Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,22
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 fix 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