wanted to kill his brother. “Don’t be a dumb ass. She’s not into sleeping with her clients, so she’s unwilling to work with me—you—whatever.”
“Fuck, Eli.”
“Yeah, I know. I tried talking her into it, but she wasn't hearing it. I'm sorry, man.”
“Eli, there has to be a way to fi
x it. Do you know what her family has done for artists like Weller and Mike Gant? Those guys are famous on the international level. I mean she isn’t part of the Stanton Foundation, but she’s a Stanton. Her name alone is worth its weight in Picassos.”
As if he didn’t already feel like shit. “Look, Sam, I’ll try calling her again. I'll just tell her about our switch, she'll understand.”
“No, don’t. If she’s already that pissed off, then she'll really refuse to work with me. I'll go talk to her.”
A flare of possession burst in Eli’s chest, so hot he figured he'd see smoke wafting off him in a second. “Sam, leave it alone. We'll find you something else.”
“You were right. I never should have asked you to go. I should have gone myself. But I’ll fix it now.”
“Sam,” he said in a firm tone. But his brother had already hung up
Chapter 7
Jessica attempted to drown her sorrows with Hershey Kisses. One by one she plucked them from the bowl, unwrapped, sucked on the tip, and then unceremoniously popped each one into her mouth. Rinse, repeat. Talk about disaster. If nothing else, these last two days proved she should not be allowed to be in charge of her life. Full stop. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
“Is the pity party over yet, or do you have room for one more?”
“Did you accidentally sleep with a potential client?” Jess tossed Izzy a Kiss.
“No. But I did put the kibosh on Phillip Trainer’s attempt to have me photograph dog feces as art. Boy did he have a tantrum.” Izzy wrinkled her nose as she plopped herself onto the guest couch in Jessica’s office.
Jessica took an exaggerated whiff. “I knew I smelled bullshit in the air.”
“Make that dog shit, and you’d be right. God, you warned me about him, but I thought I’d be able to harness his creative energy. He’s brilliant, and I was excited to photograph an artist at work, but he’s completely off his rocker. I thought he might actually start throwing shit at me.” Izzy smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her linen pants. “I’m too cute to be covered in shit. Even I have to draw the line at working with the totally cray-cray.”
Jessica grinned as she and Izzy immediately broke into giggles. It felt good to laugh. It was a damn sight better than bitching herself out for her stupidity.
“Philip might be having a tantrum now, but he’ll call in a week and beg you not to abandon him. Then you’ll have three solid days of him behaving for your photos, and we’ll do this all over again. This is all part of his process.”
Izzy sighed. “God save me from the creative types. Especially if it means getting shit thrown at my head.”
Jessica giggled. “It’s not like it’s the first time, is it?”
“No. But Kara is my daughter. Diaper flinging, while disgusting, is still somewhat cute given her chipmunk cheeks and miniature stature.”
“Don’t tell Philip that, or he’ll gain three hundred pounds to see if he can get away with it.”
Jessica’s phone rang as they both popped Kisses into their mouths. She ignored it. The ringing seemed to get more and more shrill as they both contemplated their clients or lack thereof.
“So there’s no hope of getting Samson Marks?”
Problem was she’d already had him. “Yeah it’s a no-go. And I’m the total fuck up.”
“Cut yourself some slack. He’s still new to the scene. If you haven’t seen one of his exhibitions, you wouldn’t have known him from a hot guy in the club.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. But I did see the exhibition at the club. He does it behind an opaque sheet. Dammit. It took me forty-five minutes to get through the crowd to try and see him. How was I supposed to know he had a penchant for wearing thousand dollar suits? A habit, by the way, which is way expensive. He must have a rich sugar mama or something. Or come from money. The guy has no digital footprint either, so I can’t Twitter or Facebook stalk him to find out.” Her phone continued to ring.
Izzy frowned. “Are you going to answer that?”
“Nope. It might be Samson. I’m just going to let it ring. Eventually, whoever it is will get the message that I’ll talk to them when I’m damn well good and ready.”
Izzy pursed her lips. “If you say so, but you know it’s better to deal with problems before they go nuclear.”
Jessica shook her head stubbornly. “Nope. I prefer to run and hide.”
