~2~

“Wake up.”

Tate groaned and burrowed further under the pillows. But Jameson refused to be ignored and suddenly the mattress was shaking underneath her.

“What!?” she snapped, pushing herself up. “What time is it!?”

“It's eight o'clock. C'mon, get up,” he urged. He was leaning over her, both of his palms flat on the mattress, shoving it up and down.

“Eight!? Jameson, we just went to sleep like two hours ago! Go away,” she groaned, starting to lay back down. But he grabbed her arm, pulling her sideways off the bed.

“No no no, time to get up. I have a surprise for you,” he offered, helping her to stand up.

“I hate surprises,” she complained, but followed as he dragged her to the bathroom.

“You'll like this, I promise,” he assured her.

“Doubtful. I just want to sleep, Jameson. I'm sore in ways you can't even imagine.”

“You'd be surprised.”

Tate snorted.

It was a good surprise, though. Jameson had drawn a bath for her, complete with bubbles and everything. She moaned as he helped her into the sudsy warmth, and she kept moaning till she was chin deep in bubbles. Her eyes were closed, so she wasn't aware that he was joining her till she felt him climbing in the water. It was a huge tub, and he sat at the opposite end, arranging her legs so they were on top of his own.

“Okay, so it's not so bad,” she conceded, and he laughed.

“I thought you'd like it,” he replied, grabbing a sponge and soaping down one of her legs.

“Thank you. But what got into you that you had to do this at eight? I would have loved this at two in the afternoon, when God intended for good human beings to wake up,” she pointed out. He chuckled and started massaging her left foot.

“Because I had something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he started. Tate frowned. Jameson was rarely hesitant, and if he was starting a conversation by doing something nice for her, then she was doubly afraid.

“Oh god. Now I really wish I'd stayed in bed,” she groaned, resting her head back against the porcelain.

“I have some issues that I need to go over with my lawyer,” he informed her.

“So?”

“So, I also need to have my will re-drafted, and there's a business merger I'm looking into,” he went on.

“Still not sure how any of that involves me. Unless you're leaving everything to me in your will. Then I'm very interested,” she joked.

“You wish. It involves you because the lawyer who handles this stuff isn't in the country, and won't be for a while. I have to go to him,” Jameson continued.

“Okay. Bon voyage,” Tate yawned.

“You're coming with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, you're coming -,”

“No, I heard you,” Tate started, sitting up right and looking at him. “What do you mean? Why do I need to go?”

“Because I want you there, I like having you with me when I travel,” he informed her.

“Well, that's awfully sweet of you, but I have a job, Jameson. I have things going on here, I just can't -,” she began rambling.

“It's taken care of.”

“Huh?”

“It's taken care of – I spoke to the bar manager and bartender, they're going to run everything, it'll be fine. You haven't been there that much lately, anyway,” he pointed out. Tate pulled her feet away from him.

“What the fuck, Jameson!? Would you like it if I called your work and arranged for you to have time off behind your back?” she demanded. He laughed at her.

“That wouldn't work, my secretary would never listen to you.”

“This isn't right, and you know it. You don't get to do something like this,” she snapped.

“Well, your business is half mine. I could just close it down.”

Fucker.

“I knew it,” Tate hissed, pulling herself to her feet. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you threw that in my face.”

“Tate, calm down and just listen to me,” Jameson sighed.

“Why? What's the point? Whether I listen or not, you're just gonna make me do whatever you want, so let's just cut out the bullshit,” she said, wrapping a towel around her body.

“Watch your mouth,” he replied quickly. She glared at him.

“You watch it. So where are you dragging me to now!?” she asked, stomping out of the bathroom.

“It won't be for that long, Tate, so just calm the fuck down,” Jameson called after her. She rolled her eyes and made her way into their closet.

“I don't care. This is shitty. Where are we going?” she repeated the question. He finally followed after her.

“Hong Kong.”

“Hong Kong!?”

“Did I stutter?”

“For how long!?”

“One week, maybe longer,” he answered her. Tate groaned, grabbing one of his old t-shirts out of a drawer.

“Maybe longer? Why not just make it a month, seeing as how I'm not even needed here to help run your business,” she grumbled, letting her towel drop to the ground before yanking the shirt over her head.

“You can shut the fuck up any time now,” he offered.

“You shut up. When are we leaving?” she refused to look at him as she wiggled into a pair of yoga pants.

“In about two hours.”

“Two hours!?”

“Yes. So you better start packing.”

“You fucking pack. I didn't know about this trip, I didn't plan this trip, I don't want go on this trip, so you know what? I'm gonna keep on with the trend and not have anything to do with this trip,” she informed him, then went to stomp out of the room. Jameson grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“You better change your fucking attitude. Whether you like it or not, we're getting on a plane soon, and I don't wanna spend the next twenty-four hours dealing with your shit,” he warned her. She smiled sweetly at him.

