“You're in love with Jameson.” Ang said it as a statement. She swallowed thickly.
“Maybe. But I'm done waiting for him to be in love with me. And he and his stupid girlfriend can go have their love child together and live -,” she started to ramble, pacing outside the doors to the hotel.
“Don't you watch the fucking news!?” Ang interrupted.
“Huh?”
“You idiot. It's not his. The real father stepped foward, proved that it couldn't be Jameson. There was a paternity test and everything. Jameson's lawyers have been suing the shit out of her. Will you come home now!?” he whined. She stopped pacing.
“Not his?” she asked.
No. No, no, no, no.
“Not his. That fucker, from the party, who hit you,” Ang told her.
“You are shitting me,” Tate gasped.
“Not at all. Apparently she didn't go straight back to Berlin after Jameson kicked her ass out. She hung around with that Dunn guy. It's his baby,” Ang explained.
She was blown away. She started laughing. She was fully aware that she looked completely crazy, cackling into the phone like a hyena. Well, Petrushka had wanted an American financier. She got one, and one who was almost as big an asshole as she was; winning.
“This is amazing. Ang, you have made my day,” Tate gasped for air.
“Good. Will you come home?” he demanded. She sighed.
“Ang. Do you love me?”
“What?”
“Do you love me?”
“Right now? Not very much,” he snapped.
“Just let me figure shit out, alright. I tried it with Jameson. It didn't work. Let me try it with Nick. If it doesn't work, I'll run home,” she promised.
“Or somewhere else. Tate ..., please. I'll sleep with you. I'll love you. Don't just give up,” he urged.
“A lot of women would kill to be in my position, moving in with Nick,” she pointed out.
“Exactly – and you're robbing them of that. I'm worried for you, worried you'll end up like your mom,” Ang said softly. She stiffened up.
“That won't happen. I'm not giving up. I'm testing the waters,” she replied.
“Last time you 'tested the waters', I had to pull you out, and baby girl, I'm not there this time around.”
Tate hung up on him. Stared at the phone like she was holding a snake. Ang had never called her 'baby girl' before, ever. He had called her just about every other name under the sun, but not that one. No, that was Jameson's name for her. What he had been calling her since she was eighteen. And to bring up the pool, that was low. Even for Ang.
She sighed and looked out onto the street, trying not to cry. Tate had made a deal with herself. No more tears. She focused on different things, tried to distract herself. There were a lot of really nice cars everywhere, a lot of rich baseball players were checking into the hotel. She saw a Porsche. A couple Escalades. A Ferrari. She smiled sadly when her eyes landed on a black Bentley.
At least someone at this hotel has classy tastes.
She walked through the lobby, glancing around. The hotel was buzzing with people. Lots of new people checking in, bell service people running around. A cart whizzed past her, filled with Louis Vuitton luggage. She frowned. Something didn't feel right.
Tate stood in front of an elevator, frowning at her feet. It was just Ang. His phone call was weighing on her soul. That's why she felt weird. And the Bentley. She would probably never be able to look at a Bentley the same again. Good thing she didn't know anyone else who owned one.
She took a deep breath as she heard a ding announcing the elevator's arrival. She walked forward, starting to lift her head, but something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. A man, striding towards the front desk. Impeccable suit. Styled hair. Trim frame. Tate gasped, turning even as she stepped into the elevator, ignoring the people inside.
“Sanders?” she whispered, craning her neck to see. There was shuffling behind her, and someone brushed against her elbow as they reached for the floor buttons. Fire spread up her arm.
“Going up, baby girl?”
She felt like the elevator was falling out from underneath her. She slowly turned, the doors sliding shut. Satan was in the elevator, smiling down at her. Taking up every square inch of space. She stared up at him, her jaw hanging open.
“How ..., how ...,” Tate breathed. He put a finger under chin, shut her mouth for her.