Elaine, their new receptionist popped her head into Jessica’s office. “Jess, thank God you’re here. I’ve been calling you for the last twenty minutes. There’s a Samson Marks here to see you. He refuses to go away until you speak with him. I tried telling him you’re not to be disturbed, but he’s really stubborn.” The young redhead put her hand to her throat, flushed a little and added, “He’s really intimidating, too.”
Jessica gnashed her teeth. “That stubborn idiot. Tell him I’ve left for the day. Tell him I’ve got Ebola. Tell him anything, just don’t let him come back here.”
Izzy grinned. “Elaine. Please let Mr. Marks come on back. I’m dying to meet him.”
Jess turned on her former best friend. “You’re a traitor.”
Izzy shrugged her slight shoulders. “I’m interested in seeing the guy who’s got you twisted up. Sue me. As long as we’ve known each other, it’s never happened. I want to meet this chupacabra.”
The sound of a bass voice came from the hallway. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but chupacabra has never been one of them.”
When Samson appeared behind Elaine in the doorway, Jessica gave serious consideration to hiding under her desk. Izzy, curse her, went into full schmooze mode, standing up and giving her best sugar and spice smile. Jessica scowled at her. Would it be considered murder or self-defense if she shot Izzy? After all, if Izzy was nice to him, he might not go away and that would certainly be detrimental to Jessica’s health.
He skirted around Elaine, who managed to look equal parts miffed and dazzled. “You must be Izzy Connors. I am such a fan of your husband. That game he played against Nadal at the Australian Open was legendary. And you are more beautiful than your pictures.” Then he picked up Izzy’s left hand and kissed it.
Izzy had the gall to grin at him and bat her lashes. “You know, Jessica didn’t say a thing about you being charming. And considering who I’m married to, that’s a feat.”
“I’m just now becoming acquainted with your work. I heard you were doing a charity exhibit of your Homelands pieces. If Jessica, erm Miss Stanton would have let me change her mind, I would have loved the opportunity to work with you as well.”
Izzy laughed and patted Jessica on the shoulder. “Oh, he’s good.” Izzy shifted so she stood behind Samson and mouthed, “Wow.” Then she flicked her hands together until her fingers made a snapping sound, signaling that she thought he was hot.
Jessica was going to be ill. If only she could rewind the clock. “Mr. Marks, I thought I made myself clear at lunch. I cannot be your manager.” She gave Elaine and Izzy pointed looks, which she hoped they read as, “Go on. Get out of here.”
Only Elaine paid attention. Izzy had the nerve to sit back down like she was enjoying the show.
Samson smiled at Jessica, that same crooked smile that—she studied him again. It was the same smile, but his eyes were different. The intensity behind them was gone. He was more relaxed. And that wasn’t all that was different. As she looked closer, she could sense the differences in him rather than see them. He still had a yin and yang tattoo on his forearm. His voice sounded the same. But he was somehow lighter, more buoyant.
He offered her a hand. She considered refusing it, but that would be childish—and Izzy was watching. Jessica didn’t need to be embarrassed in front of her friend. She took his hand, bracing for the electrical charge of intimacy that had almost brought her to her knees more than once. But—nothing. Nada. Like all the crackling chemistry between them had evaporated. Oh, he was still hot. Just not her own personal Magnetic North. And his conservative gear was gone
, too. Today he looked more the artist. Dark jeans and a casual hunter green sweater became him and brought out his eyes, but she wondered how she’d ever thought him so intense.
“I understand what you said yesterday. But I was hoping to talk you out of your decision. If you agree to take me on, I promise to work my ass off and stay on my best behavior. I need what you have to offer. I won’t let anything that happened in the past get in the way of our working relationship.”
Jessica shook her head, unable to trust what she was hearing. Even worse, she couldn’t trust what she was feeling. She needed an artist, but the cost wouldn’t be worth it. Would it? A few days ago, this guy made her panties wet just by looking at her sideways. But now he only gave her a lukewarm vibe. She couldn’t have worked with him yesterday, but he’d seriously dialed down the sexed-up vibe. Yet that wasn’t entirely true. He still had a sexed-up aura to him, but today it didn’t do anything for her.
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.”
