~4~

Tatum plucked at her shirt in a nervous manner. She had tucked it in to a tight pencil skirt and even put on a pair of sling back stilettos. If someone had personally requested her, she wanted to make an effort to look nice. She had blown out her hair and put curls in the ends, and toned down her make up. Even she had to admit it, she looked presentable.

For once.

Men in expensive business suits began to file in to the conference room and she stood still, giving a polite smile to everyone who entered. A team of lawyers was meeting with their client. Six chairs were lined up on one side of a long table, with just a single chair on the other side.

Tate had been positioned at the back of the room, next to a sideboard filled with goodies and coffee and water. She fussed about, straightening napkins and setting up the glasses. When all six chairs were filled on the one side, she stared at their backs, wondering who the big shot was that got to stare them all down. The person who would be facing her. A door at the back of the room swung open and her breath caught in her threat.

Holy. Shit.

Jameson Kane strode in to the room, only offering a curt smile to his lawyers. His eyes flashed to her for just a second, and then he looked back. His smile became genuine and he tipped his head towards her, almost like a bow.

She gaped back at him, positive that her mouth was hanging open. What was he doing there!? Had he known she would be there? Had he been the one to request her? Impossible, he didn't know what temp agency she worked for – but what would be the chances? She hadn't seen him in seven years, and now twice in two days.

Tate felt like swallowing her tongue.

“Gentlemen,” Jameson began, seating himself across from the lawyers. “Thanks for meeting with me today. Would anyone care for any coffee? Water? The lovely Ms. O'Shea will be helping us today.” He gestured towards Tate, but no one turned around. Several people asked for coffee. Jameson asked for water, his smile still in place. It was almost a smirk. Like he knew something she didn't.

She began to grind her teeth.

She delivered everyone's drinks, and then carried around a tray of snacks. No one took anything. She moved to the back of the room, refilled the water pitcher. Tidied up. Felt Jameson staring at her.

This is ridiculous. You're Tatum O'Shea. You eat boys for breakfast.

But thinking that made her remember when he had said something very similar to her, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks.

She was pretty much ignored the whole time. They all argued back and forth about what business decisions Jameson should, or shouldn't, make. He was very keen on dismantling struggling companies and selling them off. They tried to curb his desires. His tax lawyer explained how his tax shelter in Hong Kong was doing. Another lawyer gave him a run down on property law in Switzerland. Tate tried to hide her yawns.

They took a five minute break after an hour had passed. Tate had her back to the room, rearranging some muffins on a tray, when she felt the hair on the back of her neck start to stand up. She turned around in slow motion, taking in Jameson as he walked up to her.

“Surprised?” he asked, smiling down at her.

“Very. Did you ask for me?” she questioned. He nodded.

“Yes. You ran away so quickly the other night. I wanted to get reacquainted,” he explained. She laughed.

“Maybe I didn't,” she responded. He shrugged.

“That doesn't really matter to me. What are you doing tonight?” he asked. She was a little caught off guard.

“Are you asking me out, Kane?” she blurted out. He threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh god, still a little girl. No. I don't ask people out. I was asking what you were doing tonight,” Jameson replied.

She willed away the blush she felt coming on. He still had the ability to make her feel so stupid. She had been through so much since him, come so far with her esteem and her life. It wasn't fair that he could still make her feel so small. She wanted to return the favor. She cleared her throat.

“I'm working.”

“Where?”

“At a bar.”

“What bar?”

“A bar you don't know.”

“And tomorrow night?”

“Busy.”

“And the night after that?”

“Every night after that,” Tate informed him, crossing her arms. He narrowed his eyes, but continued smiling.

“Surely you can find some time to meet up with an old friend,” he said. She shook her head.

“We were never friends, Kane,” she pointed out. He laughed.

“Then what is it? Are you scared of me? Scared I'll eat you alive?” he asked. She stepped closer to him, refusing to be intimidated.

“I think you're the one who should be scared. You don't know me, Kane. You never did. And you never will,” she whispered. Jameson leaned down so his lips were almost against her ear.

“I know what you feel like from the inside. That's good enough for me,” he whispered back. Tate stepped away. She felt like she couldn't breathe. He did something to her insides.

“You, and a lot of other people. You're not as big a deal as you think,” she taunted. It was a complete lie, but she had to get the upper hand back. He smirked at her.

“That sounds like a challenge to me. I have to defend my honor,” he warned her. She snorted.

“Whatever. Point to the challenger then, me. Defend away,” she responded, rolling her eyes.

