Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,77
your brother doesn’t show up in your background checks?”
“Our parents got divorced. Mom changed my last name. When Sam got out of jail and got clean, we had his name changed. The old man was kind of a useless asshole.”
“So you didn’t grow up together?”
Eli shook his head. “Our parents divorced when we were ten.”
“Why wouldn't you tell me about him?”
“Oh, right. The FBI and Banes Insurance would have hired me with a forger in my past?”
“Good point.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Well, first things first. Why not pay a visit to Fenton? He thinks you’re Samson, right? Go talk to him.”
After leaving Vince’s office, Eli headed straight for Brentwood. A small part of him hoped he’d see Jessica, but the other part didn’t want to be put through that kind of pain again. When he pulled up to Mia Stanton’s home, Michael Fenton was packing up his car.
Eli pulled up to the curb and slid out of his M3. “You going somewhere, Fenton?”
Michal narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck do you want, Samson?”
Eli smirked. Gone was the genteel air about him. “From the looks of it, you’re no longer kissing Mia with that mouth. Where you off to? Did Mia see you for the scammer you really are?”
Fenton slammed down his trunk and stalked over to Eli’s car. He placed a hand on the roof and jabbed a finger in Eli’s chest. “You’re one to talk. You show up here in Los Angeles trying to get your career back on track, and you think no one will notice that you’re a fraud and a fake. Our sins always come back to haunt us.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” said Eli.
“How do you think the skull-wearing freak is going to take it when she finds out that her new boyfriend did time for grand larceny? Her whole life will be over. Personally, I don’t give a rat’s ass. She’s been a pain in my ass since I got here, but your little come back will flush down the toilet.”
Eli felt like he was missing part of the equation. Fenton clearly thought he knew Samson. But how? And why did he have it in for his brother? “What is it you have against me anyway? I don’t know you.”
Fenton whipped off his sunglasses. “You might not recognize me, but I sure remember you.”
Eli shoved his hands in his pockets. “Care to enlighten me?”
“Oh, you’ll figure it out soon enough, once I take away everything you ever cared about.”
***
Leather pants might look hot, but they did absolutely nothing to help Jessica’s sweaty palms. God, this was such a mistake.
As she stood on the front door of the studio, she shifted from foot to foot, trying to figure out if she had the balls to knock or not. Hell, who was she kidding? She'd have to walk right in—she could hear the rock music blaring. She’d be lucky if he didn’t shoot her.
“Okay, Stanton, go big or go home.” If she wanted Eli, she'd have to go after him. It hadn't been easy for him to tell her how he felt. And she'd thrown it in his face. She could be a big girl and bite the damned bullet.
Testing the door, she was relieved to find it open. “Chin up, square your shoulders. Show off your tits, and hope he’s blinded by your sex appeal and forgives you,” she muttered to herself as she stalked through the studio.
She only faltered when an errant thought of Samson and his assistant filtered into her brain. Shit, she hadn’t thought it through. No. Izzy was right. He wouldn't already be in bed with someone else.
As she warred with herself about how men and women dealt with break ups, she almost turned back around and walked out. But at the end of the day, she wanted him. At the very least, to say she was sorry. She would say what she’d come to say.
“C’mon, don’t be a chicken shit.” As she rounded the corner into the wide open studio, she watched in awe as he painted. As usual when he painted, he was shirtless. His broad shoulders bunched and smoothed as he made bold strokes with his brush then stepped in to fix something with his finger.
He danced around to the Stones as Mick crooned about getting no satisfaction. She'd never seen him dance. Wait, that wasn't true, the night they'd met, he'd danced with her. But that had been more like fucking on the dance floor. He'd