~14~

“Mr. Hollingsworth,” Sanders' cool voice cut through the din in the cafe.

Ang stood up, held out his hand to the quiet man. Sanders had always made Ang a little uncomfortable. He rarely made eye contact, and then when he did, it was a very direct stare. He was also a lot shorter than Ang, easily six or more inches, so that added to the awkward feeling. But he cared a great deal for Tatum, Ang knew, so he couldn't be a bad guy.

And after almost three weeks of Tatum playing house in Arizona, Ang figured it was time to cut the shit.

“Hey, thanks for meeting me,” Ang said. Sanders barely shook his hand before taking a seat at the table. Then he stared at the wall behind Ang.

“It's no trouble. How have you been?” the other man asked. Tate had said Sanders had spent most of his life in London, but his accent sounded different to Ang. Sharper.

“Good. Okay. Working on a new movie. Helping Ellie with the baby,” he replied.

“Are you and Mrs. Carmichael an item again?”

“No,” Ang laughed. “That was a mistake.”

“A pretty large mistake, if you don't mind my saying.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever. How is Satan?” Ang asked, leaning back in his chair and sipping at his coffee.

“If you are referring to Mr. Kane, he is well,” Sanders replied, not touching the coffee Ang had ordered for him.

“Really? Moved onto the next woman already?” Ang pressed. Sanders finally looked at him.

“If you would like to talk about her, please, don't waste anymore time,” he stated. Ang nodded.

“Alright. She hasn't mentioned him to me at all. How is he handling all this bullshit?” Ang asked. Sanders sighed and his eyes slid back to the wall.

“Not very well. He is very hurt by her. He thinks she lied to him. I think he is a little afraid of her now,” Sanders explained.

“Those retards. All they've managed to do is scare each other, from each other. How do they function day to day?” Ang grumbled.

“Sometimes, I honestly wonder. Without us, I am pretty sure they wouldn't make it very far.”

Ang actually laughed. Sanders could be funny. Who knew?

“Look, I wanted to talk to you cause I'm worried about her. She's been down there for like three weeks now. She's talking herself into staying. Nick is buzzing in her ear, telling her all that shit she thinks she wants to hear. She's going to do something stupid, like move in with him, or marry him, or something. She'll turn back into a Stepford-wife, and ten years from now, she'll be some pill popping alcoholic, just like her mother. I can't handle that,” Ang stressed. Sanders nodded.

“All of this has occured to me.”

“Well, what are we going to do about it!?” Ang demanded. Sanders' eyes met his again.

“What can we do? It seems to Jameson and I that she has made her decision, and it is not us,” Sanders replied.

“You don't mean that. I don't know you very well, or Satan, but I know you guys wouldn't just give up on her. Sanders, she is going to do it. You know her. How often does she make the right decision?” Ang asked. Sanders pressed his lips together.

“Not very often,” he said in a soft voice.

“Please. Help her. She listens to you. She needs you. She's lost. Find her,” Ang replied, his voice low.

Sanders stood up abruptly, startling Ang. He glanced around the cafe, then down at Ang. Straightened his tie. Cleared his throat. Fiddled with his tie again.

“I will discuss these things with Jameson. I can't make any promises. He is very upset. If he won't go, I would be useless. She needs him to find her,” Sanders said. Ang nodded and stood up as well.

“Yes.”

Sanders didn't say anything, just walked away. Ang figured that was kind of typical behavior. He ran a hand through his hair, then pulled out his phone and glanced at it. The background screen was a picture of him, Tatum, and Ellie. Ellie was staring coolly at the camera, one perfectly sculpted brow lifted. Tate was turned towards him, her smile wide as she bit into his cheek. He was sticking his tongue out to the side, almost touching her with it. He sighed.

“Just come home, Tater tot. Come home.”

 

*

 

Sanders strode through the Kraven Brokerage office building. On his own, he knew he was not an intimidating man. But with the weight of Jameson's name and wealth carrying behind him, people respected Sanders. Made way for him. He knew this, and took advantage of it. He had picked up some tricks from Jameson along the way, and was very good at pretending like he was confident and in charge.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sanders,” a security guard tipped his hat.