He didn't respond, just continued smirking down at her. The lawyers began filing back in to the room and Jameson took his position on the other side of the table. She wasn't really sure what their little spar had been about, or what had come out of it. She was just going to try to get through the rest of the conference, and then she would scurry away before he could talk to her again. She didn't want anything to do with Jameson Kane, or his -,

“Ms. O'Shea,” his sharp voice interrupted her thoughts. Tate lifted her head.

“Yes, sir?” she asked, making sure to keep her voice soft and polite.

“Could you bring me some water, and something to eat,” he asked, not even bothering to look at her as he flipped through a contract.

She loaded up a tray with his requests and made her way around the table. No one even looked at her, they just threw legal jargon around at each other – a language she didn't know. She stood next to Jameson and leaned forward, setting his water down and then going about arranging cheese and crackers on a plate for him. She was about halfway done when she felt it.

Are those ..., his fingers!?

Tate froze for a second. His touch was light as he ran his fingers up and down between her legs. She glanced down at her knees and then glanced over at him. He was still looking down, but she could see him smirking. She tried to ignore him, tried to go back to setting up his food, but his hand went higher. Daring to brush up past her knees, well underneath her skirt. He couldn't get any farther, not unless he pushed up her skirt, or sunk down in his chair. She dumped the rest of the cheese on his plate and started to scoot away. She had just gotten back to her station when she heard a thunking noise, followed by groans.

“No worries. Ms. O'Shea! So sorry, could you get this?” Jameson's voice was bored sounding.

She turned around and saw that he had knocked over his water glass. He was blotting at the liquid as it spread across the table. The lawyers were all holding their papers aloft, grumbling back and forth.

Tate groaned and grabbed a towel before striding back to the table. She glared at him the whole way, but he still refused to look at her. She started as far away from him as she could get, mopping everything up, but eventually she had to almost lean across him to reach the mess. She stood on her toes, stretching across the table top.

As she had assumed it would, his hand found its way back to her legs. Only this time he wasn't shy, and her position allowed for a lot of access. His hand shot straight up the back of her skirt, his fingertips brushing against the lace of her panties.

She swallowed a squeak and glanced around. If any of the other gentlemen lifted their heads, they would have been able to see their client with half of his arm up his assistant's skirt, plain as day. He managed to run his finger under the hem of her underwear, down the left side of her butt cheek, before she pulled away. She stomped back to the food station, throwing the towel down with such violence, she knocked over a stack of sugar cubes.

When she turned around, Jameson was finally looking at her. She plunked her fists on her hips, staring straight back. His smirk was in place – as she had expected it would be – and he held up a finger, pointing it straight up. One. Then he pointed at himself. One point. Tied. He thought they were playing a game. She hadn't wanted to play games with him, but she hated to lose at anything, and she never wanted to lose to a man like Jameson Kane.

An idea flitted across her mind. Tate wanted to make him as uncomfortable as he had just made her feel. She coolly raised an eyebrow and then took her time looking around the room. The lawyers all still had their backs to her – not one of them had turned around the entire time she'd been there. Blinds had been drawn over every window, no one could see in the office, but she knew the door wasn't locked. Anyone could walk in to the room. She took a deep breath. It didn't matter anyway, what was the worst that could happen? She would get fired? It was a temp job, that Jameson had requested her for – he didn't even work there. Did she really care what happened?

She dragged her stare back to meet his and then ran her hands down the sides of her skirt. He raised an eyebrow as well, his eyes following her hands. When she got to the hem of the skirt, she pressed her palms flat and began to slowly, achingly, slide the material up her legs. Now both his eyebrows were raised. He flicked his gaze to her face, and then went right back to her skirt. Higher, up past her knees. To the middle of her thighs. Higher still. If anyone turned around, they would be very surprised at what they saw. One more inch, and her skirt would be moot. Jameson's stare was practically burning holes through her.

Taking short, quick, breaths through her nose, Tate slid her hands around to her butt. She wiggled the material up higher back there, careful to keep the front low enough to hide her whole business, and was able to hook her fingers in to her underwear. She didn't even think about what she was doing, couldn't take her eyes off of Jameson, as she slid her underwear over her butt and down her hips. As the lace slid to her ankles, she pushed her skirt back in to place. Then she stepped out of the panties and bent over, picking them up. When she stood upright, she let the lace dangle from her hand while she held up one finger. Point.

Winning.

Jameson nodded his head at her, obviously conceding to her victory, and then returned his attention to the papers in front of him. Tate let out a breath that she hadn't even realized she was holding, and turned around, bracing her hands against the table. She leaned forward and took deep breaths. She had just started to gain some ground on slowing her heart rate, when a throat cleared.