“You have a whole network of people trying to do what they think is best for you. Ang talked to Sanders. Sanders wouldn't calm down till I agreed to come out here,” Jameson explained in a soft voice. She swallowed thickly.
“Sanders brought you here,” she whispered. He shook his head.
“You brought me here.”
She turned her back to him, trying to remember how to breathe. How come every time she felt like she was gaining a grip on life, Jameson fucking Kane had to pop back up!? She kept trying to let go. Why wouldn't he? Tate reached out, pressed the button for floor seven.
“Sorry,” she managed to choke out as the elevator started to lift. “Were you getting out at the lobby?”
“I was. I don't mind the ride.”
She nearly fell over.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. She felt his hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around to face him.
“We have unfinished business,” he informed her.
Tate would have done anything, at that moment, to get out of that elevator. So many thoughts were pinging around in her head. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to slap him across the face. She wanted to throw herself at him, so badly. She wanted Jameson to erase every single one of Nick's touches. She wanted to tell him that she had slept with Nick, see if it would scare him off for good. See if it wouldn't bother him at all. Luckily, she didn't have to say or do any of that – the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors slid open.
“I thought we said everything we had to say,” she told him, breezing out into the hallway. He followed her.
“I thought so, too. I was wrong,” he replied.
“Really? You seemed pretty satisfied, last time I saw you,” she reminded him.
“I was angry. You have a tendency to make me that way. I was hoping we could talk,” he said.
“When have we ever 'just talked'?” she laughed.
“We could start. Right now,” he suggested. She stopped in front of her door, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't get her key card in the slot. He took it from her, opened her door. She glared at him.
“Too late. I said everything I wanted to say, so I'm sorry if you -,”
“You said you loved me. That doesn't just go away,” he told her. She blinked at him in surprise.
“Yeah, and I also told you it was a lie.”
“That's a lie. You loved me. You love me right now. Why can't you just admit it?” he asked.
He was so calm, it was making her uncomfortable. Jameson was never calm. He was a walking ball of energy, full of spice and vinegar. Always scratching, always lashing. Never calm. Tate didn't know what to do with this Jameson.
“Because,” she breathed, then cleared her throat. “It doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Well, not to me. Not anymore. You told me to figure shit out. I did. I don't want this,” she told him, feeling bold. He laughed.
“That baby isn't mine. It was wrong of you not to trust me, but I'm willing to forgive that,” he told her. She felt enraged.
“How magnanimous of you. I know the baby isn't yours, and that still doesn't change how I feel about you,” she snapped at him.
“Good, because you're in love with me.”
“Stop saying that!” she yelled at him.
“Why? Because it's true?”
“Stop it!” Tate was almost shrieking.
“Tate, Sanders and I drove here. Do you have any idea what that's like? I thought I was going to have to kill him and dump his body in Oklah
oma,” Jameson told her. She was stunned.
“Why on earth would you drive here!?” she exclaimed.
“Because. I had to see you, but I needed time, to work some stuff out. And when we go home, I wanted more time with you, so we could work some stuff out,” he explained. Her rage level went to Defcon Four.
“I am not going anywhere with you, let alone driving across America. Fuck that. I'd dump my own body in Oklahoma,” she snorted. Jameson laughed.
“I missed you, Tatum,” he chuckled. She glared.
“Oh really? On a scale of one to ten, how much -,”
“Eleven.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Stop being cute. You're never cute. It's weird,” she told him. He laughed again.
“I'm flattered that you think I'm cute, Tate. What do you want from me? I asked you once, a long time ago. What can I do, to fix this? What do you need from me?” he asked, his voice simple. Sweet. Calm. Her eyes welled up with tears.
“What if I want babies, Jameson?” she whispered. He looked equal parts shocked and sick.
“Excuse me? You just had a fucking fit over the idea of Pet having my baby, and now you want to have it?” he demanded. She took a deep breath, shaking her head.
