“No shit.”
“So, I thought maybe I could take a vacation,” she suggested. Jameson's eyebrows went up and he stopped moving.
“A vacation?” he asked. She nodded, standing in between his chair and his desk.
“Yes. Things are ... confusing for me, right now. I thought maybe some space would help,” she said in a small voice.
“Ah. This is about the other night. Your talk with Sanders,” he filled in. She shrugged.
“A lot of things. Sometimes it feels like you take me over, and when I remember the bad stuff, it's like I'm drowning. I just want some time. You told me I needed to figure shit out. That's what I want to do,” she stressed.
“And how does darling Nick figure into this?” Jameson asked.
“He doesn't, really, just gave me the idea to get away,” she replied. “I won't sleep with him. I won't even touch him. We're just friends, hanging out.”
“He's not coming into my fucking condo,” Jameson snapped, and Tate smiled. She had won.
“Of course not.”
“How come all your friends are men, huh? What happened to the tiny red head?” he demanded.
“Rusty? She's in school,” she replied.
“Well, introduce her to your baseball player – tell him he needs a new fucking friend. I am not okay with this, Tatum,” he growled, prowling towards her. She held her ground.
“I know, that's why it means a lot that you let me do it,” she replied.
“Just keep that in mind – I'm letting you do this,” he reinforced the notion. She nodded.
“It's just a few days, Jameson,” she pointed out.
“I have worked very hard for every day I've spent with you. I am not accustomed to giving some up,” he replied. She felt warm inside.
“That's very sweet.”
“Shut the fuck up. You better have shit figured out after this, because you will be coming back home, regardless of your boy-toy's feelings or yours,” he snapped. She nodded.
“I'm okay with that.”
“I do not like this, Tatum. I don't want to do this.”
“But you will, for me.”
“For you.”
He was standing in front of her, so close they were almost touching. He stared down the length of his nose at her, and the look of disdain he usually wore was front-and-center. She smiled at him. Reached out and straightened his tie.
“You're such shit at this,” she mumbled, adjusting his tie-pin. He grabbed her hand.
“Sanders is coming with you,” he informed her.
“Really? You wouldn't mind?” she asked, surprised. Sometimes she wondered if Jameson would be able to survive without Sanders.
“You can't be left alone in the world without a babysitter. No getting him drunk,” Jameson growled. She laughed.
“That was all him. I just made the drinks,” she pointed out.
“You are a bad influence,” he said.
“What, on Sandy?”
“On all of us.”
“Duh.”
He yanked her close and kissed her, and she moaned. They hadn't had sex since before the night Sanders got drunk, over two days ago. A long time, in their terms. He shoved her backwards against his desk and she fell onto it. She didn't even have time to find her balance before he was leaning onto her, his tongue invading her mouth. She moaned again, clawing her nails down his back.
“You sure you just slept next to Angier?” he growled, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the floor.
“Next to him, on top of him, po-TATE-o, po-TOT-o,” she laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“I can smell him on you. God, I wanna hold you under a hot shower till your skin turns red,” he hissed. She shuddered, combing her fingers through his hair.
“Sounds exciting,” she whispered. He grabbed her throat then, pinned her to the desk.
“Stop fucking talking.”
“You're the one getting turned on by smelling Ang,” she pointed out. His fingers squeezed harder.
“I always did love fucking a whore.”
She couldn't stand it. She began clawing at the buttons on his vest, trying to undo them while his hands ran under her shirt, pushed it up over her breasts. She let out a gasp when he sucked on a nipple, through her bra. She moaned, her head hitting the desk. She felt like she was going to explode. He hadn't even hardly touched her, and she was ready to pop.
She knew it was a bad idea, to have sex. Not with her emotions all over the place. She would probably wind up screaming that she loved him, then cry like a girl afterwards. He would love it, fuck her again, and then leave her a broken mess. He would've gotten what he wanted, won the game. She wasn't ready, not yet. But she couldn't stop. She pressed her hips up against his, felt the bulge in his pants, and wanted to feel more. Her fingers wouldn't stop moving. She left his vest and trailed her hands down to his belt, began yanking at it.