“What is that, Ms. O'Shea?” Jameson called out from behind her. She spun around, balling up her underwear in her fist.

“Excuse me, sir?” she asked.

“That,” he continued, gesturing with his pen at her. “In your hands. You have something for me. Bring it here.”

Now everyone turned towards her. Tate held herself as still as possible, her hands clasped together in front of her legs, hiding the underwear between her fingers. All eyes were on her. Jameson smirked at her and leaned back in his chair. She took a shaky breath.

“I don't know what -,”

“Bring it here, Ms. O'Shea, now,” he ordered, tapping the table top with his pen. She glared at him.

Fuck this.

She turned around and pulled one of the silver trays in front of her. She laid her panties out neatly on top, making sure the material was smooth and flat. She was very thankful that she had gone all out and worn her good, expensive, “I'm-successful-and-career-oriented!”, underwear. She balanced the tray on top of her fingertips and spun around, striding towards their table, a big smile on her face.

“For you, Mr. Kane,” she said in a breathy voice, and then dropped the tray in front of him. It clattered loudly and spun around a little before coming to a rest, the panties sliding off to one side.

As she walked away, she could hear some gasps. A couple laughs. A very familiar chuckle. When she got to the door, she pulled it open and then turned back to the room. A couple of the lawyers were gawking at her, and the rest were laughing, gesturing to the display she had just put on; Jameson was looking straight at her, his smirk in place. She blew him a kiss and then stomped out the door.

*

A couple hours later, Tate sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her closet. She should have been getting ready for work. She had promised to do a shift at the bar for one of the other girls, Tuesday was usually her day off. She had taken a shower, tried to motivate herself to get dressed, but after the afternoon she'd had, she really didn't want to get sexy-ed up and go sling drinks. She sighed.

Get over it. Rent is due.

She began yanking out clothing, not paying attention to what she picked out. Her mind kept wandering back to the conference room. Tate had grown pretty bold over the years, very confident in herself and her sexuality, but she had never done something like that before; had never stripped in a room full of people.

How was it possible that he still had that kind of power over her? One time. They had been together only one time, it wasn't fair. And weirder still – why did it seem like he was pursuing her? Jameson Kane didn't pursue anybody, not even seven years ago. Ellie had asked him out. He had certainly never pursued Tate. She had all but fallen on his dick that night, she'd been so eager for him. She shook her head back and forth, trying to clear her thoughts.

Never again. I am never going to think of Jameson Kane, never -,

“Tate!” Rusty's voice squealed through her door.

“What? It's open,” Tate called out, dropping the towel she had been wearing and shimmying in to a pair of sweat pants. Her door cracked open and Rus peaked her head around the corner.

“There is some guy here to see you,” she said in an excited voice. Tate scrunched her eyebrows together. Some guy?

“Who? What does he want?” she asked, pulling on a t-shirt and then yanking her damp hair up in to a ponytail.

“I don't know who he is, but he is so good looking, I can't believe he's real life. He's wearing some expensive looking suit,” Rus described. Tate groaned, rubbing her hands over her face.

“Jesus! What, is he stalking me now!?” she moaned.

“No,” a deep voice came from her doorway. She looked up.

Jameson Kane is in my piece of shit apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” she sighed, gesturing for him to come in to her room. Rus giggled and turned bright red, making room for him and then scurrying out the door.

“She's cute,” Jameson commented as he wandered around the tiny room, inspecting things.

“Oh really? Want to eat her for breakfast, too?” Tate asked. Jameson laughed, leaning close to a photo.

“Hmmm, not really my tastes. I'm hungering for something a little darker,” he replied. Tate narrowed her eyes.

“Well, that 'something' isn't on the menu,” she informed him. He stood upright and faced her.

“We'll see about that.”

“Seriously. What the fuck do you want?” she snapped at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Attitude. I like it. Where's all that shit you normally have around your eyes?” he asked, walking towards her. She started to back up but then stopped, holding her ground.

“I was just about to put all that shit back on when I was interrupted by a conceited asshole,” she replied.

“Look. I want to talk to you. We haven't seen each other in a long time. You ..., intrigue me. Not much does anymore,” he explained a little.

“Intrigue?”

“You're so different, but still kind of the same. It's interesting. I'm curious to see how deep both go,” he added. She sighed.

“Look, Kane, you don't just get to decide -,”

“Jameson,” he corrected her. She blinked at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Jameson. That's my name. Call me by my name,” he instructed her.

“But everyone calls you Kane. All those lawyers today, my sister, everyone,” Tate replied, a little lost in the conversation. He shook his head.

