~3~

Before Jameson even left the hospital, he'd had a plan. She had said she wanted him to go away. To leave. To be gone.

But she never once said anything about not seeing him again. He considered that a loophole.

Sanders was waiting outside, as Jameson had expected. He would have known that it wouldn't end well. Jameson strode past him, heading straight for the parking lot. Sanders followed behind.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Jameson nodded.

“Of course. She asked me to leave. I left,” he replied.

“That's it?”

“There were a few more curse words, some screaming, but yes, that's pretty much it.”

“And you're just going to go?”

“What other choice do I have?” Jameson asked, glancing down at the other man.

“You could fight for her,” Sanders pointed out. Jameson laughed.

“Let's not get radical. Besides, you and I both know that wouldn't work. She wants me gone, so I'm going to go. I'm going to head back to Europe,” he said. Sanders narrowed his eyes.

“With her?” he practically hissed. Jameson shook his head.

“No, Pet's already gone, I kicked her out that night. I'm not going to Berlin. I was thinking Spain. We haven't done Spain in a long time. Sunshine is good for the soul,” Jameson explained.

“I am not going to Spain with you,” Sanders said quickly. Jameson laughed.

“Of course not. I need you here,” he replied.

“I won't work for you.”

“I'm not hiring you. But I will need you to do me some favors,” he told him. Sanders stopped walking.

“Last time you asked me to do something for you, someone very close to us almost died,” he reminded him. Jameson's smile vanished and he turned to face him.

“I am very aware of what I have done, I don't need you reminding me. Listen. I am going to Spain. I am going to be gone for a while. But when I call – and I will call – you have to promise me that you will do everything in your power to fulfill my wishes,” Jameson said. Sanders shook his head.

“No, I won't risk her -,” he started to argue, when Jameson held up his hand.

“Just trust me, Sanders. Surely one mistake won't erase a lifetime of you trusting me,” Jameson snapped.

“Seven years is hardly a lifetime.”

Jameson felt as if he had been slapped. He stepped up close to Sanders. So close, he had to tilt his head straight down to look at him.

“There is nothing in this world you could do that would make me stop trusting you. After everything we've been through, I thought the feeling was mutual,” Jameson growled.

Sanders stared at him for a moment and then sighed, his eyes sliding to the ground. Jameson let out a breath he had been holding and stepped away. That had actually made him nervous for a moment.

“I can only promise to do what you want if I deem it appropriate,” Sanders amended the promise. Jameson nodded.

“I can live with that,” he agreed. He started to walk away, then turned around. “Oh! I need one more favor.”

“Oh god. What is it?”

“I was wondering if you could call ahead and see to having the boat put in the water and prepped to sail,” Jameson told him. Sanders' eyebrows shot up.

“The boat, sir?”

“The boat.”

“The boat?” he clarified. Jameson smiled.

“The boat.”

 

*

 

He had never been pale, but Jameson Kane normally had fair skin. Tate had always liked it because it set off his intense blue eyes and thick black hair. Made him look sharp, like his edges would cut when put to skin. When not at home, he was always immaculately dressed, whether they were going out to eat, or shop, or take in a movie. Always clean shaven – five o'clock shadow was only seen in the wee hours of the morning, before it was scraped away.

Seeing him again, but now with a deep tan, dressed casually wearing shorts and a light t-shirt, his jaw covered in at least a few days worth of stubble, was too much. Seeing him, period, was too much.

He was always too much.

Tate felt like she was going to faint, so she sat down heavily on the cement dock. Sanders dropped the bags and immediately knelt down next to her. He was saying something, but she couldn't hear anything. She had her hands pressed against either side of her face and she was trying to remember how to breathe. A pair of feet came in to her vision.

He owns a pair of sandals!?

A short argument broke out over her.

“Go inside.”

“No, I'm not going to -,”

“Go inside. Take her bags.”

“What if -,”

“You promised. Remember?”

There was some grumbling, but Sanders stood up. Grabbed the bag that she had dropped and their suitcases. He rolled away, and she watched his feet disappear onto the gangplank. Tate still couldn't look up. Not even when she realized that Jameson was slowly squatting down, directly in front of her. She was sitting lotus-style, and his hands came to rest gently on her knees.

