Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,4

out the big brother role from afar, he’d had less and less influence as they’d grown older. By the time Samson had started getting into trouble, they’d drifted further and further apart. Finally, the one thing that had tied them together—art—had eventually torn them apart. Samson had been only seventeen when the feds had picked him up for conspiracy, forgery, and grand larceny.

Jail hadn’t suited him and he’d eventually gone from recreational drug user to full blown addict. By the time he’d gotten out at twenty-two, he’d been a shell of his former self. Unable to paint, unable to create. All he cared about was his next fix.

Eli had spent the next several years chasing after him trying to get him clean. His mother had tried too, spending every last dime she had putting him into rehab program after rehab program. They’d all failed because the one thing Samson needed to survive was his art, and back then he believed he needed to be high to paint.

It was only after their mother’s death that Eli had been able to get Sam clean and keep him that way. He’d stopped being an artist himself and chosen a safer path. One that could provide for the both of them. Surprisingly, he’d been good at it. He could spot a fake in a glance. Probably because he’d spent years pouring over Sam’s supposed fakes, trying to find a way to prove his brother innocent. But Sam hadn’t been innocent.

Vince’s voice broke Eli out of his reverie. “C’mon man, we can have a beer or two, and you can introduce me to your brother.”

“He's not particularly sociable.” Not true, but Eli couldn't very well tell Vince that Satan would be pulling reindeer before he intro'd him to his brother.

“You two are a matched pair then.”

“You could say that.” In more ways than one. Eli might be older by four whole minutes, but in all other respects, he and Samson were completely identical—down to their a-little-too-long-to-be-respectable haircuts. Growing up, their similarities had irked Eli, and he'd wanted to have one thing he could call his own. Then everything had changed.

Eli opened his mouth to shoot Vince down one more time then assessed the disappointed look on Vince's face. He would probably live to regret his decision. Shit. Sam would probably have his hands busy with groupies anyway. And he had said not to come, so he wouldn’t be looking for Eli in the crowd.

Eli exhaled. “Okay, fine, but you gotta lose the cheap suit jacket, and you have to promise you'll lay off the whole finding me the love of a good woman thing. It gets old. Follow me in your car. I need to drop off the Degas first.”

Vince grinned, and Eli could see why women flocked to him. He had the grin of a big kid. He kept in shape. At six two, they were the same height, though Vince probably had forty pounds on Eli. Eli kept himself fighting trim with Krav Maga and running workouts. Vince liked his bench-press and a bulkier look.

Vince shrugged. “I'm just saying. There are few things in life that can’t be solved with a woman.”

Eli ignored his partner. The last thing he needed was to have to take care of someone else in his life.

Chapter 2

Jessica surveyed the crowd of wannabes and starlets as Will.I.Am and Britney Spears blared from the speakers. Everywhere she turned, groups of girls jumped up and down quoting the words. Jessica couldn't help an eye roll. Was that what Izzy meant by being a grown up? Had she grown up entirely in the process of trying to start her business? Was she old now? Somehow uncool?

She glanced down at her fuchsia, backless dress and black spiked heels with pink bows. Whatever, she looked fierce. And she was only twenty-four, for the love of God. Besides, as long as she knew who was on the radio, she was good.

The DJ kept the dance music flowing as Jessica moved through the crowd. Given her small stature, it wasn’t an easy feat. She only narrowly escaped drink-on-dress-itas by a narrow margin, but she had a target in mind, and drunk, mindless, post-pubescent wannabes weren’t going to deter her.

In the center of the room hung an opaque sheet. She frowned as she studied it. Was this guy some kind of aerialist? How the hell would she market that? Her mother hadn’t told her anything about the guy. Just that she needed to go see one