~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.

She broke the last necklace. She will not break this one.

 

*

 

Jameson felt better when he got back to his hotel room. He ignored all the rabble downstairs, the crowds of people everywhere. He took a long shower, almost forty-five minutes. Laughed to himself as he stood under the spray. Tatum always made fun of how long he spent in the shower. He had never really thought about it before – he just liked to be warm. That's why he liked his fireplace. That's why he liked her.

He changed into a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair had reached ridiculous lengths, and when it was wet, it curled down his forehead, almost into his eyes. He grabbed a U of A hat that had come with the room, shoved it on his head. Made a drink, stood in front of the windows and looked out over the city. He almost felt at peace. So he was actually waiting for the interruption. It came on cue.

“You have to stop her!” Sanders shouted, bursting through the door. Jameson closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath.

“Life was so much simpler before her,” he sighed. Sanders stomped across the room.

“Excuse me?” he asked. Jameson finally looked at him.

“Nothing. What's wrong now? What do I have to do for her now?” Jameson asked.

“Mr. Hollingsworth called me. He talked to her earlier today,” Sanders said quickly.

“Yes. So did I.”

“You did!?”

“Yes.”

“When? What did she say? Is she here?” Sanders asked, glancing around the hotel room.

Sweet Sanders, always believing in that happily ever after.

“No. I bumped into her on the elevator. We talked. She is not happy. She wants all sorts of fairy tale promises, and she doesn't think I can give them to her,” Jameson explained.

“Can you?”

“I'm not sure. I'm not that kind of man, Sanders. I never asked her to change,” Jameson pointed out.

“No. But you will change, for her.”

“Probably.”

“Well,” Sanders took a deep breath, “you should probably start, right now.”

“Why? Where's the fire?” Jameson asked.

“Downstairs.”

“Excuse me?”

“She is downstairs, with Mr. Castille, at some event,” Sanders clarified. Jameson rolled his eyes.

“I know this, Sanders. I told you, I saw -,”

“He is going to ask her to live with him,” Sanders stressed. Jameson frowned.

“Well, she can't live in a hotel forever, I'm sure there will be time to -,”

“As his girlfriend. And she is going to say yes,” Sanders hissed. Jameson's eyebrows shot up.

“How do you know this? How can you be sure?” he demanded.

“She told Mr. Hollingsworth. Mr. Castille has been asking her for a while. Something happened a couple weeks ago. He has been trying to get her to move in with him ever since,” Sanders said. Jameson glared.

“What happened?” his voice was low and threatening.

“I don't know. Mr. Hollingsworth wouldn't say – just said that when she first got here, there was an understanding between her and Mr. Castille that she was not coming here to be his girlfriend. Something happened two weeks ago to change that,” Sanders told him.

“What are you telling me!? She's already his girlfriend!?” he snapped, disdain dripping from that word that he hated.

“I don't know. I think so,” Sanders said slowly.

“Goddammit!” Jameson yelled, and he stomped across the room. Grabbed a plastic bag that was sitting near the door. “So when the fuck is this momentous fucking occasion happening!?”

“They're in a conference room downstairs. Mr. Hollingsworth said they're going to be talking about it over dinner. Which was served, twenty minutes ago,” Sanders told him. Jameson groaned.

“Goddamn Tatum, always making me do things I don't want to fucking do,” he growled, and hurried out the door.

 

*

 

Tatum stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked good. She had on a heavy red lipstick. Light eyeliner. Her hair was down, but in soft waves. It had grown pretty long – she wondered if the sun had positive effects on it. It curled down almost past her breasts. When she swished it over her shoulder, she could feel it against her bare back.

She was wearing the dress Jameson had bought for her, the one she had worn to her parents' house. It was the only nice one she had brought with her to Arizona. It felt strange wearing it again.

It felt even stranger knowing Jameson was upstairs. He had been so different. Staring at her, so calm. Not angry. Not demanding. Almost laughing. Flirting. He hadn't run away. He hadn't dragged her down to hell. He had wanted to ..., just talk.

She couldn't handle it. She felt like she was going to throw up. When Nick had met her at her hotel room, he had kissed her thoroughly, and that made her feel like she was going to throw up, too. She had hurried out of the hotel room ahead of him, laughing nervously. He thought he made her giddy. He had no idea it was Jameson making her giddy.

She'd made it through the meet and greet. Managed to laugh. What had Jameson said once? She could be cordial. She could be fucking polite. She had been raised in polite society, after all; she was good at faking it.

As Nick could tell anyo-, SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!

When dinner was served, though, she didn't have the protection of the crowd. Of other people. Nick sat close to her, rested his hand on her thigh as food was brought out. As they tucked into their dinners, he started bringing up how glad he was that she was there. How happy she made him. How much easier it would be if ...,

She had jumped out of her seat. Practically out of her skin. This was the moment Tate had been waiting for, for him to ask her to move in with him. But now that it was there, she couldn't handle it. She laughed and asked where the bathroom was, and one of the players' wives pointed her in the right direction. She then spent ten minutes on a toilet seat, her head between her knees. When she felt like she wasn't going to pass out, she finally made her way to the sinks. Patted her cheeks with cold water.

