The Kane Series Boxset

by Stylo Fantome

  “Bold words, baby girl,” his voice held a warning in it.

  “And I need to deal with the fact that this is you. You are a dick. If I can promise not to freak out every ten seconds about it, then you have to promise to at least check with me before you decide to rip me in half again,” she laid out her deal.

  “I don't have to check with you for shit. But maybe, if I'm feeling generous, I'll give you a heads up,” he replied, but he was smiling.

  “I never want to deal with Petrushka again,” Tate warned him, and she hoped her voice conveyed just how much she meant that.

  “Me, neither. I won't use her against you, ever again.”

  “I have never dated Nick. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend, and we never were. I haven't slept with him, since that very first time,” she said.

  “I knew he couldn't handle you,” Jameson chuckled.

  “You can't even handle having me as a girlfriend,” she snorted.

  “So if everything between us is all good, does that mean I get to fuck the secretary downstairs?” he asked.

  “I don't think things between us ever were, or ever will be, 'all good', and no, you cannot fuck that secretary,” she replied.

  “What if I fire her? Could I fuck her then?”

  Tate snorted again.

  “Would you like to see what you got me for your birthday?” she changed the subject. His eyebrows shot up.

  “What I got you?” he clarified. She nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “Christ, I'm scared to ask,” he groaned, leaning his elbows against his desk. She scooted even lower in her chair and stuck her leg up, jutting it over his desk so her shoe was in his face. It took him a second, and then he saw it. He curled his fingers around her ankle and pulled it closer.

  “Like it?” she asked. He shrugged.

  “It's okay. At least they're real this time. Why did I buy you the tiniest pearl bracelet you could find?” he asked, still examining the pearls she had strapped around her ankle.

  “I'm not comfortable spending money the way you do, I needed it to be cheap,” she explained.

  “Why did you do this?” he asked, letting go of her ankle. She sat upright and put her foot back on the floor.

  “I bought it so ... you would know that I can remember things, too. Good things. You said I deserved them. I listened. I did it so you'd know that I hear you. I'm not very good at it, I'm still trying to figure out how to speak your language, but I'm trying. It isn't necessary to spend $50,000 on a necklace for me. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to know you would have, that you think I 'deserve' them. But real pearls or fake pearls – I wouldn't know the difference anyway. One is just as good as the other to me,” she explained, laughing a little at the end.

  “Depending on the intent with which the gift is given,” he repeated what she had told him so many months ago. She nodded.

  “Yes. You don't have to spend $50,000, Jameson. Sometimes it's okay to get me the crappy, junior high prom style, pearl necklace. It's okay to just say you like me. You don't have to buy me,” she told him.

  “Tatum, come over here.”

  She got up and walked around his desk. He swiveled his chair towards her and she moved next to him, swung her leg over his knees, then sat on his lap. He grabbed her by the hips and helped her to adjust, so she was sitting as close as she could get, her face inches from his own.

  “Hi,” she laughed, as the chair rocked back and forth.

  “Tatum O'Shea, sometimes, I almost think I like you,” he told her.

  “See? Such a dick.”

  “Shut up. When do I get my real present?” he asked, using one hand to pick up the bottle from off his desk. He turned the front of the whiskey towards her. She had used the label to address him, then wrote her own little note.

  When this bottle is empty, you may return it for one night of anything-you-can-think-of-sex, and the giver must comply. ANYTHING. Happy Birthday, Satan.

  “It says it right there, when the bottle is empty,” Tate replied. Jameson let go of her entirely and unscrewed the lid.

  “You do realize, I have a very vivid imagination. You wrote 'anything', and I'm going to hold you to it,” he warned her, before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a healthy swig. She nodded.

  “I know what I wrote. I'm just very glad you don't own any double ended vibrators,” she joked.

  “Yet.”

  “I said anything, meaning anything you want. I'm a woman of my word,” she assured him. He narrowed his eyes and took another drink.

  “Sometimes,” he amended her statement.

  “But I'm begging you, please, no threesome with the busty secretary,” she pleaded. He laughed and his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head up.