“Mr. Kane, your one-thirty is ...”
Saved by the bell.
Tate opened her eyes. The squawking secretary was a couple feet into the room, and turning bright red. Tate smiled and flicked her eyes to Jameson. His chin was resting on her chest, and one of his hands was halfway down her pants. He looked casual, but his secretary looked ready to burst into flames. Tate wondered how many women he'd fucked in his office. Maybe she was the first. She wiggled her hips underneath him.
“Yes, Mrs. Janette?” he asked, scratching his fingers up Tate's stomach as he pulled his hand free of her pants.
“I'm so sorry,” the other woman breathed.
“It's quite alright. Do you mind, Tate?” he asked, not looking down at her.
“Nope.”
“What did you need?” Jameson asked the secretary as he slowly backed off of Tatum.
“Your ... your one-thirty appointment. Mr. Yamamoto. He's -, he's here,” the secretary stuttered, looking everywhere around the room but at them.
“Of course. Tell him ten minutes,” Jameson replied, and the secretary fled from the room. Tate pulled herself up so she was sitting.
“Ten minutes isn't very long,” she told him. He shook his head, buttoning his vest back up.
“No, not nearly long enough for all the things I want to do to you. As sexy as your whore-y ways are, I don't think I can be inside of you, knowing that Ang might have just been there,” he explained. She snorted.
“I didn't have sex with him,” she snapped. Jameson smiled.
“I know. Still. The mental image. You have five days, baby girl. You better make sure that no one else has been here, when I get you back,” he said softly, stepping forward to run a finger up and down the seam between her legs. She rubbed her lips together.
“You think you can go a couple days without fucking me?” she asked, widening her legs.
“I've gone a lot longer than that before, I think I can manage it again. Besides, I'm submitting the termination papers to the secretary downstairs. I may not be so bored while you're gone,” he whispered, his finger pressing harder. She curled her fingers into his shoulders.
“I swear, if you fuck her, I'm definitely gonna fuck Nick.”
“Threaten me again, and I'll beat your ass so hard you won't even be able to walk during your little sabbatical with Nick.”
God, I missed this.
“Maybe,” she breathed, his fingers starting to make her pant, “maybe we could be really fast. We still have, like, six minutes left.” Before she could say more, he stopped touching her and pressed the finger to her lips.
“Shhhh. Good things come to those who wait. You want to spend the next few days with your boyfriend? Fine. Then you have to wait for me to give you what you need,” he replied.
It was only fair. She continued to squirm around on top of his desk, wanting his finger back. Wanting him to finish what he'd started. She wanted to finish him. Her eyes flicked down to the desk, then to his crotch. Down again, then up again.
“How much time is left?” she breathed, sho
ving him back and hopping off the desk.
“Maybe five minutes. Why? What are you thinking?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
“I'm thinking I might be able to fit under this desk almost as well as the desk at home.”
“Such a whore, baby girl. I love it.”
OF COURSE Jameson didn't like the idea of her spending time downtown, alone, hanging out with Nick Castille. He fucking hated the idea. When she first brought it up, he had wanted to slap the idea right out of her fucking head. Who did she think she was!? Who did she think she was dealing with!? She wasn't allowed to galavanting off, just fucking whomever she pleased, and using Jameson's condo to do it. Fuck that.
But then she had asked for the time to think. And thinking was good. She was so close to just letting go. He could feel it. Whatever she and Sanders had talked about had changed something. Brought her around in a way Jameson hadn't been able to. She looked at him different, treated him different. There was a wall that was gone. The detachment was gone from her eyes. She was finally really looking at him again. After so long.
It was nice.