Her body temperature immediately shot up past 100 degrees.

“Is this real?” she whispered.

“Yes. Are you alright?” he asked. She shuddered.

“You planned this? You and Sanders?” she asked.

“I planned this, a long time ago. Sanders just helped me execute it,” Jameson explained.

She felt betrayed. She felt confused. Obviously, over the past two months, Tate had wondered what it would be like to run in to Jameson again. She had never thought it would go the way it had; she felt like she was on the verge of a heart attack. Or a psychotic break. A little of both.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Tate asked.

A finger under her chin. Like flames. Her whole body was igniting.

“Because I wanted to talk to you. You wouldn't let me in the hospital. So I gave you time. Time is up, baby girl,” Jameson informed her, slowly tilting her head up to face him.

When they locked eyes, it was like an explosion in her chest. She gasped on a sob, and a tear streamed down her face. He smiled sadly at her, but she refused to believe it. The last time she had seen him, really looked at him, he had been angry at her. Staring down at her. Throwing money at her.

I'm in hell. I died in that pool, and I'm in hell. That's why I'm so hot. That's why I'm sitting in front of Satan.

“What if I don't want to talk you?” Tate whispered. Jameson chuckled, smoothing his hand over her hair.

“Now when have you ever known me to care about a silly thing like that?” he whispered back.

She surged to her feet. He couldn't talk to her like that, not anymore. No boyfriend-voice allowed. Not after all the time that had passed, all the damage that had been done. His voice was like silk, smooth and strong. Flowing over her. Covering her. Strangling her. She had to get out of there.

“You can't just do this!” she shouted.

Jameson slowly stood up as well. Tate couldn't look at him. It split her in half. Her brain knew one thing. Her heart recognized another. And good god, her body was completely mutinous.

Why does he have to be so tan!?

“Do what?” Jameson asked.

“Kidnap somebody! Use Sanders! Use me! I'm not some puppet you get to jerk around!” she snapped at him.

“Buying you a ticket to Spain for your birthday is hardly kidnapping,” he pointed out. She let out a frustrated yell.

“Why!? Why did you bring me here?” she demanded.

“Because I've missed you.”

“Bullshit,” Tate snorted. “Mr. Kane doesn't ever care about anyone enough to miss them.”

“He missed you. I wanted to see you, talk to you, maybe -,”

“You made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. I have obeyed those wishes. Why can't you respect mine? What do you want?” she asked.

“I'm trying to explain, I want to -,”

“You know what? I don't care. I really don't. And I don't have to stand here and listen to you. Our transaction is done, over with; you paid for my 'services'. I am no longer required to be in your presence,” Tate's voice was dripping with venom by the end, and she went to brush past him. He grabbed her upper arm, holding her in place. Her eyes snapped to his.

“I say when it's over,” he replied.

She was shocked into a stand still. Jameson touching her, talking to her like that, it was like getting knocked back in time. Back to when she knew her place in the scheme of things, back to when life was simple enough to revolve around being with him. A shiver ran down her spine, and Tate forced herself back to the present. Forced herself to remember what having her stomach pumped felt like, forced herself to remember what it felt like to be so cold, she couldn't feel her entire body.

“Do not touch me,” she hissed at him, and he let go of her.

“I'm not trying to hurt you,” he assured her.

“You always try to hurt me,” she snapped back. He frowned.

“I never tried to hurt you, not until the end. Can we please go inside and discuss this?” Jameson asked. She laughed, a loud, abrasive sound.

“I wouldn't get on that boat if you paid me to! Do you have any idea what it's like for me? Being here, seeing you like this!?” Tate demanded.

“I can imagine.”

“You probably can't. Seeing you, is like ..., like somebody taking off a piece of my skin with a potato peeler. Seeing you is just a big, neon sign. A reminder of ..., of how low I got. How horrible I became, of how awful I was, of ..., a reminder of how much I hated myself. Which is really unfair, because I should've hated you,” she told him, turning away.

“But you don't,” Jameson pointed out. She sighed, struggling to hold in the tears.