  “You said anything I want, baby girl,” he reminded her, then poured the Jameson down her throat.

  Doesn't taste as good as him.

  SINCE SHE WAS ON A roll with the apologizing and forgiving, she decided it was time to face her sister. She wasn't sure if Ang had already told Ellie about their dinner, but Tate figured she had to talk to her anyway. Just get it all out there. So she invited her sister out to the house that night.

  She made Jameson promise to stay hidden in the library. He wasn't very happy about it – he'd had plans to finish the bottle of whiskey then possibly fuck her with it. She told him it was quite a waste of such an extravagant gift, was that the best he could think of? She was literally thrown out of the library after that comment, and told not to come back unless she was on her knees.

  As she watched her sister waddle across the driveway, she couldn't help but wonder what Ellie was thinking as she stared up at the grand house. In another life, Ellie had thought everything would be hers. The house that Tate felt was more like home than the one she had grown up in, was meant to be Ellie's. The man Tate slept with, had been picked out for Ellie. The apartment in Spain, the penthouse in New York, everything, all meant for Ellie.

  It must be hard. I should be nice to her.

  “Did you find the house okay?” Tate asked. Ellie leaned down to air-kiss her cheeks.

  “Yes. It's very beautiful,” she commented, and the wistful look was plain-as-day on her face. Tate shut the door and led her into the kitchen.

  “There's a formal dining room, but I figured we could just snack in here,” Tate explained, gesturing to some stools at the end of the large island which sat in the middle of his kitchen.

  “I can't believe I'm here. I always wondered what this place was like,” Ellie breathed, her eyes roaming over everything.

  “You knew about this house?”

  “Yeah, his father talked about it, a lot. His dad was originally from this area,” Ellie explained. Of course, Tate already knew that – but she didn't say anything.

  “Oh. Well, he's done a lot of remodeling. The conservatory on the back is new, and he had all new hardwood floors put in, wiring, new modern bathrooms, the works,” Tate explained, waving her hand around. Ellie frowned.

  “Pity. I would never have let him do that, I would've kept it as close to the original building as possible,” she commented. Tate frowned. She didn't care for Ellie's tone. It was one she recognized well; Ellie's “I would've been soooooo much better than you, at everything you've ever done” voice. Like Tate wasn't keeping Jameson in line enough, or something.

  “I love it. You should see the master bedroom, he completely gutted it, doubled its size. The bed is huge,” Tate couldn't resist adding. Ellie frowned.

  “I'll take your word for it.”

  They sat in silence for a while, nibbling on snacks Tate had sat out. She and Ellie had never really reached a place where they were comfortable just chatting. They were a lot better than they were a year ago, but still not besties. Sometimes they could laugh and have fun together. Other times ... other times were more like old times, and Tate felt like she was in a competition. This felt like one of those times.

  “So when is the baby due?” Tate asked, glan
cing at Ellie's huge stomach.

  “About six weeks. God, I'm over this. I'm just ready to meet him,” she laughed, patting her baby bump. Tate smiled.

  “Still gonna name him Mathias?” she asked. Ellie scrunched up her face.

  “I've been having second thoughts. Daddy still won't speak to me,” she replied.

  “Join the club. I think we're better off,” Tate assured her. “What about Robert, is he coming down for the birth?”

  Ellie's abusive ex-husband, Robert Carmichael, lived in upstate New York. Or rather, he hid. Jameson had once threatened to rip his jaw off, after he had slapped Tatum. When Ellie had first left him, Robert tried to get back together with her, but after he found out she had run away to Tate's apartment, he had left her alone. Granted her anything she wanted in the divorce.

  Sometimes, Jameson being the devil was a very good thing.

  “I hope not. I'll call him after it happens. He's not getting any custodial rights, so I don't know why he would,” Ellie snarled. Tate nodded.

  “Good plan. So does Ang, like, go to lamaze classes with you?” Tate couldn't help but snicker. Ellie shook her head.

  “Oh, no. We're not into all that, we're more like you and Jameson,” she said quickly. Tate's ears perked up.

