"Kind of."
"What type of emergency is a 'kind of' emergency?" he asked.
"I met with Jameson today. He wanted to have a 'talk' with me, at his office. I just left," she spoke softly in to the phone. Ang started laughing.
"Ooohhh, it's that kind of emergency. I can't fuck you right now, kitten. Normally I jump at the opportunity to fulfill your needs, but I'm prepping for filming right now," he laughed. Tate rolled her eyes.
"It's not like that, I pretty much argued with him the whole time," she snapped at Ang. He snorted.
"And you love to fight. Exactly how wet are you right now? On a scale – like, pleasantly aware? Or need to lose your underwear?" he asked. She chewed on her lip and looked down at herself.
Definitely the latter.
"Could your film use an extra today?" she managed to laugh in a quiet voice.
"Oh, babe, you've really got it bad. What's the big deal? You want him, go get him. I've never seen you hold back from any guy. Why this guy?" Ang asked. She shrugged.
"Because, he's Jameson Kane. He's like my worst nightmare and my biggest dream, all rolled in to one. Because if he wants me, and I don't want him, I win – but if he wants me, and I sleep with him, he wins," she babbled.
"Baby, the only thing you're losing out on is good sex. Why does it have to be a competition? Play together, then everybody wins," Ang suggested.
Tate stared out in to the street. She had been thinking of it as a competition – Jameson had used her once, and she wanted to get back at him. But Ang was right, once she wanted a man, she didn't hold back. And she really wanted Jameson. She had to reconcile that in her mind, or make the two opposing thoughts work together some how.
"Maybe you have a point," she mumbled.
"I'm almost always right, babe. Think of it as closure. Or make-up sex. Or oh! An anger-bang, getting back at him for making you feel bad! You do love angry sex," Ang reminded her. She rolled her eyes.
"God. What if I sleep with him, though, and it's horrible? Or weird? Or he, like, falls in love with me?" Tate asked, chewing on her lip.
"Jesus, when did you turn in to such a girl? The way you describe him, the man sounds incapable of having bad sex – or falling in love, for that matter. Just make sure you don't lose your heart. Big, bad, demons don't marry little girls," Ang warned her. She laughed.
"I'm not even sure I have a heart to lose anymore," she replied.
"It's there. Buried underneath piles of used condoms and Jack Daniel's bottles, it's in there somewhere," he assured her.
"You're gross."
"Look, I gotta go, sweets. Pedro's all lubed up and ready to shoot. Go have nasty, hot, sex with that man. Make him worship the ground Tatum O'Shea walks on. You know, be yourself. Then walk away like it ain't no thang. And then give me all the details. Take care," he instructed her. She sighed.
"You can't just leave me like this – what do I do? Do I go back there? Do I wait for him to call me? I don't know how to be like this," she whined. Ang started laughing.
"Oh jesus, you really are strung out for him. What I wouldn't give to be with you right now, you'd probably let me do all those things to you that you normally won't let me," he laughed.
"If you come get me and save me from the big, bad, demon, I just might," she told him in a breathy voice.
"Stop it, no teasing me. Seriously. Just do whatever feels natural. If you want to call him, call him. If you want him to call you, wait. If you want to show up at his office wearing nothing but a trench coat, send me pictures. Ciao for now," he prattled off and then the phone line went dead.
Tate huffed out a breath and stared down at the blank screen on her phone. She needed a plan, if she was going to do this – Jameson Kane got under her skin, ripped her apart. She needed some stitching in place, before she dealt with him. She wanted to sleep with him, wanted him to want her like he'd never wanted any woman ever before, wanted him obsessed with her. But she also wanted to be able to walk away whenever she wanted; which she would do, whenever she got bored. Just like he had been able to do with her.
It's still a game, and I am going to win.
Her phone suddenly rang in her hand, startling her. It was the temp agency calling.
"Hi Carla, I know about the spa, I was going to head there in a little bit," Tate assured the woman.
"This isn't about that – we've had another request for you! Pretty impressive, Tatum. Kraven and Dunn Brokerage called, they need a data entry clerk. Heard you were good. It would have the potential for long term work!" Carla was excited, her voice even breathier than normal.
"Thanks, Carla, I'll think about it," Tate responded through clenched teeth. She listened to the woman babble for a while, and then made her goodbyes.
She squared her shoulders and headed back to Jameson's building. While she was in the elevator, she hurried to slick on some lip gloss and ruffle up her hair. Then she smudged her eyeliner a little, to give her eyes a darker, sexier look. She had looked polished earlier. She wanted to look a little messy now. She strode onto his floor and right past his secretary, who yelled at her as Tate burst in to his office.
"My, that didn't take very long," Jameson laughed, hanging up a phone that had been pressed to his ear. Tate shut the office door on the squawking secretary.
"Why do you want me to be your data entry clerk?" she demanded.
"Because if you're busy with all those pathetic little side jobs, it'll make it harder for me to turn you to the dark side," he teased. She walked up to his desk.
"I'm not about to take a job just so you can try to have your way with me in some shitty cubicle," she informed him. He quirked up an eyebrow.
"You'll let your friend fuck you in an alley, but I can't sexually harass you in a cubicle?" he asked. Tate actually laughed – she couldn't help it.
"Look, if you want to see me or whatever, then come see me. You know where I live, you know where I work. I don't need to work in your office. I've played the secretary that the boss is fucking – it isn't fun. Most office women have very sharp insecurities and don't take kindly to the slutty new girl," she told him. He shook his head.
"I don't want to have to track you down at every ridiculous job you have; bicycle tours? You've gotta be shitting me. I want your schedule clear, so I can see you whenever I want," he informed her. She crossed her arms.
"For someone who doesn't want a girlfriend, sounds like you plan on spending an awful lot of time with me," she pointed out. Jameson finally stood up.
"I just want to get to know you, mostly in the naked sense. You're the one who keeps bringing up relationship status. I'm telling you, right now, that will not happen, so don't get your hopes up," he said, his voice serious.
"So what, you just want me to work in your building, hiding in some dark corner, like a dirty secret? Not very enticing," Tate told him. He shook his head.
"Not at all. Like I said, I would just like you ..., available to me, whenever I want," Jameson tried to explain. She shook her head.
"Well that's impossible. I have to work. I live in the real world, Kane, I have to make money, I have to pay rent," she informed him.
"And I'm offering you a job here," he responded.
"I am not going to work here. Besides, I love the bar, I would never leave it," she said.
"So quit all the temp bullshit, the tours, the dog walking, ice cream trucks, drug running, and whatever else you do," Jameson suggested. She laughed.
"And live off three nights a week!? I make pretty good tips, but I'm not quite there yet," Tate laughed. His eyes were starting to get hard, she noticed. It was a look she hadn't seen in a long time, but she remembered it well.
"Then just work here," he said again. She shook her head.
"No. I'm not doing that," she replied. He rolled his eyes.
"You know what? Fine. I'll pay you. For every day you miss out on a job because of me, I'll fucking pay you for it," Jameson snapped out. Her eyebrows shot up.
"You'd pay me, to miss work, just so you could hang out with me and potentially have sex with me?" she clarified. He nodded.
"Definitely have sex, and yes, If that's what it takes."
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You're gorgeous and rich – you could probably find women who would pay you to have sex with them," Tate pointed out. He finally smiled again.
"Gorgeous, huh. Flattery will get you nowhere with me. And I make more than enough money, I don't want to get paid to have sex," he replied.
"But you don't mind paying for it?"
"Not at all."