What the fuck is wrong with you? You leave a path of destruction. Not Jameson. You. You are the devil.

She took a deep breath. If she could just get through dinner. Get through the next couple hours. Jameson would fade away, when he saw that she was serious about her wants and demands. He would never give them to her, she just had to be strong.

Even if that meant doing something she really didn't want to do.

She took another deep breath, then squared her shoulders. Looked herself over, and didn't find herself wanting for anything. She walked out of the bathroom. She was holding herself so stiffly, she had a very distinct impression of how Sanders probably felt when he walked around. Roughly like she had a stick shoved up her ass. She tried to ignore everyone, the hum of the people in the hall, the din in the lobby, the sound of someone calling her name.

Huh?

Tate turned around and was shocked to see Jameson practically barreling through people. He was hurrying away from the bank of elevators, shouting her name. She was stunned into a standstill. He finally caught up to her, grabbed her by the shoulders.

“What are you doing? Are you drunk!?” she exclaimed, her eyes sweeping over him.

Her mind was blown. He was wearing a baseball hat. A hat. Crazier than him wearing sandals in Marbella. Was he trying to be incognito? She almost hadn't recognized him. He was wearing a plain grey t-shirt and jeans, and no shoes. A plastic grocery bag swung from his wrist.

He's gone crazy.

“No. What the fuck do you think you're doing!?” he demanded. It was weird, instead of hiding his eyes, the bill of the hat almost amplified them. Like a telescope, focusing all of her vision onto his blue, blue eyes.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You can't be with him, Tate. You're a part of me, you belong with me,” Jameson all but shouted. She was stunned.

“What has gotten into you?” she hissed, shrugging out of his hold. She grabbed his bicep and yanked him out of the flow of people, to the inside of a hall.

“You. Don't do this. Don't go be with somebody, some guy, just to not be with me,” he growled. She rolled her eyes.

“He's not some guy, and he likes me, Jameson! Really likes me!” she snapped at him.

“I really like you! Why aren't I good enough?” he asked. She groaned.

“You don't like me, Jameson. You like having someone around that you can feel superior to,” she told him.

“No. Since Spain, I have never made you feel that way – if that's how you felt, then it's something you did. Stop blaming all your shit on other people!” he yelled.

“I don't have to listen to -,”

“Yes, you do. I want to be with you. I want you to be with me. What else do you want!? Do you want me to beg? Is that the fucking problem?” he pressed.

“Oh, yes, I would love that. Jameson Kane, begging -,”

“Please. Please, don't do this,” he whispered, grabbing her arms and yanking her close. “Please. I'm begging you. Don't do this.”

The shocking just did not stop.

“Jameson, stop, you're making a scene,” she hissed at him. He shook his head.

“Do you think I give a fuck? Goddammit, Tatum, just listen to me, for once. You're willing to try out all this happy-home bullshit with him? Well, let me try it out with you,” he urged.

“You don't mean these things,” she breathed, shaking her head.

“Please. You haven't given me my chance, and I was here first. You want all these things, let me try to give them to you. You said you wanted a prince – I'm as close as you can get,” he told her.

“I said I wanted Prince Charming; you're the Prince of Darkness.”

“Still a prince, baby girl.”

Too much. This man is so much.

“Jameson ...,” she breathed, closing her eyes.

“Here. I bought you something. Today,” he was suddenly saying, letting her go. She opened her eyes to see him digging something out of the plastic bag. He pulled out a large, square, velvet box. She glared.

“Is this a joke?” she demanded, yanking it out of his hands as he held it out to her.

“No. Just open it. You'll -,” he started. She smacked him in the arm with the box.

“You just don't fucking get it! For such a smart fucking person, you don't fucking get anything! You can't buy me!” she shrieked the last part, hitting him over and over with the box. He grabbed her wrist and the box fell out of her grasp, clattering to the ground at her feet.

“I'm not trying to buy you, you stupid bitch! Just fucking open it!” he yelled back. People were starting to stop and stare at them.

“Go fuck yourself. This is why I didn't want you here, why I don't want to see you. You ruin everything,” she growled at him. He glared back at her.

“You know what? Fine. Fine. I can't make you be with me, you're right. You wanna be fucking stupid, then go be fucking stupid. But don't be with him. Don't go be with him, just to not be with me. That's stupid. I can bear the thought of you being out there alone, without me. What I can't bear is the thought of you being out there with the wrong man.”

Tate didn't know what to say to that – Jameson, willing to let her go. Jameson, simply begging her to not be with the wrong person. She was at a loss. It didn't matter anyway. She still hadn't found her voice when she felt an arm slide around her waist.

“Are you okay? Excuse me, mister, you can't just -, oh.”