  “Excuse me? What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Just sex. You know, like -,” Ellie started to explain again. Tate shook her head.

  “Wait, wait, wait. What are you saying? You guys just have sex, and that's it? You're not boyfriend-girlfriend?” she clarified. Ellie nodded.

  “Well, yeah. We don't go on dates, or stuff like that,” she said.

  “But ... but I thought you guys were dating. The word dating implies going on dates. He calls you his girlfriend,” Tate stressed. Ellie rolled her eyes.

  “I know, it's horrible. I can't figure out how to tell him we're not like that,” she replied. Tate nearly choked on a pretzel.

  “Apparently you are like that! Ellie, Ang hasn't had a girlfriend the entire time I've known him. He's a sex-machine, only uses women for one thing. If he calls you his girlfriend, then you're his goddamn girlfriend!” Tate snapped. Ellie frowned.

  “I thought you were the liberal thinker, here. I'm just trying to be like you, you know, sow my wild oats. I never meant for him to get so attached,” Ellie whined.

  “Be like me!? Ellie, I never pretended to be a guy's girlfriend so he would fuck me. I would never do something like that – I'm always honest. And don't say you guys are like Jameson and I, you don't know the first thing about us,” she argued. Tate. Was. Pissed. Ang had defended Ellie. Tate had felt guilty over Ellie. Ellie had only cared about Ellie. Big fuckin' surprise.

  “I know that you guys use each other for sex. How come it's okay for the two of you to do it, but no one else!? Not me, not Angier?” Ellie snapped back.

  “Don't call him that!” Tate yelled, jumping out of her chair and slamming her hands on the counter top. “His name is Ang! And you better fucking call Ang and tell him exactly what you just told me, or I will!”

  “Stop being so dramatic, Tatum. I'll tell him in my own good time. It's not like I hate him. I like spending time with him, we have fun. I'm just never going to be with someone like him, we both know that,” Ellie stressed.

  “I don't think he knows that. I can't believe you. Daddy won't even speak to you because he's such a fucking snob, and you're still the exact same way! You need to talk to him, Ellie. Seriously,” Tate insisted. Ellie sighed and lumbered to her feet.

  “If I had known you were only going to bring me here to yell at me, I wouldn't have bothered,” she grumbled, pulling on her purse.

  “I wasn't planning on yelling at you – but you're using my best friend. You came between us, made us fight. Serious shit, Ellie. You can't just tell me it was all over nothing, over sex,” Tate said, following Ellie out into the hallway.

  “I'm so surprised at your reaction – I honestly thought you'd be proud of me. The way Jameson talked at home, the only thing you two care about -,”

  “Shut the fuck up, right now. You don't know shit about what goes on between me and him. Is that what this is about? I fucked your boyfriend, so you fucked Ang!?” Tate demanded.

  “No. I mean, it's still messed up that you slept with Jameson, when he was my boyfriend. Even you have to know that wasn't right. Angier was never your boyfriend, so I still haven't done anything wrong,” Ellie replied, standing in front of the door. Tate let her jaw drop open.

  “Jameson and I never planned that night, it wasn't like we were carrying on some illicit affair behind your back for months and months. It just happened. Get the fuck over it. You are using Ang – I never did that to you,” Tate pointed out, her voice loud. Heated.

  “No, what you did was worse. You always bitch that I ruined your life. Well, you kinda ruined mine, too, you know,” Ellie reminded her. Tate threw her hands up.

  “Seriously!? HE WAS NEVER GOING TO MARRY YOU! It is time to let him go!” Tate insisted.

  “I have, I am over it, I just don't think it's fair. I don't think it's right, that you're sitting in this house, pretending to be some fairy tale princess with him, when I was the one -,” Ellie started.

  She had expected it to happen sooner, so Tate wasn't shocked when she heard the library door open. Jameson casually strode down the hall and stood behind Tate. Ellie looked stunned; no one had told her that Satan was in residence.