“How are you, Mr. Sanders?” the new secretary downstairs breathed, looking up at him with big eyes. He glanced at her. She was very attractive. Blonde. Icy. Tatum's words rang through his head, “... I hate to tell you this, Sanders, but you're kinda hot ...”. He usually brushed her words aside. Maybe it was time to stop. He nodded at the secretary and continued to the elevators. Went straight up to the top floor.

“Mr. Dashkevich,” Jameson's secretary leapt out of her chair. “He wasn't expecting you. He's on a conference call.”

“It's fine,” Sanders said, walking across the outer room. She hurried around her desk.

“But you can't, it's with -,” she started, and Sanders turned towards her. Stared at her.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice frosty. She shook her head.

“N-no, Mr. Dashkevich. Would you like me to bring in any coffee?” she asked. He shook his head.

“No.”

She calls me 'Mr. Dashkevich'. I am going to inform Jameson that she needs a raise.

He walked into the main office. Jameson was sitting at his desk, two computer screens set up in front of him. He raised his eyes at Sanders' entrance, but he didn't say anything to him. He was talking in German, running over some long term investment plans for a client. Sanders marched up to the desk.

“I need to speak to you,” he said. Jameson's eyebrows went up, but he shook his head. “Jetzt. Es ist wichtig,” Sanders continued in German. Jameson shook his head again, glaring now. Sanders sighed and switched tactics. “Soy muy serio.”

Spanish was actually Jameson's first language – he hadn't started speaking English till he was five. Sanders wasn't quite fluent in it, but sometimes when he had something very important he wanted to say to Jameson, he used Spanish. German for business. English for everything else.

“Estoy trabajando en este momento, esto tiene que esperar,” Jameson whispered, covering the computer mic with his hand. He was working. Sanders had to wait. Once again, Tatum's voice drifted through Sanders' head.

“... Fuck this ...”

“Ahora,” Sanders said loudly. Now. Jameson's glare got worse.

“Me estas avergonzando en mi lugar de trabajo. Salte ya,” he hissed. Oh, so Sanders was embarrassing him; Sanders needed to leave? Somewere, in his mind, Tatum was laughing.

“... you don't get to tell me what to do ...”

Sanders strode around the desk. Jameson burst out loudly in Spanish, telling him to walk away. Sanders ignored him and knelt down, groping under the desk. Jameson wheeled out of the way, looking completely bewildered. Sanders' fingers came across the power strip and he yanked it forward. Pulled every single plug out of the sockets. Jameson jumped out of his chair.

“Dije ahora,” Sanders said in a soft voice as he stood up.

“Que cono te crees que estas haciendo!?” Jameson demanded. Sanders straightened his tie.

“Vulgar words are still vulgar, in any language,” he pointed out.

“I don't give a fuck! Do you have any idea how much money you probably just cost us!?” Jameson shouted.

“You have enough money.”

“What the fuck has gotten into you!? For three weeks, you have been moping around the house, and now -,”

“No more than you.”

Jameson. Looked. Pissed.

“Mi corazon es el mismo que se ha pisado,” he growled. Sanders rolled his eyes.

“The way you behave, sir, most wouldn't know you even had a heart, let alone one to get stepped on. You have moped just as much as I have. We have both missed her. It is time,” Sanders snapped.

“Time for what?” Jameson snapped back.

“Time to go and get her.”

“I am not -,”

“I was not asking, sir.”

Jameson. Looked. Shocked.

“Where on earth did you go for lunch, Sanders?” he asked, almost laughing.

“I met with Mr. Hollingsworth.”

“Mierda.”

“He is ..., concerned. About Tatum,” Sanders started.

“Big fucking shock. Need I remind you, Sanders, that she is not concerned about us. She didn't just leave me,” he pointed out.

“No. But she did invite me to go with her.”

Jameson fell back into his seat.