Nick and Jameson stared at each other. She felt like she was going to melt into the floor. The two had never met. She had never wanted them to meet. They were from different spectrum’s of her life. Jameson was the dark. Nick was the light. The two weren't ever meant to meet.

“Tatum,” Jameson's voice was full of warning, but he kept his eyes on Nick.

“I didn't realize you were here,” Nick started, glancing at Tate briefly before going back to Jameson. “I'm Nick Castille.” He held out his hand. Jameson did not shake it.

“I know who you are. The question is, do you know who I am?” Jameson asked, his voice full of steel. Nick nodded.

“I am very aware of who you are. Is he bothering you?” Nick asked her, his arm getting tighter around her waist. She pulled away from him, moving to the side of them both.

“No, just give us a minute, he was about to leave,” she said quickly. Jameson snorted.

“I'm not fucking going anywhere,” he replied.

“She asked you to leave. You need to leave,” Nick stressed. Jameson moved his stare to Tate.

“Unfinished business, Tatum,” he told her in a soft voice. She shivered.

“Not anymore, Kane,” she whispered. Nick glanced between them and stepped forward.

“Alright, enough. You're obviously upsetting her. Time to go,” He told him. Jameson barked out a laugh and stood to his full height, a good two inches over Nick.

“I'm not going anywhere. Didn't she tell you? The whole point of my existence is just to upset her,” Jameson informed him. Tate actually laughed at that one. Nick just got angry.

He never did quite get my sense of humor.

“That's it. You need to leave, or I'll get security to kick you out of the hotel,” Nick warned him. Jameson laughed again.

“Try it. I'll buy this hotel, then redecorate the interior with your small intestines,” Jameson threatened.

“Stop it,” Tate finally piped up.

“Wanna say that again? I didn't quite hear you,” Nick growled, stepping closer to him.

“I don't repeat myself to people like you,” Jameson growled right back.

“Probably because people like me are too far above you.”

“Yet not far enough above me that I couldn't make you regret ever touching her.”

“Stop it!” Tate shouted, pushing her way between them. She put a hand on each chest and shoved. Nick took a step back. Jameson didn't move a muscle.

“Tate,” Nick said, his tone no-nonsense. She glanced at him.

“Give us a minute,” she urged. Nick's eyebrows almost went into his hairline.

“Are you kidding me? After everything he's done!? Tate, don't let this guy ruin what we -,” Nick started to argue, when Jameson stepped foward, pushing into Tate so see she was trapped between the two of them.

“Stop!” she hissed, trying to push them away from each other again.

“'This guy' was here long before you ever were, and he'll be here long after you're gone,” Jameson warned him. Nick glared and stepped forward as well. Tate was officially squished, her shoulders pressing against a chest on either side of her.

“Yeah, well, I'm the guy who's with her right now, not you,” Nick snarled. Jameson laughed demonically.

“You so sure about that?” he challenged.

“I was sure last night.”

It happened so fast, Tate didn't even see it coming. For a big guy, Jameson was pretty quick. He gave a sharp jab with his right arm, slamming his fist into Nick's nose. Tate shrieked as Nick stumbled backwards into a wall. She turned and hurried to his side.

“I didn't even see you yesterday! Why would you say that!?” she demanded, grabbing his head and forcing him to look up. Blood was coming out of both nostrils, and from his teeth, but nothing looked broken. He managed a chuckle.

“I wanted to piss him off,” he sighed.

“Mission fucking accomplished,” Jameson swore behind them. Tate glared over her shoulder at him.

“Just go away. You've already ruined my evening – did you have to ruin his!?” she snapped.

“Yes. I came down here to say something, and I'm not fucking leaving till I say it,” Jameson snapped back.

“Well I don't wanna fucking hear it. I've heard enough, so just go fuck yourself,” she said through clenched teeth. He smiled.

“I believe that's your job.”

Nick lurched off the wall, almost knocking her down. She pressed her hands against his front, trying to stop him, but he surged forward. She yelped, lost her footing, and had to wrap her arms around his chest to hold herself upright.

He thinks that's an insult? That's everyday-polite-conversation for Jameson Kane.

“Talk to her like that again, and we'll see who -,” Nick started to shout.

“Shut up!” Tate finally shrieked. Everyone paused. She pushed herself upright and stared at Nick. “Stop trying to defend my honor – there isn't much there to defend. He's not going anywhere, so let's just go back inside.” She heard footsteps and then Jameson was right behind her. She didn't look, but held out an arm, putting her hand on his chest again to force him to keep his distance.

“Tatum,” Jameson's voice was right near her head. Almost pleading sounding. “Hear me. Just this once. Do what you want, not what you think is going to piss me off.” She turned her head back to face him.

“You need to go,” she urged.

He stared at her for a long moment. One of his hands went to his chest and covered her own. His palm was warm. Almost hot. He clenched his fingers around hers, and it was like he was transmitting images and memories straight to her brain. The places his hands had been, the places they had taken her to, if she would just remember. Just listen to him.