“I want to. It's what you deserve. You hated me. I should at least get to hate you back.”

“I never hated you. I was angry, and I was stupid, yes, but I didn't hate you,” Jameson assured her. Tate laughed.

“If that's how you treat someone you like, then I'm scared to see how you treat people you actually do hate. You wanna know what the worst part is? I don't blame you. You didn't pour the alcohol down my throat. You didn't make me get in that car. Worst thing that ever fucking happened to me, and I can't even blame you. Just me. All my fault. Always my fault,” her voice was a whisper and she kept looking away from him. Out to the ocean. To the water. The cold, cold water.

“You can blame me, Tate. I blame me,” he told her. She managed another laugh.

“Just so you can feel better about yourself? No. I could've died that night and you wouldn't have even noticed,” she guessed. He stepped up close to her, but she refused to turn and look at him.

“I would have noticed, Tatum. I would have felt it. When the police came to my house, and I found out what had happened, I -,” Jameson started to explain, but she held up a hand.

“It's already bad enough that I had to live it, I don't need you making me feel worse about it.”

“I wasn't going to make you feel bad about it,” he told her. Tate laughed and finally glanced up at him.

“You love to make me feel bad,” she replied. He took a step closer, so he was almost touching her. Flames almost burning her.

“And you used to love it when I made you feel bad, but this isn't one of those times.”

Tate couldn't handle it. Just couldn't take it anymore. She choked on a sob and turned around, walking away from him. He didn't follow, but that didn't surprise her. Jameson Kane never did anything he didn't want to do.

 

*

 

It took her a couple hours of milling around, but eventually Tate calmed down. She sat in a little cafe, wondering what she should do with herself. She felt kind of silly. It was pretty hard to run away, when all a person had was the shirt on her back. Sanders had taken all of her stuff onto the boat, including her purse. Her wallet, passport, cash, everything, was on Jameson's goddamn yacht. All she had was the little bit of money in her pocket, which wasn't much, after the coffee and sandwich she had bought herself.

But even if she'd had her stuff, it wasn't like Tate could just fly home. He was very clever, Mr. Kane. This wasn't like his party, she couldn't just drive off in a drunken rage. She was stuck in another country. Her Spanish wasn't very good, and even if she could make it to the airport, she was pretty positive she couldn't afford a last minute, one-way ticket to Boston.

Sanders had to have known how she would react, so it was safe to assume he wouldn't just buy her a plane ticket at the first sign of tears. No, he had probably prepared himself for this little episode. It was also probably the reason why no one had come looking for her. Tate had stormed away from the boat around eleven that morning. It was after five o'clock at night, the sun was beginning to go down.

She was exhausted. She didn't want to fight with anyone. She didn't want to feel so upset anymore, so emotionally charged all the time. In a way, the whole situation reminded her of the time Jameson tricked her into visiting her parents. Tate had hated it at the time, had hated him. But in the end, it had been a huge act of closure for her. Maybe that's what this trip could be, closure. She'd been a bundle of nerves, wondering and worrying about Jameson. Now that problem was solved.

She could move on; she could get on with her life.

By the time she found her way back to the marina, the sun had almost completely set. There was just a burnt orange line on the horizon, surrounded by a heavy blue. It suited her mood. She wandered down a couple docks before she found the right one, and then made her way towards his boat.

Tate had to admit, she was very impressed. It wasn't the largest boat in the harbor, but it was one of the sleeker looking ones. The exterior of the boat was white – of course – with black lining and piping. The boat on the other side of the sleeve was a sharp looking speed boat, obviously a mate to the larger yacht, as it was done in the same style and colors.

She was just standing there, staring up at his boat, when she heard a whistle. Tate turned in a circle, looking for the source, when it came again. She finally spotted it. A man, leaning over the rail of a ridiculously huge yacht, was whistling at her. She slowly made her way down to him. She could hear that some sort of huge party was going on inside the boat.

“Are you lost?” the man asked in a heavy British accent. Tate shook her head.

“No, I just found it,” she assured him, gesturing back to Jameson's boat. The guy whistled again.