“I don't care. You always called me Jameson. Say it again,” he ordered. She laughed.

“Okay, play time is over. Get out of my apartment. I'm very flattered that you think you want to know something about me, but I don't really give two fucks. I don't want anything to do with you. You are nothing to me. So thank you, and goodbye,” she stated, gesturing towards her door.

Jameson watched her for a second and then walked towards her, his steps slow and deliberate. She refused to back away, so they wound up almost chest to chest. Not quite touching, but close enough that he sucked all the oxygen out of her. She stared up at him, rubbing her lips together so she wouldn't blurt out the thoughts in her head.

“It hasn't escaped my attention that you growing a massive set of balls seems to have happened right after I fucked you. I think I deserve some credit, and therefore, you owe me,” he broke it down for her. She burst out laughing.

“You're an amazing piece of work! Just because we had sex, doesn't mean -,”

“I fucked you. There is a big difference.”

“It was seven years ago!” Tate was suddenly shrieking. “Seven fucking years! Who gives a fuck!? I've fucked a lot of people since then! I'm sure you have, too! So big fucking deal!”

Nothing rattled him. He stood still, continuing to smirk down at her. It drove her insane. She wanted to slap him. Claw her nails across his face. Knock him to the ground. And then possibly fuck his brains out ...,

“I think it was a very big deal, and we can discuss that another time. For now, let me take you to work. Let me see this shit hole bar you work at, and then maybe we can set up a time to chat,” Jameson offered.

Her mind was spinning. It had been a big deal to him? Not possible. Not. Fucking. Possible. He'd barely even looked at her after it had happened, and she had been a puddle on the floor. Jameson Kane wasn't that kind of guy, she couldn't imagine anything being that big of a deal to him. She had always assumed he had forgotten about it.

That's why she was so stunned.

“I ..., you ..., what?” she asked. He laughed.

“I'll be waiting downstairs. Your apartment scares me. Be down in fifteen minutes. Do not make me come back up here,” he ordered, pointing a finger at her before walking towards the door.

“You can't tell me -,”

“Oh, and Tate, you forgot these,” he said, digging in his pocket. He pulled her panties out and tossed them onto the floor. “You always seem to be dropping these around me.”

Mother fucker.

*

Jameson was a little shocked that she came down within the fifteen minutes. She eyed him sideways for a minute, and it was obvious she was considering just walking off, but something made her think twice. She must have figured out that he would just follow after her. She sighed and stepped around him, letting herself in to the passenger side of his car.

Tate didn't talk to him, other than to give directions. Her voice had gotten just a touch lower than it had been when she was eighteen. A huskiness had been added to it, or something. Something sexy. Everything about her was sexy. Seven years ago, she had been sexy as a clueless, naive, young woman. Now, as a confident, forward, twenty-five year old, she stopped his heart. Made it hard to think straight.

She had put makeup on. She seemed to favor a smudgy, smoky eye. It looked good on her. A little trashy, but in a very sexy way. Her pert mouth was coated in a pale, pink gloss, that really emphasized the fact that she most definitely had CSL - cock-sucking-lips. Seven years ago, he wouldn't have ever been able to imagine Tatum O'Shea sucking dick. Now he couldn't stop.

Jameson wouldn't let himself think about her body, or he'd have to pull over the car and ease the tension between them, right then and there.

She was fighting against him, and it just turned him on even more. When she had started pulling down her panties, in the middle of that room, with all those people ..., it had taken every bit of restraint he had not to dismiss everyone and fuck her right then. The old Tatum had been fun to play with, cute. This Tatum, he wanted to own. He wanted to break her down, bend her to him. She seemed a worthy adversary, and Jameson loved a good fight.

“Do you always start work this late?” he questioned, pulling up in front of a kind of dive looking bar. She shook her head.

“No, I'm filling in for someone, I normally work weekends. Thanks for the ride,” she said before leaping out of the car. He got out right behind her.

“Oh, I've gotta see this place. I'm fascinated by your life. Good girl goes bad. Is there piss on the floor?” he asked, holding the door to the bar open. She gave him a smile full of sweetness.

“You have such a sexy way with words.”

Then she elbowed him and strode through the door.

She made a beeline to the bar, ducking under the partition and heading in to a back room. Jameson planted himself on a bar stool and ordered a bourbon. Neat. The woman serving him was wearing a pair of tight leather pants and a string-bikini top, and wore them well. It made him curious as to what Tate would be wearing, wondered if it would be as slutty.