“Aright. Alright, baby girl, I'll go. If that's what you want. That's all I came here to do, all I ever wanted to do for you; just give you whatever you want,” he said in a soft voice.

Tate swallowed thickly, but before she could even think about what he had said, he was walking away. Striding towards the elevators, barefoot and in a ball cap. Looking as unlike Jameson Kane as he ever could, as she would probably ever see.

Too much.

“Tatum, are you okay? I'm sorry, about all that, what I said. I didn't know he was here, I was caught off guard,” Nick said from behind her, his hand cupping her elbow. She nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think he got here today,” she said softly.

“You knew?”

“I bumped into him earlier. Just for a couple minutes.”

“Why didn't you say something?” he asked. She shrugged.

“I didn't think it mattered,” she whispered, still staring after him.

Nick pulled her into a hug. She leaned into him, trying to hear his heart beat. Trying to let it ground her. Tried to concentrate on his arms around her. But all she heard was words. So many words, running around her head.

“... You're part of me, you belong with me ... I want to be with you. I want you to be with me ... I can bear the thought of you being out there alone, without me. What I can't bear is the thought of you being out there with the wrong man ...”

“Do you want to leave?” Nick asked. She shook her head and pulled away.

“No, I'm fine. Let's just go sit down,” she told him, and started walking back towards the conference room.

“Wait. What is this?” Nick asked. She turned back to see him scooping up the velvet jewelry box from the ground.

“Nothing. Just ..., nothing. Here, it's mine,” she said, taking it from him.

She sat at the table and fidgeted. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She felt like was going to puke. She smiled and laughed at all the appropriate times, but she wasn't listening. She was thinking about blue eyes and strong fingers.

Wrong. He's wrong for you. He's never understood what you want, what you really want.

By the time dessert was brought out, she felt like she was calming down. She was laughing at something an outfielder's wife was saying. Nick had even lightened up a little. He had cleaned himself and his nose had stopped bleeding, which was a plus. Now his hand was back on her knee. She ignored the way her skin felt so ..., normal, under his touch.

“Doing okay?” he asked, leaning close to her ear. She nodded.

“Yeah. Just tired,” she replied. He smiled at her.

“Why don't we go upstairs, and I can -,” he started, when he was interrupted by one of the coaches. Tate let out sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was “go upstairs” with Nick.

While he chattered away to the coach, her eyes fell on the black velvet box. She glared at it. Stupid Jameson. Stupid fucking pearls. Fitting though, pearls the first time they came together. Pearls the last time they parted. She wondered how much they cost, wondered if she could leave them at the front desk for him to pick up. Wondered if she could strangle him with them. She drummed her fingers against the box.

“Awww, did Nicky get that for you?” the same wife from earlier drawled in a thick Southern accent. Tate smiled.

“Oh no, it's from ..., an admirer,” Tate joked.

“Ooohhh, may I ask what it is?” the lady continued. Tate shrugged.

“I'm not really sure, I haven't opened it.”

“Well, honey, what are you waiting for!? That's a big box! Open it!” the woman insisted. Tate sighed and dragged the box forward. Braced herself to see what her price was this time around. $50,000, $60,000, hell, maybe he'd gone all out - $75,000. She flipped open the lid.

She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. She couldn't believe it. Couldn't fucking believe it. Tears filled her eyes, and she managed a laugh. She was vaguely aware of the woman asking her what was wrong, asking what was in the box, but she ignored her. A long ago conversation floated into her mind.

 

“It's knowing the worth of what you have. Fake pearls are just as good as real pearls, if they're given with good intentions and love. If Ang gave me the gaudiest, ugliest, tackiest, strand of fake pearls ever, I would love them more than any set of real pearls my parents ever gave me. Ang loves me.”

“If Ang gave you pearls, huh. And what if I gave you pearls? What would they mean to you?”

“You don't love me, so to be impressed, that price tag better be huge.”

 

Sitting inside the fancy velvet box, a box that had a Cartier logo on the inside of it, was the guadiest, ugliest, tackiest strand of fake pearls, ever. Fake was too generous a word. The necklace was basically costume jewelry. It was like he had walked into one of those Claire's boutiques, then looked through the clearance bin for the cheapest piece of shit necklace he could possibly find. It even had the price tag still stuck to it. The actual cost had been crossed out with a black marker, but it had been marked down and the original price was still visible.

$4.99.

She could not stop laughing.

Oh, Satan. Got me again.

“What's so funny?” Nick suddenly asked.

“He ..., it's ..., I can't,” she laughed. He glanced into the box.

“Jameson Kane got you that?” he asked, surprise obvious in his voice. She nodded.

“You see, we ..., it's a long story,” she sighed, sitting the box on the table, leaving it open.

“So strange. Look, what I was saying was, maybe we could go upstairs, and continue our discussion,” Nick said, leaning his elbow on her chair.

“Hmmm?” she asked absent-mindedly, staring at the pearls.