  “Ladies. I am trying to get some work done. What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

  Tate knew he was being facetious, but both she and Ellie burst out yelling at the same time. Curses were thrown, fingers pointed, Ang's name yelled a lot. Sanders eventually appeared from somewhere, and soon the two men were between them. Sanders was urging Tate backwards towards the library. She hopped around on her toes, watching as Jameson blocked Ellie from her.

  “You're a snob, Eloise! A fucking snob! You're not fit to lick the ground Angier walks on!” Tate shouted.

  “He knows what he got into with me! And at least we're consenting adults! You were practically a child when you stole my boyfriend!” Ellie yelled back.

  “And it only took me one time, to get him to break up with you! So GET FUCKED, Eloise!”

  Tate was completely shocked into silence when Sanders' arms went around her waist and he picked her up. She always underestimated his size, his strength. He carried her into the library like she weighed nothing. She didn't say anything, just let him deposit her in the middle of the room. She stood there while he shut the door behind them.

  “I apologize, but you need to calm down,” he informed her. She nodded.

  “I know, I know,” she breathed, almost panting from all the adrenaline rushing through her body.

  “I don't know why you always let her goad you. You are better than her. It is beneath you to act this way with her,” Sanders pointed out. Tate groaned.

  “I know,” she agreed, dropping her head. The library door swung open and Jameson strode inside.

  “Outstanding, Tatum. You've really topped yourself, fighting with a pregnant woman. Why did I have to explain to her, again, that she and I would never have stayed together?” he asked.

  “Because she's a stupid bitch who doesn't think I belong somewhere like here, with someone like you. And she's using Ang,” Tate replied. Jameson nodded.

  “Yup, that'll do it,” he whistled through his teeth. Tate licked her lips.

  “Did she leave?”

  “Yes, I personally escorted her to her car and politely informed her that if she ever insulted you again, she wouldn't be welcome in my house,” he replied.

  “She drove off?”

  “Yes.”

  Tate took off down the hallway, grabbing her coat as she went out the door. Jameson caught up with her on the porch steps, following her down onto the driveway. She had been the last person to use the Jaguar, and the keys were still in her pocket.

  “I have to talk to him,” she breathed, when Jame
son asked what she was doing.

  “Jesus, Tate, you can call him, you know,” he pointed out.

  “I know. But I have to talk to him about this in person. After everything that's happened, I don't think he'd appreciate a phone call,” Tate explained, unlocking the Jag and opening the driver's side door. Jameson shut it again.

  “This is fucking stupid. All this because -,” he started. She stood on her tip toes and kissed him, as forcefully as possible. He looked a little surprised when she pulled away.

  “Just stay here and finish the damn whiskey,” she told him, then she hopped into the car.

  She didn't know if Ellie had already called him, or even if she'd be at his place, but Tate had a hunch she wouldn't. Ellie wasn't a “feelings” kind of person, it was probably what had drawn her and Jameson together – something in common. When Tate pulled up in front of Ang's apartment building, she didn't see Ellie's car anywhere. She figured it was a good sign. She shivered on his stoop, pressing the buzzer for his apartment until he picked up.

  “What the fuck!?” his voice crackled over the intercom.

  “It's freezing out here, let me in!” she shouted back. There was a buzz, and she yanked the front door open.

  His apartment was on the fourth floor, and the elevator was broken. By the time she got to his door, he was holding it open for her. He was yawning, standing in only a pair of pajama pants, his hair completely standing on end. She glanced at her watch as she walked in the door. Eight o'clock at night.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was filming all last night, some crazy kinky fetish take on Pride and Prejudice, and then I had to waiter some wedding this morning. I was so fucking asleep,” he grumbled as she went straight to his room.

  “Kinky Pride and Prejudice?”

  “'Pride and Pre-Ejaculate'.”

  “I don't want to watch that film.”

  “What's up, sweetie pea? You usually don't come slum it anymore,” he yawned again, stretching out on his bed. She patted his stomach.

  “No sleepy-time Ang. Up, up, up,” she instructed. He pulled himself up so he was resting back against his headboard.