Degradation(13)

"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.         

     



 





~5~


Tate sat in a chair in an anteroom outside of Jameson's office. She had  thought about blowing him off, but she didn't want him showing up at her  apartment again. How had he known where she lived, anyway? And he had  said he was scared of it  –  Mr. Prissy Pants had probably never been in a  low-rent building.

Asshole.

She had no clue what was going on between them. He challenged her, she  played his games. She could have walked away from him  –  the moment he  entered that conference room, she could've walked out. When he touched  her leg, she could have slapped him. Could have screamed and acted like a  scared girl.

But something about him still got under her skin. There was truth to  what Ang had said, her night with Jameson had greatly affected her. It  not only set about a major change in her life, but had helped her  discover a new side to herself. Tate liked to be treated roughly. She  liked to be talked dirty to, liked to be pushed around. Of course, only  on her terms, and only by men she liked. She didn't like Jameson Kane,  and nothing with him was ever on her terms. He made her nervous. Her  made her hot. He confused her.

"Ms. O'Shea?"

She snapped out of her daze. It was obvious that the secretary had been  standing there for a while. Tate smiled and got up, following the woman  in to a large office. Jameson didn't spare any expense  –  large windows  with amazing views. Mahogany furniture. Impressive credentials in  frames. Was that a real Mark Rothko on the wall!?

"I figured you would stand me up," Jameson got out of his chair as the  secretary backed out of the room. Tate shrugged and walked forward,  flopping in to a chair across from his desk.

"As cute as stalking is, I figured I'd better nip this in the bud," she replied. His eyes traveled up and down her form.

"You look different today. Every time I see you, it's like a different  person," he said. She glanced down at herself. She was wearing wide  legged suit pants, ballet flats, and a blouse with puffed, cap sleeves.  All black.

"I'm temping for an upscale salon today. What do you want?" Tate got to the point. He smiled at her.

"So impatient. How've you been? Did you finish school?" he inquired, taking his seat again.

She narrowed her eyes at him. He said he just wanted to talk, but then  he would make comments about punishing her mouth, and other things. He  said he didn't want to date her, but he seemed borderline obsessed with  getting to know her. He made her mind spin in circles.

"I've been fan-fucking-tastic. I dropped out of school right after I  left Harrisburg. Is that it?" she asked, surging to her feet.

"Sit down," he commanded in a stern voice, and she immediately did so  –  shocking herself a little.

"What do you want, Kane? Let's not beat around the bush. You don't know  me  –  you never cared to know me before, so what's the big deal now? If I  disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow, it wouldn't affect your  life," Tate pointed out.

"Maybe not. But I'm kind of used to getting what I want, and like I  said, you intrigue me," Jameson replied. She scooted to the edge of her  chair.

"Okay, fine. My life story  –  I left home after the night I slept with  you, didn't look back. My father called me, told me he wouldn't pay my  tuition anymore. I told him to fuck off. My mother called me and told me  I wasn't welcome in their home anymore. I told her to fuck off. Ellie  called me and told me I was the biggest whore she'd ever met. I told her  to go fuck herself. I dropped out of school. I got a job at a Chili's. I  moved out my apartment. Got a second job cleaning motel rooms. Moved to  a shittier apartment. Got my job at the bar  –  moved in with Rusty, to  an even shittier apartment.

"But you know what's crazy? I was happy. I got to be me  –  I never got to  be me, before I left. It was awesome. I drank a lot, I did a lot of  drugs, I had a lot of sex, and it was all awesome. Now you're pretty  much caught up to speed. Can I go?" she said it all rapid fire, speaking  as fast as she could. Jameson leaned back in his chair.

"Do you still do drugs?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.

"Pot sometimes. I've tried ecstasy, and coke. Acid once, but not really  in to all that stuff anymore. Never did anything super hard core," she  replied.

"Scandalous. How many guys have you slept with?"

"Too many to count," she responded. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"Stop being cute. How many?" he asked again. She shrugged.

"I don't keep count. A lot, but not, like, astronomical."

"Any as good as me?"

"A couple."

"Doubtful."

Tate stared at him for a minute. Was he really insecure about how he  stacked up? Seemed ridiculous. He'd probably been fucking his way  through the Ford Modeling Agency. She knew there was no way she could  compare to the women he must have slept with since their time together.  She let out a deep sigh.         

     



 

"Is that what you really want to know about? You can just ask," she told  him. "I'd had sex with one other person, before you. What you and I did  was ..., intense. Probably not right on more levels than I like to  acknowledge, but I liked it. It took me a while to admit that, you know.  That I liked it. I thought something was wrong with me  –  you were a  complete dick, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Then a couple months after I moved back here, after I moved out of the  apartment Daddy had rented, I went to this party. Got a little drunk.  This guy was hitting on me, really laying it on, and it was like the old  Tate kept whispering 'ew, you can't stand here and listen to this, it's  inappropriate! You'll get in trouble!', but another side of me started  going, 'who cares? He's hot, you're horny  –  just fuck him, you don't  have to answer to anyone but yourself'  –  and it was like something in me  changed. I could do that, if I wanted to. No parents to worry about  upsetting, no reputation to really care about, none of that stuff.  Turned out the guy was horrible in bed, a total waste of time. But it  helped me realize something  –  I like sex. I like having sex, I like  being sexy. I like being single. I like being me, and fuck anyone who  doesn't like it," she finished.