You thought he was trying to buy you. He asked you to listen. Are you listening now?

“You know, what we've been talking about,” Nick pressed, trailing his fingertip in a circle on her arm.

“What?” she asked, not able to tear her eyes away from the box.

He's hearing you. Really hearing you. He didn't run away. You ran away. Hear him.

“What we've been talking about. You, me,” Nick lead her along.

“I don't ..., know what ...,” she couldn't form coherent thoughts. Jameson was in her head, taking up all the space, forcing everything out.

“... you're willing to try it all out with him? Let me try it out with you ...”

“You and me, moving in together,” Nick finally spelled it out. She lifted her eyes to his. Really looked at him.

“... That's all I came here to do ... to give you whatever you want ...”

All I ever wanted was for him to love me.

Hear him.

“I'm sorry,” Tate breathed.

Nick blinked in surprise, clearly confused for a moment. Then he looked at the box. Back at her. Then the box. Realization dawned across his face and his smile fell away. His eyes found hers, and she started to cry again.

“I see,” he whispered back.

“I'm so sorry,” Tate babbled. “I'm so, so sorry. I tried. I really tried. You are one of the best people I've ever known. You're smart and funny and sexy, and everything. You're everything. I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm just this horrible, demon, person, thing -,”

“Hey, hey, it's okay. Stop,” Nick urged, cupping her face in his hands.

“No, it's not okay. This is what I was so scared of, I didn't want to use you. I didn't want to hurt you,” she cried. The people around them were starting to look uncomfortable, but she didn't care.

“I'm okay. I mean, I'm not gonna lie, it kinda hurts to come in second,” he managed a laugh, and her heart broke a little for the beautiful, amazing man in front of her. “But somehow, I don't think I was ever really in the running.”

“I tried,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back.

“Please, don't hate me. I can't stand the thought of you hating me,” she begged, and he outright laughed.

“Tatum O'Shea, I could never hate you. I just hope that while you're jet setting, or vacationing in Monaco, or lounging in the Hamptons, that sometimes you'll think of me,” he told her.

“Nick, I could never forget you,” she laughed as well.

“You sure about that? I'm not a mutli-millionaire, or an aspiring porn star,” he teased.

“No. You're better.”

“Don't you forget it. Now, get out of here. You're cramping my style. I was very set on not going home alone tonight, and the girl I had my eye on is taken,” he told her, playfully shoving her head away. She laughed.

“The girl you had your eye on is stupid,” she sniffled, wiping at her nose with a napkin.

“Sometimes. But sometimes, she's pretty great.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, just softly, on the lips. She felt his hand on the back of her neck, for the briefest moment, then he pulled away. He smiled at her, wiped at the edge of her bottom lip with his thumb, then nodded. He grabbed her jewelry box, snapping it closed before handing it over.

“Alright. Make sure he works for it – that guy's an asshole,” he warned her. She stood up and nodded, wiping at her eyes.

“I know. Haven't you learned yet? That's exactly my type,” she joked.

“Jesus, I really never stood a chance.”

“Is it okay if I call you?” she asked.

“You had better. Now go.”

She walked out of the conference room. Dashed across the lobby. Ran up to the elevators. She hopped from foot to foot, struggling to take off her heels. The elevator doors finally opened and she hopped inside, managing to get one shoe off. A little girl, clearly straight from the pool, walked onto the elevator as well, hugging a huge towel around her body. The doors slid shut and Tate hit the button for the second to highest floor.

“Hey,” Tate asked, bending down to take off her other shoe. “Do you have a hair tie I could borrow?”

“What?” the girl asked.

“A hair tie. I'll give you my shoes,” Tate laughed. The little girl pulled an elastic band off her wrist and handed it over.

“They won't fit me. Don't you need your shoes?” the girl asked, eyeballing Tate like she was insane.

“No, not where I'm going,” Tate replied, yanking her hair up into a high, messy ponytail.

“Where are you going?”

“To chase down a guy.”

“Your boyfriend?”

Tate laughed.

“No, not my boyfriend,” she replied.

“Then why are you chasing him?” the girl asked. Tate looked at her reflection in the shiny walls, straightened out her dress.

“Because I think I want him to be my boyfriend,” she said. The girl scrunched up her nose.

“Oh. I thought boys asked girls out,” she said in a matter-o-fact voice. Tate snorted and lowered herself so she was eye to eye with the girl.

“No way, girls can do anything boys can do, including ask people out. You know what I say? If you really like somebody, just go for it,” Tate explained. The girl smiled.

“I think you'll get him,” she assured her. Tate stood up.

“You think so?” she asked, holding out her arms like she was under inspection.

“Yes. You look really pretty,” she told her. Tate nodded.

“Good. He likes pretty,” Tate said, turning to stare at the floor numbers.

“Is he cute?” the girl asked. Tate glanced down at her.

“The truth? He is the cutest boy I have ever met, in my entire life,” she told the girl.

“Wow. Cuter than Justin Bieber?”