He wasn't disappointed. Fifteen minutes later, at ten o'clock on the dot, she reappeared. His tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth. She was wearing a tiny pair of jean cut-offs. He had wanted to see her ass, and now his wish was pretty much granted. When she leaned over the back of the bar to grab something, he could see the bottom swell of her ass cheeks.

On top she was wearing a t-shirt with some sort of baseball logo on it, but she had ripped off the bottom half of it. It stopped just beneath her breasts, and when she lifted her arms, he could see a gray, lacy bra. The shirt also show-cased her stomach, with was tone and flat. The girl took care of her body. She had leather boots on her feet, almost combat like, but with the tops folded down. They should have looked at odds with her sexy outfit, but they worked some how.

“Is this how you normally dress for work?” Jameson asked when she made her way towards his end of the bar. She glanced down at herself.

“No. Sometimes I wear less,” she replied, and he laughed.

“Less? So if I come in here on the weekend, you might be serving people in a bikini?” he had to shout to be heard over the music and the rowdy patrons. It had been pretty full when they'd walked in – now it was standing room only.

“Only if it's a game day.”

“Hot. But those shorts, I think they have to go. Sometimes less is more, you know,” he teased. Tate raised an eyebrow.

“You think they're too short?”

“Yes.”

She whirled away from him and took long strides to the other end of the bar. She picked something up and then headed back towards him. It took him a second before he realized it was a blow horn. She smirked at him and then lifted it to her lips.

“Everybody! Hey!” she shouted. There was a roar of cheers and the music was turned down. “This man here thinks my shorts are too short! What do you all think!?” She pulled the blow horn away, lifting her arms up in a questioning gesture.

The place went nuts. The crowd had to be seventy-five percent male, and all of them were hooting and hollering at her. Tate smiled, and winked, biting the tip of her tongue between her teeth. It was clear that she knew what she was doing, knew how to work the crowd. She turned around and bent at the waist, shaking her ass a little. The roar grew to a deafening level. She finally stood up and turned back around, waving everyone away. Then she turned to Jameson.

“I didn't say you looked bad,” he pointed out. She shook her head.

“You're ridiculous. If you don't like what I'm wearing, leave,” she suggested before prancing back down the bar to wait on customers.

“Not until you agree to talk with me, Tatum!” Jameson shouted over the din. She glanced at him while she expertly twirled bottles in her hands, throwing liquor in to glasses.

“I still don't know what it is we have to talk about!” she yelled back, twirling two shakers at once. She was very good at her job.

“The way you talk, the way you dress, your makeup, your ass!” he replied. At the word “ass”, some idiot next to him cheered.

“Best I can tell, not one of those things is any of your business!” she laughed, cracking open one of the shakers and letting a blue concoction pour in to a martini glass.

“I'm making them my business. I want to get to know you,” he said.

“But not date me,” she clarified, pouring the second drink.

“Don't be fucking stupid,” Jameson laughed.

Tate made her way back to him and then planted her hands on the bar, spreading her arms wide. She leaned close to him, very close, her breath hot against his lips. Her loose shirt hung forward and he had a perfect view down her cleavage.

“What do you want, Kane?” she asked in a low voice. He dragged his eyes away from her tits and stared her in the eye.

“Call me that name again, and I will punish your mouth,” he warned her. She chuckled.

“Don't make promises you won't keep,” she retorted.

Oh my, I may have met my match. This should be interesting.

“Who says I won't? I have big plans for that mouth,” Jameson said, pinching her chin between his fingers. She rolled her eyes.

“Not gonna happen, Kane. Not any part of me, is going to touch any part of you, so you had better get used to that idea,” she informed him before pulling away.

We'll see about that.

“Alright. But we are going to talk,” he said. She heaved a sigh.

“Fine. Fine. How about we make an appointment? Say, tomorrow? One o'clock? Does that work for you, my lord and master?” she taunted. He took out his phone.

“I'm marking it down. Meet me at my office,” he told her. She snorted.

“Fine, whatever,” she grumbled at him. He glanced up at her.

“You had better show up. If I have to come get you, you won't like it,” Jameson warned her. Tate laughed.

“Talk, talk, talk. In my experience, men who talk as much as you, have very little action to back it up,” she said. He laughed as well.

“You've experienced me in action. And there wasn't very much talking.”

She rolled her eyes and then grabbed his glass, drinking the rest of his bourbon in one shot.

“You put too much emphasis on the past, Kane. It was one time, one time. The great Jameson Kane is hung up on a one night stand? It was nothing, it's long gone. We'll talk about whatever you want tomorrow, and then it's goodbye,” she informed him before walking off. He smirked at her.

Twice. She called me by my last name twice. Now she really owes me.