“Oh, you'll spend a lot longer than twenty-four hours dealing with it.”

Then she yanked away and stormed into the bedroom.

Tate didn't have to pack. She wrapped herself into a blanket burrito and stayed like that, listening while Sanders packed a bag for her. She felt kinda bad, but she also knew that he had to be in on the trip – he was going, after all. And she didn't like surprises. Not like that, not ones that underminded her as a business owner and a boss.

She made one last valiant attempt to refuse to go, but Jameson just picked her up, blanket burrito and all, and carried her out to the car. Before she could work up the energy to seriously be a bitch, they were at the airfield, loading their belongings onto the plane. A private plane; Jameson had finally bought one. Mostly for her – what with Ang's career exploding, he couldn't really visit whenever he wanted, so Tate was flying out to L.A. and Vegas all the time. Eventually, Jameson decided it would be more economical to just buy a plane and give her free use of it.

She decided not to think about that little fact as she made herself comfortable on a couch. He sat down next to her, taking off his jacket while the plane took off.

“You've been suspiciously quiet,” he commented, looking down at her.

“I can get loud if you want,” she offered. He chuckled.

“No, thank you. I'm surprised you're this uppity. I thought you'd be wrecked with a hangover this morning,” he pointed out.

“No such luck,” Tate sighed. She was actually pretty sure she might have still been just a little bit drunk. But she wasn't going to tell him that.

“Good. I hate dealing with you when you're ill.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual. And I'm not hungover, so don't worry about it.”

“I won't.”

 

*

 

Two hours later, Tate felt like she was going to die. She panted for air, resting her back against a wall. Jameson chuckled.

“Done?” he asked. She licked her lips, letting her eyes droop shut.

“You make this worse, I hope you know.”

“I could leave,” he offered.

“Could you!?” she snapped back.

Jameson started to stand up, but at the same time Tate felt her stomach dip to the left and she grabbed onto his pant leg. He didn't move, and when she lurched forward to stick her head over the toilet, he sat back down. Gently gathered all her hair and held it at the back of her head.

“The things I do for you, baby girl,” he sighed as she dry heaved and gagged into the toilet.

“God, I have never felt this bad. I just want it to stop,” Tate begged, bracing one hand against the toilet tank. Jameson used his free hand to rub her shoulders.

“Want something to drink?”

“No, I'll just puke it up.”

“Better than stomach acid.”

“Will you make fun of me if I start crying?” she asked, taking deep breaths as she felt another wave of nausea roll through her stomach.

“Not till you're done puking, I promise,” he replied. She managed a laugh, but that just made her stomach cramp up worse, and she was back over the toilet.

Sanders eventually appeared with a ginger ale. Jameson moved to sit on the floor with her, feeding her crackers. She thanked him, then laid down, resting with her head in his lap. She was too hungover to be mad at him anymore. Besides, she knew that most wealthy stock-broker-CEO-financier-tycoon-type dudes wouldn't be willing to hold their girlfriend's hair back while she puked, so she figured that made up for Jameson talking to her staff behind her back.

When there was absolutely nothing left to vomit up, they finally moved back into the main cabin. Tate stretched out on a couch, beaching herself against Sanders while Jameson went to scrounge up something real that she could eat and potentially hold down.

“Are you alright?” Sanders asked in a soft voice, closing his laptop.

“No, I'm dying,” she croaked, shivering. He draped his arm on top of her, rubbing her wrist affectionately.

“You are not dying. You shouldn't drink so much,” he pointed out. She pinched his leg.

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You should've stopped me,” she retorted.

“It is not my job to police how much you -,”

“Sanders?” she interrupted, wrapping her arm around his waist and pressing her face against his ribs.

“Hmmm?”

“Please shut up now, you're making me feel worse.”

“Of course.”

Tate slept against him all the way to San Francisco. They landed there to refuel, and Jameson actually left the plane to run an errand. Normally, Tate would have been suspicious, but she was too hungover to care. He could be arranging the sale of her body to an oil sheik, and she wouldn't care. So long as no one bothered her while she was hungover.

After they took off, she slept some more, clear to the halfway point between the U.S. and Hong Kong. Then she woke up, let out a loud belch, and realized she was starving. Sanders was sleeping in a back room, but Jameson had stayed up to keep an eye on her, so he had some food brought out for her.

“Jesus, Tate, don't make yourself sick again,” he laughed, watching as she wolfed down a plate of food.

“I feel like I haven't eaten in years,” she replied around a full mouth.

“You're certainly eating like it.”

“Jameson,” she ignored his rudeness.

“Yes?”

“Why do you need me to come to Hong Kong?” she asked. Now that her brain was clearer, she didn't feel the need to be quite so bitchy.

“Because. As hard as it is to believe, baby girl, I like being around you,” he told her, moving so he was sitting next to her.