“Yes. Cuter than Justin Bieber.”

“Wow.”

The elevator stopped and the doors dinged open. Tate squealed and kicked her shoes out onto the floor in front of her. She glanced up and down the hall, then turned back to the elevator. The little girl was giving her the thumbs up. Tate gave it back.

“Wish me luck!” she said. The girl laughed.

“Good luck!”

And then the elevator doors slid shut.

Tate realized in her romance-movie-style rush to see Jameson, she had forgotten that she didn't have a fucking clue what room he was in, let alone what floor. He was staying in a suite, that was for sure. The suites were on the top floors. She dug her fingers underneath the side of her dress, at the side of her waist. She made contact with something hard and she pinched it between her fingers, yanking her cell phone out. She called the front desk.

“Hi!” she shouted when someone picked up. “Hi, yeah, sorry, I need to speak with a guest.”

“Alright, who are you looking for?” a sweet sounding woman asked.

“I need Jameson Kane's room,” she told her.

“Please hold.”

The phone rang and rang and rang. Tate let out a frustrated yell and kicked a wall, then promptly regretted it, as she was painfully reminded that she wasn't wearing shoes. She hopped around on one foot and the line finally picked up.

“I'm sorry, ma'am, the guest you are trying to reach is not available. Would you like to leave a voicemail?”

“No. No, uh, what is his room number?” Tate asked, pacing up and down the hall.

“I'm sorry, but I am not allowed to give out that information.”

“Uuuggg, c'mon! I already know he's staying here! Just tell me the room!” Tate demanded.

“Mr. Kane is a preferential guest. I cannot give out that information. Thank you for calling, good night.”

And the line was dead.

Tate let out a shriek. What was she supposed to do now!? In a fit of passion, right after she had gotten to Arizona, she had deleted Jameson's cell phone number. She didn't have it memorized – who did that anymore!? And she didn't want to call Sanders to ask for it, in case he was with Jameson. Talk about a mood killer.

She marched to one end of the hall and began knocking on the door. No one answered. She began banging. She realized she was acting crazy, but she was long past the point of caring. She'd moved on into acceptance. Jameson Kane made her crazy. She should probably start getting used it.

When no one answered at the third door, she began yelling. Calling out for both Sanders and Jameson, hoping that they were behind one of the doors, and just not answering because they thought it was housekeeping or something. At the fourth door, she got a disgruntled elderly man. At the fifth door, she got a teenage boy who invited her inside. The eighth had a half dressed baseball player, telling her to shut the fuck up. She told him he could suck her dick. That shut him up.

She was prancing around from foot to foot in front of the elevator, waiting for it to open so it could take her to the top floor. She felt like she had taken speed. And coke. Or crack. Some lethal combination of all three. She couldn't stop moving, she had so much adrenaline pumping. She hopped around, hugging the jewelry box to her chest. Finally, the elevator opened up.

But it wasn't empty.

“What the fuck are you doing!? We can hear you all the way upstairs!” Jameson snapped. She glared at him.

“Then what the fuck took you so long to come down here!?” she snapped back.

“Are you fucking serious right now!?” he exclaimed.

“Are you fucking serious!?”

“You're fucking crazy, you know that, right!? Goddamn psychotic!” he yelled at her. The elevator started to close and he slammed his palm against a door, causing it to open again.

“Oh yeah!?” she yelled back. “Well if I'm fucking psychotic, it's because you made me this way!”

“Tatum!” he snapped her name through clenched teeth.

“What!?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She fell on him, throwing her arms around his neck. He moved backwards with her weight, and they fell against the back wall of the elevator. The jewelry box fell between them, smacking her on the foot as it hit the floor. The elevator doors slid shut behind them.

“Sorry, sorry,” she breathed, resting against him at an awkward angle. He yanked her upright, standing her on her feet. She pushed away from his chest, straightening out her dress.

“Where the fuck are your shoes?” he asked, staring down at her feet. She stared down, too, taking in both their barefeet. She smiled. Just like that first time, in his house.

“In the hall,” she replied. “Where's your hat?”

“In my hotel room. Tatum. What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.

“I opened your present,” she told him. He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh really. How – what did you say? - magnanimous of you,” he said snidely. She snorted.

“I know, right? What a fuckin' ugly necklace, Kane. I came up here to give it back. Can you hit the floor for the lobby? I'm in the middle of a party,” she told him.

“Noooo, I think you're done with your party,” he replied.

“Oh really? What makes you think that?” she asked.

“That look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“That look that says you really want to be fucked,” he told her. She laughed.

“And you think you can do something about that?” she asked. He nodded and leaned around her, but he didn't hit the lobby button. He hit the button for his floor.

“I think I'm the only one who can do someting about it,” he replied.

“I don't know how my date would feel about that,” she wondered out loud.

“I don't give a fuck.”

She grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him forward. They stumbled backwards, her back ramming into the elevator doors. She moaned against his lips, their tongues swirling around each other. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her against him, and then he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe.

