Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,20
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 the 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.”
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