“No. I don't know if I ever want kids. But what if I did? What if I want to get married? What if I want a big wedding, a white fucking dress, and all my friends and family to sit in a church and watch me become Mrs. Kane?” Tate asked.
Sick. He definitely looks more sick than shocked.
“You have never mentioned any of this before,” he pointed out. She nodded.
“I know. Petrushka, and then Ellie .., it all made me think. I always thought you were too much for me. Turned out you weren't quite enough,” she managed a laugh.
“So. You want to get married. You want kids. Any sort of time frame for me to work with?” Jameson asked, clearing his throat nervously. Tate had never really seen him look nervous.
“Jameson, you won't ever want those things. And that's okay. It's just not okay with me,” she stressed. “I don't want to waste any more of my time.”
“I'm a waste of time?” he said softly. She shook her head.
“No. You were the best time, of my whole life.”
Suddenly there was a shrill ringing sound, shattering the mood. They stared at each other for a moment, and then she headed over to the phone. Tate knew who it would be – talk about fucking awkward. She glanced at Jameson, then lifted the receiver out of the cradle.
“Hi,” she said in a soft voice, keeping her back to the room. She couldn't look at Jameson, not while she was talking to Nick.
“Hey, so I was thinking, wanna get dinner somewhere else? We can go to the hotel shindig afterwards,” Nick's voice was excited.
“I was looking forward to dinner here. It's ..., it's been a long day. I'm tired,” she sighed into the phone.
“We don't have to do this, you know. We can just do room service, picnic on your floor,” he laughed. Suddenly, she felt Jameson right behind her. He always radiated heat. Like he was the sun.
Just the center of your universe, that's all.
“No, you should be there. I've got a dress ready,” she told Nick. Jameson's hands crept onto her shoulders.
“Are you sure? You sound kinda weird,” Nick pointed out. She managed a laugh.
“I'm always weird, don't you know that about me yet?” she asked.
“He'll never know you the way I do,” the devil whispered in her ear. She shivered.
“Alright, I'll pick you up at your room,” Nick said.
“Tell him you won't be here,” Jameson hissed.
“I'll be ready,” Tate assured Nick.
“Ready for me,” Jameson breathed. She started to shiver.
“See you later.”
“Later.”
She hung up the phone and Jameson's fingers dug into her shoulders. She closed her eyelids. Sighed. He massaged her, though it was more pain than release. Just like she liked. She opened her eyes, shook him off. Stepped away from him.
“You have to go,” she said, her voice thick.
“No.”
“No, you really do. I have to get ready, and get changed. I have plans for tonight,” Tate told him, striding to the door and yanking it open. Jameson didn't move from his spot, just turned to face her.
“I don't give a fuck. I'm not leaving,” he replied.
“Jameson! Get the fuck out of my room!” she commanded him. He shook his head.
“Make me, baby girl,” he taunted. She gaped at him.
“You don't get to do this! You're like a fucking stalker! Get out!” she yelled. He slowly walked forward, but stopped in front of her. Leaned down close to her face.
“You can get as loud as you want. I'm not going anywhere.”
Tate screamed. As loud and as long as she could. Jameson raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he didn't budge. When she finished screaming, she gasped for air, watching him. She could hear doors opening along the hallway. Footsteps running down the hall.
“Loud enough?” she panted. He smiled.
“I've made you scream louder,” he replied. She opened her mouth to scream again, but then there were more footsteps. Someone stood in her doorway.
“I'm sorry, is everything okay?” A security guard asked. Tate cleared her throat.
“He was just leaving,” she said, gesturing to Jameson. He didn't even acknowledge the guard.
“Sir, are you a guest of this hotel?” the guard demanded. Jameson nodded.
“Yes. Under the name Kane,” he replied. The other man stepped back and mumbled something into his radio. A second later, it squawked back. The guard did a double take at Jameson.
“Yes, Mr. Kane. So sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kane. Is there anything I can do for you, while I'm here?” he offered. Tate groaned and Jameson smiled.