“A guest of Mr. Kane's! Outstanding. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him personally, yet. Would you care to come on board for a drink? We're having a pre-pre-pre-New Year's party,” he laughed.

Tate laughed as well, and was about to decline, when she stopped herself. Why couldn't she say yes? It wasn't like she really wanted to be on Jameson's boat. And she hadn't been to a party, a real party, in forever.

It's not like there's somewhere else I'd rather be.

“Why not? Sounds like fun.”

 

*

 

Sanders was practically going out of his mind with worry. He wasn't saying anything, but Jameson could tell. The younger man would fidget. Adjust his tie, adjust a vase, adjust a chair. Adjust, adjust, adjust. Pace from one end of the boat to the other. Adjust some more stuff. When Jameson couldn't take it anymore, he went to go get her.

I have never chased after a woman in my life, and now it feels like I spend most of my time chasing after Tatum O'Shea …

But she was worth it. Jameson could admit that, now.

The last time he had seen her, Tate had been in the hospital, looking damaged and broken. Something he had smashed on the ground under his foot. So sad. Seeing her walking down the dock, smiling, laughing, looking almost like her old self, had been wonderful. He wasn't prone to sentimentality or romanticism, but she was like sunshine. And Jameson's life was very dark.

Of course, the sunshine hadn't lasted long. Tate had been very upset when she realized he was behind everything. He had expected that, of course. She had run away, and he had expected that, too. But without any money or her passport, he hadn't expected her to be gone for so long. It was after nine o'clock at night. It was dark out. Where in the hell could she have gone? What could she be doing?

Jameson stood between his two boats for a few moments, contemplating where she would go. Once upon a time, she had been a very smooth operator. She was looking much more like a Stepford-wife now, but Tate might just still have it in her to talk her way into a free hotel room.

But then something else got his attention. A boat a couple sleeves down from his own was having a party. A very loud, raucous one, by the sounds of it. On a hunch, Jameson made his way down to it. No one was guarding the stairs that led to the plank, so he made his way inside.

On board, the deck was covered in wall to wall people. He found her on the far side, leaning against a railing. She wasn't alone. She was talking, laughing, with some man. He looked vaguely familiar. Jameson scowled. He hadn't seen her smile in so long, and the first time he really got to see it again, she was giving it away to someone else. He walked up slowly, so he was right behind her. She didn't say anything, but he knew that she was aware of him.

“Oh, looks like he found you!” the man laughed. Tate laughed as well, but still didn't look behind her.

“I knew he would. He always does,” she teased, but Jameson could hear the edge under her voice. He almost laughed as well.

Better remember that, baby girl.

“And you are?” Jameson asked, staring at the other man.

“Bill. Bill Matthews,” the man said, holding out a hand. Jameson shook it.

“Your boat?” he asked. Bill nodded.

“Yes, yes. We haven't met, but I've heard of you, Mr. Kane. Glad to finally meet you,” he said. Jameson managed a smile.

“Thank you. Now if you'll excuse us, I'm sure Tatum would like some rest. She's had a long day,” Jameson explained, reaching out and gripping her elbow. She jumped at his touch, but didn't pull away. Bill looked surprised.

“Oh, sorry, didn't mean to keep her from you. I -,” he started, but Jameson just walked away, pulling Tate along beside him.

“I see your manners haven't improved,” she growled at him.

“Why would they have?”

When they were back on the dock, she yanked her arm free and surged ahead of him. He lengthened his stride to keep up with her. She was still refusing to look at him, but he could tell that something was different. She had made some sort of peace with his little ploy. He figured he was safe, at least for the night. She wasn't going to run away quite yet.

“So what, I'm a prisoner, now? I have to stay locked in your stupid boat?” Tate snarled as they walked up behind his yacht.

“Of course not. But Sanders has been worried. I had to find you, or he would've driven me insane,” Jameson explained.

She stomped down the plank. He had thought maybe she would comment on his boat, on the style or size, but Tate didn't say anything. She continued moving, striding across the deck. Sanders was coming out at the same time, and the relief was obvious on his face. Tate steamed right up to him.

“I'm very happy to see you. I was so worried that -,” he started, when she slapped him across the face.