“Don't leave me again,” he whispered, tracing his tongue along her bottom lip. She shook her head.

“I won't. I promise,” she whispered back, combing her fingers through his thick hair.

“Your promises haven't worked out so well for me,” he growled, his mouth against her neck.

“We'll have to work on that,” she replied.

“I thought I had lost you.”

“Me, too.”

“You never listen to me.”

“I'm trying. I heard you down there. It just took me a while.”

“I swear to Christ,” he growled, his lips moving across her face. “If you come back only to run away again ..., I won't do this forever, Tate.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Yes. Are you fucking around? Am I gonna wake up tomorrow and you'll have run away again? Am I gonna have to chase you to New Jersey? South Dakota? Maybe give me a heads up so I can know what to pack.”

“You're such a dick.”

“At least I'm consistent.”

She sighed. She had missed him, so much.

“I'm so sorry I left you.”

“I'm going to make-,”

She hadn't even realized the elevator had come to a stop, but suddenly the doors were sliding open. She shrieked and fell backwards. Jameson stumbled with her. He managed to keep her upright, but they tripped across the hall, slamming into the far wall, all his weight ramming into her. She grunted and then his mouth was on hers again.

He grabbed her ass hard, yanking her up against him. Her dress was too tight for her to lift her legs, and he carried her like that down the hall. She raked her fingers across his shoulders and he let go of her, her body sliding down the length of his. When her feet touched the floor, he shoved her against a wall.

“Off, you need to get this off,” he breathed, yanking her slim belt apart.

“Yes,” she agreed, her fingers joining his as she whipped the belt away from her body.

“All of it,” he insisted, his fingers going to the zipper that ran down the seam over her butt.

She slid to the side, pulling him with her, until she landed against a door. She braced her hands against the frame while he worked the zipper all the way down. Then his hands slid heavily up her body, over her breasts, to her shoulders. He pulled at the material there, yanked her arms free. The moment the top of the dress slid away from her breasts, he pressed himself against her, covering her up with his body.

“We either do this in the hall, or we go inside,” she whispered to him.

“Okay,” he replied, and his hands flew to his own belt.

“Jameson.”

He stepped away from her and she almost fell forward. He grabbed her upper arm and dragged her down the hall. She held the front of her dress to her chest, trailing behind him. He stopped in front of the last door, fought with the key card, finally got it in, and kicked open the door. Sanders leapt up from a couch.

“Oh, good, I'm so glad you -,” Sanders started to gush.

“Out. Now,” Jameson barked, yanking Tate up against his chest.

Sanders hurried out of the suite, closing the door behind him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she rushed out, pressing against Jameson's chest. He shook his head, pulling her dress away from her hands.

“I've waited long enough,” he said, one of his hands covering her breast and squeezing. She shook her head.

“I have to tell you something,” she whispered, covering his hand with her own. His lips worked their way down her shoulder.

“I don't care.”

“I think you will.”

“I don't want to hear.”

“I want you to.”

“Stop.”

“I had sex with him.”

Bomb. Dropped. Time stood still. He stopped moving. She stopped breathing. His hand slid away from her skin, and any breath she had, flew out of her body. He stood back from her and she grabbed at the material of her dress, pressed it to her bare chest. He rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“I told you I didn't want to hear,” he sighed. She nodded and sat on a couch, pressing her hands flat against her chest.

“I know. I just couldn't ..., not without saying anything. Later would have been so much worse,” she whispered. He nodded.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Do you hate me?” she asked, looking up at him. He chuckled and squatted down low, putting his head in his hands.

“I have tried very hard to hate you, Tatum. At various times, throughout a large chunk of my life, I have tried to hate you. I haven't been very good at it,” he told her. She sniffled.

“I was so angry at you,” she said. “I wanted to get over you. The Pet thing, and then Ellie ..., I just ..., he was there. I told him that I didn't want to be with him, that it probably wouldn't mean anything.”

“And what? He wanted his shot?”

Well, it sounds dirty, when you say it like that, Mr. Kane.

“I wanted to forget you. Get over you. He offered to help.”

“Did it work?” Jameson asked, lifting his eyes to hers.

“What?”

“Did he make you forget?” Jameson asked. She chuckled.

“Jameson. No one will ever be able to make me forget you.”

He stood back up and stalked towards her. Grabbed her wrists and pulled her up. He kept staring at her, didn't look away as he worked the dress over her hips and pushed it to the floor. When it pooled at her feet, he pulled her forward, away from it.

“I remember buying you that dress,” he said, pulling her against him. “I remember the first time you wore it. I remember you coming into my room after taking it off, only wearing your underwear and those shoes.”

“Happy times,” she laughed. His arms wrapped around her.

“Hmmm. Was he any good?” he asked, pressing his hands flat against her shoulder blades. She swallowed thickly, staring at him.

“Good enough.”