So if he needed to let her go, again, so she could figure shit out, then he would do it. For her. Only for her.
But good god, was she going to pay when she got home.
~7~
Tate met up with Nick later that evening, at a sushi place on a busy street. She got there before him and was able to watch as he approached. He was an exceedingly good looking guy. He smiled at everyone, a sort of sideways smile, his bottom lip pulling to the right. Chocolate brown eyes, soft brown hair. Built body. Kind soul. She smacked herself every day, for not being able to just like him back. But apparently she preferred ice cold blue eyes and fangs for smiles. She liked her toys to have a little bite, and Nick was all cuddle.
“How are you!?” he exclaimed, bustling up to their table. She had barely stood up when he wrapped her in a hug.
“Good! God, it feels like forever!” she laughed, hugging him back. He finally pulled away and held her at arms length.
“You looking amazing,” he breathed, letting his eyes travel down her form.
“I guess you haven't seen me in a while,” she commented, looking down at herself. The shirt she was wearing showed more bra than shirt at the top, and her leggings had a geometric pattern sweeping all across them.
“You look more like you, like the girl I met in the bar,” he replied. She burst out laughing.
“Oh god.”
“No, it's nice. You look like you feel comfortable in your own skin again,” he explained, sliding into a chair. She sat down as well.
“Well, I'm still not that girl, just so you know. There will be no free-fucks in the back of bars this week,” she warned him.
“Jesus, your mouth is amazing.”
Huh, Jameson always says the same thing.
“So what's up? How've you been? How is Arizona?” Tate asked, pulling out a menu.
“Hot. I'm not a big fan. You ever gonna come visit me?” he asked, looking over a menu as well. She winced.
“I don't know. Things are complicated right now, I don't think flying across the country to stay with another man is gonna help anything,” she pointed out. He smiled at her.
“You really like him, don't you?” he asked. She frowned.
“Does that make me a horrible person? I really worry about that, that I shouldn't be allowed to like him, after everything he did,” she said quickly. Nick shrugged.
“No. You can't help it. What makes you a horrible person is not liking me,” he teased. She groaned.
“Don't remind me – I tell myself that every day,” she assured him.
“Maybe if you slept with me again, I could help you forget him?” he suggested, in a halfway joking tone.
Yeah, right. There aren't enough men in the world to fuck Jameson Kane out of my memory.
“You know what, if he fucks me over again, I will definitely take you up on that offer,” she joked.
“So that's it, huh. You're going to stay with him? Try to be with him?” he asked. She sighed.
“I don't think I have much of a choice. I can't ... get away. My brain. He owns it,” she replied.
“But what about your heart?”
“My heart ....” she paused for a while, staring off into space. “I think he's had that since I was eighteen.”
“Well, shit. I don't stand a chance,” Nick tried to joke, to lighten the mood. She reached out and grabbed his hand.
“If I could choose anyone else, trust me, it would be you,” she said softly. He nodded.
“Sure, sure. Whatever. C'mon, help me drown my sorrows in sake.”
Nick drank sake, Tate drank water. It was one thing to get tipsy with Sanders and cry in front of Jameson. She wasn't about to do any of that with Nick, and after his second bottle was done, she distracted him from ordering another.
They walked around for a while after that, catching up. She had always had an easiness with him that kind of surprised her. She had used him for sex. Good sex, but that had been it, a one night stand. Something to piss off Jameson. She had never expected to get a friend out of the deal. She looped her arm through his, leaned against him while they walked.
“You're happy?” he sighed as they made their way towards his building. His condo actually wasn't too far from Jameson's. Scary.
“Sometimes,” she joked.
“I think I could make you happy all the time,” he replied in a soft voice. She let go of his arm.
“Nick, someday, you are going to make some woman so happy, she won't know what to do with herself,” she warned him.
“I hope she knows what to do with me.”
“She will.”
“I wanted her to be you.”
She smiled sadly at him, standing outside the front doors.