Jameson was shocked, but he didn't hesitate. He immediately moved between them, grabbing her by the wrist in case she tried to swing again. Sanders looked completely bewildered. He had a hand pressed to his cheek, where she had hit him, and his eyes were huge as he stared at her. Tate glared right back at him, struggling against Jameson's grip.

“You're a traitor! You told me not to make you choose, but it's kinda obvious you already had your choice made! I never even stood a chance! Traitor!” she yelled at Sanders. His jaw dropped open.

“Hey!” Jameson barked, and everyone's attention snapped to him. He forced Tate backwards, out of reach of Sanders. “None of this was his fault. I asked him to help me. Apologize to him, now,” Jameson growled, glaring down at her.

She burst out laughing, and he was surprised.

Someone's gotten braver since I saw her last.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she cackled. Jameson nodded.

“You can hit me all you want, but if you touch him again, I'll throw you off this fucking boat,” he warned her. Her laughter escalated for a moment.

“Ooohhh, what a threat, being thrown off a boat I don't even want to be on,” she hissed.

Before Jameson could respond, Sanders whirled around and left the deck. Disappeared inside, walking so fast, he was basically jogging. Jameson could see the shock on Tate's face, and then it fell away. Replaced by sadness. Guilt. He let go of her wrist.

“Whatever kind of relationship you think you have with Sanders, you should remember, I am practically his father. The only family he has got anymore, so of course he is going to help me when I need it,” Jameson warned her. Her bottom lip trembled, and she continued staring at the door Sanders had gone through. “But you should also know that Sanders would never do anything to hurt you, even if it meant disappointing me. If he brought you here, even under false pretenses, it's because he thought it was for your own good.”

Tate still refused to look at him. She strode towards the doorway, ignoring his existence. He let her go. There were only so many rooms on the boat, she would find her own.

Jameson sighed and sat down heavily in a cushioned deck chair. Things hadn't gone as badly as they could have, but they sure as shit hadn't gone well, either. Sanders had warned him that her feelings hadn't changed, that she was trying very hard to hate him.

It didn't matter to him. Two months was a long time. During the short amount of time they'd spent together, Jameson had grown ridiculously attached to the stupid girl. All his preaching and ranting and warning, telling her repeatedly that she should never expect him to be anything more than he was – he should've listened to himself once in a while.

While he had been so busy trying to warn her away, he hadn't even noticed himself falling into her. Now Jameson couldn't tell where she began and he ended. The thought of Tate dying, it hurt his heart. Being away from her for two months, not allowing himself any contact with her …, it had been difficult. Jameson was forceful and impulsive by nature – not tracking her down and simply demanding that she forgive him, demand that they go back to the way they were; it had all been hard.

He hadn't seen her in two months, but the moment he had seen Tate walking towards him, it was like no time had passed. Suddenly, he was right where he needed to be, and any questions he'd had about what he was doing, any doubts he'd had, flew out the window. Good or bad, wrong or right, Jameson needed Tate. He wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, but it had happened, all the same. No point in denying it.

Now, all he had to do was convince her that she needed him, as well.

No one ever said hell was an easy place to live.

 

*

 

Around two in the morning, Tate couldn't take it anymore. She threw back the covers. Her room was nice, with a queen size bed, but even better – it was one of the furthest rooms from Jameson's. It was the first one she had looked in, when she'd huffed off to go to bed.

But she hadn't been able to fall asleep. Guilt was eating her alive. She couldn't believe she had hit Sanders. She felt like she had hit her own child. She climbed out of bed and didn't bother to put on any pants, just tip toed out into the hallway in her tank top and underwear. It wasn't like it was something Jameson or Sanders hadn't seen before; if anything, it was actually like getting back to normal.

Tate had figured the big door at the end of the hall, the one that would lead to a room directly under the bow, was Jameson's quarters. She tried the room next to hers, but it was empty. She tried the room across the hall next. Turned the knob as slowly as possible, then pushed the door open an inch. Tried to peer inside to see if there was a lump on the bed.