His hands slid down her back. Worked their way inside the sides of her underwear. Kept moving, pulling her panties down over her hips. Past her thighs. He let them go, and they fell to her feet. She was completely naked, pressed against his completely clothed form.

“Did you follow the rules?” he asked, and it took her a second to figure out what he was actually saying.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I thought of you the whole time.”

“Does he know this?”

“I didn't say it. But I think he did.”

“Pussy.”

“Stop it.”

“How many times?” Jameson asked, his hands moving back to her butt. He picked her up, forced her legs around his waist.

“Just one night. I couldn't do it again,” she assured him. He carried her to the couch, and then he sat down with her straddling him.

“You have been very naughty, Ms. O'Shea,” he sighed. She nodded, rubbing her hands down his chest.

“I know,” she agreed.

“And trying to corrupt Sanders? That was especially low,” he added, his voice evil sounding. She winced.

“Would you rather him be with a stranger? At least you know I would take care of him. I would treat him right,” she pointed out. His fingers dug into her waist and she winced again.

“Tatum. I am giving you a lot of get out of jail free cards. If you ever touch Sanders – inappropriately – ever again, I will kill him and maim you,” he warned her. She chuckled.

“You want to keep him in a box forever. You need to stop treating him like some thirteen year old street urchin. He's a man,” she whispered, undoing his belt buckle.

“You need to stop noticing that he's a man,” Jameson growled, leaning back from her as she undid his pants.

“And you may hate Nick, but you should know that he knows I'm up here, right now. He knows, and wished me luck. That man downstairs is better than you or I will ever be,” she told him. He snorted and worked his jeans down his hips from underneath her.

“We'll reassess that in about fifteen minutes,” he told her.

“Fifteen minutes? You've gotten soft in the last month.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Tate.”

His hands were on her hips, guiding her down on him. She moaned and shuddered, scratching at his t-shirt. She was completely naked, and he was still almost completely dressed. It was a bizarre, different sensation. She worked her hips against his, gasping.

“I don't want that life with him,” she suddenly moaned.

“I know.”

“But I don't want what we had,” she pressed her forehead to his. One of his arms wrapped around her waist.

“I know, Tatum.”

“I want you.”

“Yes.”

“I want to be with you.”

“You're with me.”

“Only me.”

“Only you.”

She gasped, all of her muscles contracting. His arm got tight around her, holding her down to his thrusts. She let her head drop back, abandoning herself to him. Not that she'd ever had a choice.

“I just want to be like this, all the time,” she sighed, dropping her head to his shoulder.

“You can be.”

“I lied to you. I lied so much to you,” she gasped for air. He groaned and she felt his fingers in her hair, pressed against the back of her head.

“I know,” he replied, his voice straining.

“It was all a lie,” she whispered, her whole body starting to shake. “Every word I said. I loved you. I didn't love him. I've never loved anyone else, ever.”

“I know.”

If you always know everything before me, why don't you clue me in and save us some time?

She came hard, shuddering and shaking on top of him. He stopped moving, just held her close against him. His touch was gentle. If he had been rough, it would have been too much, too soon. He always knew exactly what she needed. She pressed her face into his shoulder. Sucked in air. Cried a little.

“Are you alright?” he breathed. She nodded.

“Yes. For the first time, in a long time, I think I am,” she managed with a laugh.

“See? A good fuck always makes you feel better. Remember that, next time you get upset,” he told her, and she laughed harder.

“Maybe you should just remind me.”

“Is it my turn now?” he asked. She lifted her head and looked down at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked. He lifted his hands to her face and ran his thumbs underneath her eyes, wiping away tears and mascara.

“I mean, that one was for you, baby girl. To reassure you, I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you do. You're feeling upset. You feel bad. That one was to make you feel better,” he told her. She smiled.

“Very generous, sir.”

“I know. Now, I think it's my turn.”

“And what exactly are you feeling?”

“Angry.”

“Ooohhh, and what would you like to do about that?”

“Anything I want.”

“Sounds fun.”

“You up for that?”

“Always.”

The hand in her hair clenched and yanked, forcing her head back. She gasped, and then moaned when she felt his teeth on her nipple. The arm around her waist held her tight against him and he stood up. She wrapped herself around him, digging her fingernails into his shirt. He let his pants fall to the floor and stepped out of them as he walked across the room, carrying her into the bedroom.

“I'm gonna treat you so bad,” he warned her.

“Exciting.”

“I'm gonna fuck you so hard,” he added.

“Even better.”

“You are never going to want to fuck anybody else, ever again,” he continued, dropping her on the bed and then yanking his t-shirt off.

“Too late for that.” She scrambled onto her knees.

“You are never going to want to leave me, ever again,” he finished, his hand gripping her high on her throat, fingers and thumb pressing underneath her jaw. She managed to nod.

“Never again.”

“Now, you are going to shut the fuck up, and you are going to show me just how much you love me,” he informed her. She smiled.

“That could take a long time,” she warned him.

“Good thing we've got all the time in the world.”

Oh, Satan, still so clever.