“That's very sweet, Jameson. But I really, really, don't like how you went about it. You could've just asked me,” she said, pushing her tray away and tucking her feet underneath herself.

“I was trying to do something spontaneous. Fun. Remember those words?” Jameson taunted her. Tate tried to glare, but couldn't hold it up. She smiled and leaned into him.

“Once upon a time. And Hong Kong? It's gonna be so hot,” she complained.

“You'll love it, I promise,” he assured her, kissing the top of her head.

“You can't just ditch me,” she started, wrapping her arm around him. “No spending all day in meetings. I hate that. You ruined London for me, that one time.”

“You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?” he sighed.

“No, probably not,” she shook her head.

“I'll spend every day with you, I promise, Liebe,” he whispered. She smiled.

“Good.”

They talked for a while, about a lot of different things. Conversation always flowed between them, despite the fact that they were two very different people. It just worked for them. Then an hour before they were scheduled to land, Sanders wandered out, looking fresh as a daisy in a newly pressed suit. Tate looked down at herself, still wearing her hangover clothing, and laughed. Kissed Jameson before flouncing off into the back to change and clean last night's makeup off her face.

When they landed, Tatum felt almost halfway normal again. She had changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top, looking as unlike a financial mogul's girlfriend as she possibly could. She yanked her hair up into a ratty ponytail, shoved on her aviators, then followed them off the plane.

It was hot, like she'd predicted, and good lord, the humidity. She could feel herself sweating through her tank top and wondered how the guys could hold up in their suits – Jameson was in a three piece! But he acted as cool and comfortable as ever, strolling through customs like it was something he did every day.

“So are you meeting your lawyer today?” Tate asked during the ride to the hotel.

“No. He's actually not in Hong Kong,” Jameson replied.

“Excuse me?” Tate didn't believe her ears.

“He's not in Hong Kong. He's in Singapore,” he explained.

“So why the fuck didn't we go to Singapore!?” Tate demanded.

“I don't like Singapore. I like Hong Kong. He's going to meet me here,” Jameson continued, scrolling through messages on his phone.

“Oh. Like tomorrow?”

“Like in a couple weeks.”

Tate sat very still. In Boston, Jameson had said it would be a week, maybe longer. Now suddenly, the lawyer was going to show up “in a couple weeks”. It was all very strange. How far away could Singapore be!?

“I don't understand,” Tate started slowly, trying to keep her cool. “Singapore is like right next door. You could be there and back in a day. Why not just go to him?”

“Because I don't want to. I like it here.”

“So because you like it here, now Sanders and I have to be here with you. Indefinitely,” Tate clarified. Jameson nodded.

“I feel like we're stating the obvious here.”

“Then how come in Boston, you said -,”

“I don't give a shit what I said in Boston. Plans change, Tate. We're here now, and we're not going anywhere. Deal with it.”

Tate hated it when he talked to her like that; it was one thing to get nasty in bed. It was quite another during the light of day. He wouldn't appreciate it if she talked to him the same way. But she didn't say a word. She had long since learned that snapping back didn't work. A person couldn't fight fire with fire, not with Jameson. Calm was much more effective. She stared at him for a second longer, then sat back in her chair. Didn't say another word till they got to the hotel.

She continued not saying anything as they checked in, and didn't make a sound when they got to the room. A penthouse suite, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and wrap around balcony. She could tell he was waiting for her to say something, to comment on how nice the place was, but she didn't utter a word. After their luggage was delivered, she followed the concierge out. As she got on the elevator, Jameson stepped into the hallway, but he didn't say anything. Just glared at her as the doors slid shut.

Tatum loved Jameson, she really did, but sometimes she needed her space.

They were staying at the Four Seasons, which was right on the water. Tatum walked around for a little while. There had been heavy cloud cover when they'd landed, but they were starting to dissipate. As she walked along the ocean front, the sun beat down on her.

Tate knew she was kind of being a brat. For God's sake, she was walking on a beach in Hong Kong, when twenty-four hours before she had been in Boston, thinking she'd be spending a quiet weekend at home. She was with the man she planned on spending the rest of her life with, a man who still made her heart race and her panties melt. A lot of people would kill to be in her shoes.

But she still had the urge to fight against authority, and Jameson was about as authoritarian as they came. And it wasn't right, him dragging her off for weeks at a time, no matter what he said. They were in a relationship, they should be equals, but he seemed to forget that from time to time. Would just drag and pull her around, like she was his chihuahua. She didn't want to be a chihuahua. She wanted to be a rottweiler.

So I can bite him on the ass.

It was doubly stupid to be upset because she knew it was just in his nature. Every now and then, Jameson had to bang on his chest and act like the king of the jungle. Act like nothing and no one mattered to him, because he was just a bad ass. Whatever. Normally, she just let it run its course.