The sound hit her first. She couldn't tell what it was for a moment, then it hit her. Right across the face. Someone was crying. Tate slid into the room and quietly shut the door behind her. Didn't even think about it, just went to the foot of the bed and crawled up it till she was right next to him. Sanders was laying on his back, so she pressed herself against his side. Wrapped her arm around his chest, her leg around his leg.

“I'm sorry, Sanders,” she whispered. “I'm so, so, sorry.”

“No, no, you don't need to be sorry, ma'am, I shouldn't have ..., I didn't realize you'd .., tomorrow, I'll -,” he started in a jerky voice, but when he said 'ma'am', reverted back to calling her by a stranger's title, her heart ripped in half. She pressed her hand over his mouth.

“I do need to be sorry. I really, really do. I never should have hit you. I love you, Sanders. I love you so much. I was just mad, I shouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry,” Tate breathed, pressing her face into his shoulder. She felt his hand come to rest on her arm, patting at it tentatively.

“It's okay, Tatum. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

Sanders didn't handle any kind of contact well. She knew that; even handshakes were difficult for him. So a slap, she knew that must have been like a gun shot. A bullet, ripping right through his psyche. She knew his past, knew the kind of abuse he had been through, and still. Tate was the one who pulled the trigger.

I'm no better than Jameson.

“I don't want to be here, Sanders. But I'll do it. For you,” she whispered into his ear. She felt him nod and she let out a sigh. Kissed him on the cheek. Settled back into his side. He squirmed a bit. Now that he had stopped crying, it was clear that her closeness was making him uncomfortable.

So she held on tighter.

Finally, he gave in and wiggled his arm loose. Wrapped it around her shoulders. Held her even closer. She fell asleep against his chest, listening to his heart beat.

 

*

 

Jameson sat on his front deck the next morning, staring out over the ocean. He had a spot on the outside of the marina, so he didn't have to face any other boats. A must, for him. All that was between him and a view of the open ocean was a rock jetty.

He had gone to check on Sanders in the morning, and had been in for a little shock. Tate was in bed with the younger man, and they were spooning like it was something they did everyday, Sanders' arms locked tight around her waist. Even Jameson had never slept with her like that; had never even thought to try.

Now he felt left out.

The pair of them didn't emerge until after ten. By then, Jameson had showered and gotten dressed, even went to get a newspaper for himself. They didn't say anything to him, but it was obvious that whatever had transpired between them the night before, it had made up for the slap. Good. If the two of them didn't get along, then there was no hope for him.

“Hungry?” Jameson asked when Tate wandered up to where he was sitting. She shrugged and sat across from him, picking a piece of toast up off of his plate.

“How long do I have to be here?” she asked, looking out over the water while she nibbled at the bread.

“You're not a prisoner. You're free to go whenever you want. Sanders can drive you to the airport right now. I just thought you were tougher than that,” he told her. She snorted.

“You thought wrong.”

“Look,” he sighed, leaning forward and taking off his sunglasses. She kept hers on. “Whether or not you want to admit it, you and I do have unfinished business. I made a big mistake, yes. You made a mistake. It doesn't have to break us.”

“There wasn't ever an us,” Tate pointed out. Jameson shrugged.

“Whatever we were. Friends,” he suggested. She laughed.

“We were never friends,” she replied.

“We were something.”

“We were nothing.”

“Why do you need everything to be so clearly defined? Because society says A plus B equals C, then we're nothing? Sometimes X divided by 4.3 equals fuck all, Tate. Bad things happened, but there were moments of good,” Jameson reminded her. He needed her to remember. She snorted again and turned away so she was fully facing the water.

“I seem to have forgotten those moments. Probably when my oxygen supply was cut off, right after my seizures,” she snapped at him.

“That's not funny.”

“No, not even a little bit,” Tate agreed. He took a deep breath. Dug down deep in to his heart to find a shred of kindness. Of honesty.

“I'm very sorry for ever hurting you,” he said in a soft voice. It was obvious she was struggling not to cry.

“Someday,” she started, clearing her throat, “you will find someone who is better at these games. Better than you, and you will finally know how it feels.”

“How will I find this someone else if I'm not looking?” Jameson asked.

“Maybe you should start looking. You're not getting any younger,” she pointed out.