“You can leave, thank you,” he replied. The guard tipped his head and then hustled away.
“Sometimes, I really fucking hate you,” Tate grumbled.
“The fact that I am even staying in this piece of shit hotel, shows how much I care. I would like you to make a note,” Jameson told her. She gasped.
“This is a nice hotel!” she snapped.
“Tatum. Please. Remember who you're talking to,” he laughed.
“Get the fuck out! Just get out of my life!” she shouted, shoving at his chest. He let her push him into the hallway.
“We're not done,” he warned her.
“We're done, Kane. You don't want a girlfriend. I don't want to be a fuck toy. It's over,” she informed him.
“Why do you think that's all you're good for?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Because somebody told me that,” she snapped.
“You really shouldn't listen to everything you hear, baby girl.”
She slammed the door in his face.
~15~
It hadn't exactly gone as well as Jameson had hoped. He hadn't gotten to say anything he wanted to say. She hadn't fallen into his arms and begged him to take her home. She hadn't cried as much as he would've liked. But she had said a lot of things that had really messed with his mind.
Marriage!? Kids!? Was she fucking with him? When he had met Tatum, she had been sex on legs, screwing just about anything with a dick. She had turned him inside out – still had the ability to; was the only woman he had ever slept with that was truly okay with him sleeping with other women. The only woman who always kept him wanting more. The only woman who let him put his hands on her any goddamn way he pleased.
Hmmm, if that's not marriage material, I don't know what is.
It was ridiculous. They couldn't go two minutes without fighting. They had probably been “together” for a grand total of ... two months? Three months? What was she saying, she wanted him to propose? Jameson fucking hated titles, he refused to even think of her as his girlfriend. She was just Tatum. He was just Jameson. Why couldn't that be enough!
?
As it got later, he had to get out of the hotel. Knowing she was downstairs, probably looking sexy as fuck, and hanging on some other guy's arm .., he couldn't handle it. Not even a little bit. He felt like he was going to kill someone. Most likely a baseball player.
Maybe Sanders, as well. Just for dragging him there.
He strolled down the street, walked a couple blocks. There were lots of restaurants and pubs, little shops full of stupid shit that no one ever needs. They were basically in U of A's backyard. He would never have choosen to stay in a hotel like that; he had wanted to stay somewhere else. Sanders insisted it would be easier. Jameson caved.
Only for you, Tatum.
She had acted strange. He was nervous. Scared. She hadn't been as angry as he would've liked. Anger meant she cared. Sure, she'd gotten mad. But in Spain, she had fought against him, almost killed him. That was passion, in his mind. In that hotel room, she had looked ..., detached. That was the worst.
Sanders had said to work out how he felt, and what he was going say. Well, he felt like he wanted to be with Tatum, for as long as possible. For as long as both of them could stand. He wanted to tell her things, things he had never said to anyone ever before, but she wouldn't listen. He had to find another way to talk to her. A way she would hear him.
He didn't see the store on his way up the street, but after he'd wandered for about twenty minutes and then made his way back, he noticed it. Stared in the window. So much silver and gold glittered back at him. Jameson was accustomed to nice things, had been his whole life. He didn't see anything wrong with buying them if he could afford them. Tatum always thought he was trying to buy her – she never realized, it was just his way. He bought nice things for Sanders, because he wanted to do nice things. He bought nice things for her, because that was the way he showed that he cared.
She couldn't just let him be him. She was always trying to twist him into her stupid fairy tale Prince Charming. It seemed to him that his choices were to either walk away, or wear the crown.
He frowned and pushed his way into the little shop. Several young women looked up at his entrance. Perked up. They were all young, maybe early twenties. Or younger. Babies. He ignored their smiles – he could eat them for breakfast, and still be hungry. No, he was on a mission for one last meal.
Reparation (The Kane Trilogy Book 3) Page 22