“I wish I was her,” she replied, straightening out his jacket.
“You still could be,” he whispered. She glanced up at him.
“I don't think I ever could,” she laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His arm snaked around the waist.
“Sometimes, I think you were meant to be,” he challenged. She put her hands against his chest, pushing away.
“Nick. I appreciate everything you've done for me. You were there for me in a way no one else was, after the hospital. I don't think I can ever repay that, but I can't be ... I just can't,” she breathed.
She didn't want to break his heart. She never wanted to hurt anyone, that's why she was always so upfront and honest. The night they had slept together, she had bluntly told him she didn't plan on ever seeing him again. After the hospital, she had told him she wouldn't sleep with him again. She didn't know how else she could put it.
He stared at her for a while, then smiled. Kissed her on the cheek. Told her he would call her tomorrow, then went inside. She stared after him for a while, chewing on her bottom lip. She had needed closure with the whole Petrushka/Jameson incident. Now, she could get some closure with Nick.
Sanders was waiting at the condo when she got there. She was kind of surprised – she had forgotten that Jameson said he was going to send the other man. She smiled, sitting across from him in the living room. When they'd left, Jameson had everything packed up and prepped for shortage. She and Sanders sat on couches covered in sheets, surrounded by boxes.
“How are you?” he asked. The only light in the room was coming from the kitchen, backlighting him.
“I'm okay. And you?” she asked. He was looking over her shoulder.
“Is this some kind of game?” he asked. She widened her eyes.
“No. Why would you ask me that?” she was surprised. He sounded angry. Well, angry for Sanders.
“Because you surprised me, this all came out of nowhere. I don't particularly like surprises. I don't like staying downtown,” he told her. She snorted.
“No one is making you stay here, Sandy. You're free to go home,” she pointed out. He finally glanced at her.
“I
wouldn't feel comfortable with that, I worry about you,” he replied.
“I'm a big girl, sometimes capable of making halfway adult decisions. I'll be fine,” she assured him.
“Are you going to leave Jameson for Mr. Castille?” he asked bluntly.
Ah, Sanders. So scared of losing your happy home. So sweet.
“No,” she stated.
“Then, may I ask, what is all this about?” he pressed.
“Nick is only in town for the week. I wanted to spend time with him, he's my friend. And I wanted to take some time off, to think. Think about things you told me,” she said. Sanders frowned.
“Alcohol is not as much fun as everyone makes it out to be.”
Tate burst out laughing and got up, walked over to him.
“No, no it's not. But at least you didn't cry,” she snickered, pulling him up and into a hug.
“I don't want to see him get hurt,” Sanders said in a soft voice. She sighed.
“And what about me, Sandy? What if I get hurt again? I almost didn't survive the first time,” she pointed out.
“He won't do that again. He promised me. He promised you. I promise you,” Sanders promised.
“Okay, then. Just give me some time. I'm not going anywhere, I promise you,” she mimicked him. He pulled away from her.
“Sometimes, Tatum, I very much wonder how he puts up with you.”
She started laughing again. Sanders could be very, very funny, when he put his mind to it.
THE NEXT TWO DAYS WERE relatively peaceful. Nick picked them up, and all three of them went out to lunch. Sanders always seemed uncomfortable around Nick, probably because he felt like his loyalties were being pushed to the limit, but Nick never seemed to care. Nick could probably dine with Hitler, and do it with a polite smile. He was just that nice of a guy, he always wanted everyone to feel comfortable around him.
They got all dressed up for the charity event that he had come to town for, and it was actually a lot of fun. Sanders refused to come along, and though she loved him dearly, Tate was a little glad. Sometimes, Sanders made her feel guilty about having a good time. Which was silly – she was allowed to have fun, with or without Jameson. The only thing she didn't like was the photographers. There were a lot of them about, snapping photos with large flashes. She chewed on her lips.
The Kane Series Boxset Page 65