“I just can't win with her. She wants to get away from me? Maybe I need to get away from her. I used to be a nice, normal, borderline sociopath. I would like to get back to that,” he groaned. Sanders moved to sit in a chair across from the desk.

“No you wouldn't. I have let you get your wind back. Now it is time to go,” Sanders said.

“I don't want to go to goddamn Arizona. I want that bitch to rot in hell, and I want to stay as far away from her as I possibly fucking can,” Jameson swore.

“Do not speak of her like that.”

“I'll speak of her anyway I want to. I'm the one who got treated like shit. I'm the one who got lied to. Walked out on. I can't just forget that, Sanders. Maybe you can, but I can't,” Jameson snapped.

“Stop being overdramatic. You are upset because you care. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can get over your insecurities and go get her,” Sanders snapped back.

“She didn't trust me. After everything, she didn't trust me. Do you know what that fucking feels like!?” Jameson was almost shouting. Sanders nodded.

“Probably awfully similar to how she felt, when you brought Petrushka home to humiliate her,” he replied.

Jameson closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Sanders had hit a chord.

“Say we go there. Say I let you drag me all the way to fucking Arizona. What if she's with him? Did you ever think of that? What if it's too late, and she is already making a happy home with her boyfriend?” Jameson asked. Sanders shrugged.

“Then we will know, and we will leave. But we have to try,” he urged.

“You have to try. I don't have to do sh-,”

“Mr. Hollingsworth thinks she is going to marry him,” Sanders burst out. It was reaching. Most definitely stretching the truth. But Ang had definitely said all those words; just mostly at different times. Jameson's eyebrows shot up.

“Really. After three weeks. Quick operator,” he said in a soft voice. Sanders cleared his throat.

“Someday. He thinks she is convincing herself that Mr. Castille is what she wants in life. I think she wants to feel loved and wanted. Mr. Castille gives her those things,” Sanders explained.

“And I didn't?”

“No.”

“Siempre Tatum. Obligarme a hacer cosas que no quiero hacer,” Jameson mumbled, staring off into space.

“It seems to me, sir, that she never once made you do something that you didn't want to do,” Sanders countered.

“No. No, I suppose not. I'm going to be honest, Sanders. If we go there, and she can't be won over; if I find out that she really never loved me ..., I am not going to handle it too well,” Jameson warned him.

“No, I wouldn't imagine you would. But would you rather continue on, not knowing?” Sanders asked.

“Sometimes, I think I would. I don't like being scared.”

Jameson's voice was soft, almost like he was afraid to say it out loud. Sanders frowned and looked out a window. He didn't like hearing those things. It was one thing for him to assume them about Jameson, it was another for Jameson to admit them. Jameson was a powerful man. Not just in Sanders' mind, but in real life. In the world. A man not to be reckoned with – and Tatum O'Shea had managed to scare him.

“I will be right there with you, sir,” Sanders assured him. Jameson snorted.

“Sometimes I don't know whose side you're on,” he grumbled.

“When are we leaving?” Sanders asked.

“Do you really think she would stay with this man?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really think I have a chance?”

“... um ...,”

“Por que perder el tiempo con usted?” Jameson groaned. Sanders stood up.

“If you are going to complain about me, I prefer it in German. I understand the subtleties better,” he said.

“Du mein Leben zur Holle zu machen, sollte ich dich verlassen habe, wo ich dich gefunden,” Jameson spat out, but he stood up as well.

“A vast majority of the time, I make you're life better, so saying I make it hell is a gross overstatement. And yes, you could have left me on that street – but then you really would be the devil,” Sanders said, heading towards the door. Jameson caught up with him. Wrapped his arm around the smaller man's shoulders.

“Mein Sohn,” Jameson kissed the top of Sanders' head.

“Ja. Jetzt, um unsere Familie zu beheben wollen wir,” Sanders told him. Jameson nodded.

“We can try, Sanders. How often have you known her to be compliant? Hard to fix what she won't admit is broken,” Jameson warned him as they walked out of the room. The secretary glanced at them, then went back to her paperwork.

“We won't know if we don't try.”