“I have the person I want,” he said bluntly. She choked on a gasp of air.

“You don't have shit,” Tate managed to cough out. He laughed.

“You're so easy to rile up now. This should be fun,” he said. She shook her head.

“I don't want to play your games,” she insisted. He leaned against the table, crossed his arms on top of it.

Finally, we can cut to the chase.

“How about just one last game. No-holds-barred, winner takes all,” he offered.

“How about that's a really bad idea,” she replied, but he could tell that she was intrigued.

“Give me a month,” Jameson started. Her eyebrows raised above her glasses and she turned towards him.

“A month to what?” she asked.

“One month to convince you that I'm not the devil,” he stated. Tate burst out laughing.

“A leopard can't change his spots, Jameson. But go head, explain your little game. I could use some cheering up,” she snickered.

“One month to convince you that I'm not the devil, that things can be as good between us as they ever were,” he continued.

“Hmmm. Not very appetizing, I'm not really winning on this deal,” Tate pointed out, still smiling to herself.

Jameson got up from his chair. Slowly walked around the table. She stiffened up when he got next to her, but she didn't move away when he leaned down close to her head. Pressed a hand to the side of her face to bring her in close to his lips.

“One month to make you forget your ballplayer even exists,” he whispered against her ear. Oh yes, he knew all about the ballplayer. Jameson had an online subscription to The Boston Globe.

But he could feel something. Her body was connected to his, in some inexplicable way. It always had been, ever since their very first time together. She didn't move at all, but he could feel her skin come to life. Like it was vibrating, humming with energy.

“It's cute that you even think that's possible,” Tate whispered back, but he was already grinning. He knew she was bluffing. He let go of her and stood upright.

“One month, Tatum. Here, with me and Sanders.”

“Ooohhh, I get Sanders in the deal, too?”

“Looked to me like you already had him.”

“Jealous?”

“Don't be stupid.”

“But what do I get out of this?” she pressed him. Jameson sighed.

“If after one month, you still don't want anything to do with me, you have my promise that I'll leave you alone. No showing up at your home, or your job, or talking to your friends. Any of that bullshit. I'll even do split custody with Sanders. I'll let you go. Once and for all. We let this go, whatever this is,” he told her, gesturing between them.

Tate was silent for a long time. If it hadn't been for the stern set of her mouth, he almost would've thought she'd fallen asleep. But after a long time, she opened her mouth. Closed it. Thought for a second longer. Opened it again.

“You have to know, you won't win,” Tate warned him.

Looks like I already have.

“Won't know for sure until I've tried. But you have to be honest with me, you can't fake anything or lie. You have to let me do whatever I want,” Jameson amended the deal.

“I was always honest with you, and you should never be allowed to do whatever you want,” she replied. He laughed.

“Fair enough. Do we have a deal? One whole month, starting today?” he asked.

“You won't win,” she warned him again, but she held out her hand. He took it in his own.

“Baby girl, I never lose.”

 

*

 

Inside her brain, Tate was freaking out. She wasn't sure what she'd gotten herself into – an all expenses paid, luxurious vacation in the South of Spain? Check. Psychotherapy under the guise of hitting your best friend? Check. A deal with the devil that could potentially mean losing her soul? Double Check.

The end result was too tantalizing to turn down, though. It would be over. No more wondering, or worrying, or what ifs. Just over. Dead. No more Jameson and Tate, whatever they even were, anyway.

But she couldn't quite figure out his angle. Jameson didn't care about her, that much was clear. If he did, he wouldn't be offering her some silly game – he'd be offering his heart. Was he really so obsessed with sleeping with her that he needed to drag her all the way to Spain? Play more games with her? She would only ever be just a game to him. Maybe that had been fine before, but it wasn't fine now. She wanted more for herself, and she certainly wasn't going to get it from him.

Jameson could play all the stupid games he wanted, Tate wasn't about to fall for them again. She was not going to make the next thirty days easy for him. They would go around in circles for the next month, then it would be goodbye, forever. And hey, if he happened to grow a heart in the process and lose it to her, why, that would just be gravy on top. But either way, he would not be winning this time around.

Easy as pie.