Something felt different about this time, though. The secrecy, the going behind her back. It seemed a lot more premeditated. Usually he just acted like an ogre and wouldn't let her leave the house or go to L.A., or something. This was a bit much. Talking to her employees? Flying her around the world? Not cute.

The sun was setting so Tate made her way back to the hotel. But she didn't want to go back to the room, not yet, so she made her way out to the pool area. She discovered a large hammock, strung between two palm trees, so she climbed in it. By the time she was comfortable, the sun had completely set and it was dark out.

Tate didn't know how long she had been laying there when she heard footsteps approaching. She sighed and didn't bother turning her head. She knew who it was; wondered what had taken him so long.

“Am I going to get yelled at if I bother you?” Jameson asked, stepping up next to the hammock.

“Eh. Too comfy to care right now. I'll work up the energy for it later,” she replied.

He gripped onto the netting and Tate braced the hammock while he slid into it opposite of her, parting his legs around her own. They swung a little bit, but didn't tip over, and soon he had her feet resting on his stomach. She settled back down, staring up at the sky.

“I wanted this to be a fun trip,” he finally broke the silence.

“Then maybe you should've included me in it, as opposed to just dragging me along,” Tate suggested.

“Maybe I wanted it to be a surprise,” he countered.

“Maybe I think it's not a very good surprise.”

“I can't read your mind, Tate.”

“No, hence why you should talk to me.”

He swallowed thickly and she could feel him working to control his anger.

“If I ask you to do me a favor, do you think you could suspend your brattiness for a little while and just humor me?” he finally asked. Tate snorted.

“Well, when you ask so sweetly …,”

“Just trust me. Okay? I have never made you do anything you didn't end up liking,” he pointed out.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Tate laughed. “Remember that time you -,”

“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”

They laid in silence for a while. Jameson was once again massaging her feet, and she sighed, revelling in the feel of it. Two years ago, if someone had told her that Jameson Kane would be rubbing her feet for her, she would have laughed at them.

Just enjoy this trip. Do it for him. He does a lot for you.

“Jameson,” she whispered, after about ten minutes.

“Hmmm?” he replied.

“Which one is Cassiopia?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Is it that one?” Tate asked, pointing at the sky.

“You're asking me about constellations?” he clarified.

“It's either that, or bitch at you some more. Your choice,” she told him, but she was joking.

“Come over here.”

It took a bit of maneuvering, and she almost tipped the hammock over, twice, but finally Tate was facing the same direction as him. The hammock was wide, so Tate tucked into his side, laying next to him with his arm under her head.

“I wanna see 'em all,” she informed him.

“Jesus, I'm not an astronomer, Tate,” he snapped.

“Yeah, but you are Jameson Kane. You know all,” was her response.

“Shut up. Look, right there.”

He pointed up and slightly to the right. When she still couldn't tell, he grabbed her hand and held it in his own, pointing her finger. He moved around, showing her the shape; sort of an “M” in the stars. Then he showed her some of the astrological signs. It was nice, talking about something non-sensical, something that didn't pertain to anything that was going on around them.

“How did you learn all these?” Tate asked, after he explained how Orion's Belt turned into the Hunter.

“A class in high school. Read some books,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer, forcing her to roll onto her side. She anchored her arm around his waist.

“I never learned about that in school,” she said through a yawn. He snorted.

“Probably because you were too busy blowing your teacher,” he suggested. She laughed.

“Shut up, I didn't become a slut till after school,” she reminded him.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked.

“What, school?”

“No, life before …, all this. Being able to sleep with whoever you want, whenever you want,” he explained. Tate grew still. Why was he asking her that?

“How do you mean?” she asked warily.

“You used to get to do whatever you want, whenever you wanted. Do whoever you wanted. Like Angier – you slept with him for like five years. Do you ever miss that?” Jameson tried to make it clearer. But it didn't clear anything up.

“Do I ever miss sleeping with Ang? What kind of question is that?” Tate demanded, planting her hands on his chest and pushing herself up. He shrugged.

“Just a question. Just curious,” he replied, smoothing her hair off of her face.

“Do you miss sleeping with every woman in the tri-state area?” Tate countered. Jameson laughed.

“Liebe, every woman in the tri-state area couldn't compete with you. No, I don't miss it,” he assured her. She narrowed her eyes.

“You're being suspiciously sweet,” she called him out. He snorted.

“I can't win with you. Just shut up and answer the question,” he said, yanking on a strand of her hair.

“No, I don't miss sleeping with Ang, or anyone else. Why would you ask me that?” she pressed. Jameson shrugged.

“Sometimes … sometimes I just like to double check that you're happy,” he finally said.

I am such a bitch.

“Jameson,” she breathed, laying down on his chest. “Even when you piss me off, I am still happier with you than I have ever been in my whole life.”

“Good answer.”