“I've been thinking. Instead of flying -,” Jameson started as they got on an elevator.

“Oh, so you have been thinking about this?” Sanders asked, glancing up at him.

“Of course. Constantly. You can't just forget a woman like Tatum O'Shea. Getting her back the last time was a battle. This time, it's going to take a war. We have some ground work to cover, before we reach her. I was thinking,” Jameson began again.

“Now I am afraid.”

“How about we drive?”

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“We take the Bentley, and we drive. It would take us a week, at most.”

“Why do you want to drive?” Sanders asked.

“She doesn't do well with memories. There are a lot of them in the Bentley. I'd bring the goddamn house if I could. The car will have to do,” Jameson explained.

“If we take turns,” Sanders added, “we can get there in about three days.” Jameson laughed.

“Three days. I was hoping for a little more time.”

“It is plenty of time. You will use most of it to think of how you are going to say it.”

“Say what?”

“It.”

“What?”

“Love.”

“You have completely fucking lost me,” Jameson said, staring down at Sanders. “What are you talking about?”

“You will use the time it takes to drive out there to think of how best to tell her that you are in love with her,” he spelled everything out. Jameson lifted his eyebrows.

“You just don't quit today, Sanders. Just because you believe everything is peachy keen, and just because she believes in fairy tales, does not mean I -,” Jameson started to grumble. Sanders held up his hand.

“Then say you don't,” he challenged.

“Huh?”

“You are such a man of honor, you claim. You 'never lie', you say. Then say you don't.”

Jameson pressed his lips together hard for a moment, glaring lightning bolts at Sanders. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked away. Stared at the elevator wall for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat.

“Nunca miento,” he said softly. I never lie.

“That's what I thought.”

“Jesus. Maybe you should be calling me 'mein Sohn',” Jameson grumbled, still not meeting Sanders' eyes.

“I have often had similar thoughts.”

“This is all going to blow up in our faces. You realize that?” Jameson warned him. Sanders nodded.

“Probably. I am prepared to face that. Are you?”

“No. But let's get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid.”

The two men walked out of the building, sucking all the air out with them.

 

*

 

Tate hurried across a street, holding her hand up as a car honked at her. She held her phone to her ear with her other hand, listening to Ang bitch at her. She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I'm sorry, all I'm hearing is whomp wuh whomp,” she laughed at him.

“Seriously, Tate. Two weeks ago you called me, all crying and sobbing, and now this!?” he snapped at her.

“I've gotten over the crying,” she assured him.

“Yeah, but do you still do it?” he asked.

“Only sometimes.”

“Tatum. Why are you doing this?” Ang asked.

“I told you. I just want a normal life,” she said.

“You're using him,” Ang hissed.

“No. He knows how I feel. I told him this is just a trial thing. It's his idea,” Tate pointed out.

Nick had asked her to move in with him. She had resisted for a while. She hadn't had sex with him since that time in her hotel room, two weeks ago, but he had kissed her plenty. He was trying to win her heart. She warned him that there was a strong possibility that it would always belong to Jameson.

 

“Then why don't you go be with him?”

“Because he doesn't have a heart to give back.”

“So if you can't be with the man you want, you're going to settle for a man who wants you?”

“No. I could just be alone. Unfortunately, there is a certain man who won't leave me alone.”

“Sorry. You're addicting. I have high hopes that I can change your mind.”

“I have rational realizations that you most likely won't.”

“When you talk like that, I think it's really him talking.”

“I think so, too.”

 

Conversations like that were what made Tate decide she was going to take Nick up on his offer. She had been living in a hotel room for over a month. Sanders hadn't answered her phone calls for the last two weeks. No word from Jameson, at all. It was really over. She needed somewhere to go, someone to be. Maybe it wouldn't work out with Nick, but he was okay with that, okay with trying. And she had to at least try.

She was staying at a Marriott hotel, near the University of Arizona. There was a huge function being thrown at the hotel that night, a ton of baseball teams were gathering together. Food, champagne, awards of some sort. Seemed a good time to tell him she would move in with him.

“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 Oklahoma,” 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.