Degradation(33)

"Promises, promises," Tate sang.

"Two days. Be at my place, at one o'clock. Bring a bathing suit," he instructed.

"Seriously?"

"Why do you make me repeat myself?"

"Two days. One o'clock. Bathing suit. You got it, boss."

Jameson didn't say goodbye, just hung up the phone. Hearing her voice  made him happy. Seven years ago, if anyone had asked him if he thought  he'd ever see Tatum again, he would have said no. And now he was  sleeping with her on a regular basis, and hanging on her words. Stupid,  stupid man.

"Sanders," he snapped out, heading back in to the room.

"Yes?" the other man responded, taking his phone back when Jameson held it out.

"Call Dunn. Call the other associates. Call my lawyers. We're going to  be having a get together when I get home. Food and drinks around the  pool, weather permitting," he said. Sanders looked surprised.

"I'm sorry. We're having ..., what?" he asked. Jameson laughed.

"Ms. O'Shea seems to think she's my dirty little secret. We're going to  prove to her that she's not," Jameson explained. Sanders stared at him  for a minute.

"You really like her, don't you?" he asked. Jameson's laugh died away.

"You know I hate those kinds of questions. Now get to work."

"Alright, I'll call everyone and find a place to take care of the  details. What about your arrangement for this evening, the Harmon  sisters?" Sanders asked, picking up an appointment book and opening it.

"What about it?" Jameson asked, striding over to his closet and rummaging through his clothing.

"Do you want to cancel?" Sanders continued.

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" Jameson blurted out, turning around. Sanders shrugged.

"Your phone call just now, the party. I thought maybe -," he started.

"You thought wrong. Now go, you have a party to plan."



*



Two days later, at one-thirty, Jameson stood on his front porch. His  arms were folded across his chest and he wore an expensive pair of  wayfarer sunglasses. His back yard was filled with about twenty of his  friends and colleagues, most with their significant others, but he was  waiting for one specific person.

And she was late.

"Did she call you?" he asked. Sanders appeared in his line of vision.         

     



 

"No. You keep asking me that. Why would Ms. O'Shea ever call me?" Sanders responded. Jameson shrugged.

"She likes you, you two are friends," he replied.

"She likes you, too."

Jameson frowned.

Finally, ten minutes later, a cab pulled in to the driveway. Jameson  knew he could always send Sanders to get her, but then the whole process  would take twice the amount of time. Plus, she needed some  accountability  –  it was up to her to call the cab and get in it and get  there. Frankly, he was surprised she managed it at all.

"Sorry, it really wasn't my fault this time," Tate laughed as she climbed out of the back seat.

"Sure it isn't," he replied, scowling at her.

She was wearing the same shorts she had worn when he had gone to her  bar, and a sheer black blouse with a black bikini top underneath it. She  had flip flops on her feet, a ridiculously huge purse, and aviator  glasses that were so shiny, he could see his reflection in them. While  they talked, she pulled her hair up in to a sloppy ponytail. She looked  completely different from any other person in the house.

He wanted to devour her.

"It's really not her fault, sir," the cab driver started, actually  stepping out of the cab. They all turned towards him. "I got a flat tire  on the freeway. I have a pinched nerve in my back; the young lady  actually changed the tire for me. No charge for the ride."

Jameson turned back to Tate, his eyebrows raised. She smiled broadly and  flexed her arms like a body builder, kissing one of her biceps. He  laughed and gestured for Sanders to pay the man anyway.

"You changed a tire, dressed like this?" he asked as he led her in to the house. She threw back her head and laughed.

"No, I changed in to coveralls first. Yes, like this, Jameson. I didn't  have much of a choice. Do you even know how to change a tire?" she  asked. He pulled on her ponytail.

"No playing with me this early, we've got to act respectable for a little while," he told her.

"Why?"

But he didn't have to answer. The back part of the house was a  conservatory that over looked his pool and back yard. She gave a low  whistle. There were a lot of people on his back lawn, all laughing and  smiling. Clinking glasses and chatting, looking like they were all  having the time of their lives. Jameson Kane rarely invited people to  his private dwellings. Tate stood completely still, staring at  everything.

"Scared, baby girl?" Jameson whispered. She shook her head.

"No, but why? Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"You said I treat you like a secret. This is everyone I know in Boston.  Except for Angier. Forgot to invite him," Jameson said, his tone full of  bite. She lowered her glasses and gave him a Look.

"But why?" she pressed.

"You're not a secret to me, Tate. I'm not ashamed of you or what we do.  You're two steps above being an employee anyway," he pointed out. She  snorted.

"Employees get paid, and I haven't seen a fucking dollar. I ate macaroni and cheese ALL weekend," she told him.

"Whatever. I'm being nice. This may be your only opportunity to see it in action," he warned her. She took a deep breath.

"I'm not like these people, Jameson. I won't fit in. I'm very flattered,  and this means a lot, that you did this. It's very sweet. But ...," she  let the sentence hang.

She is scared.

"Alright. I made my statement. You don't have to go out there. Since  you're scared. And hey, now we really know who the bigger pussy is," he  mocked her.

Tate turned to look at him, shoving her glasses onto her head. She  slowly unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor, then shoved  her shorts off her hips. She was wearing a black bikini, the bottoms  breaking in to two strings that curved around her hips. She had an  amazing body, and the scorching summer had given her a killer tan. He  drank in the sight of her.

"I'm not scared. By the end of the day, those people out there will like  me more than they like you," she informed him. He laughed.

"I have no doubt of that. But you do realize that not one single other  person out there is just strutting around in their bathing suit. I  didn't realize you had to be half naked to feel comfortable," Jameson  said, gesturing outside. He was right. There were some board shorts, and  a lot of ladies were wearing bathing suits underneath fancy covers and  long dresses, but no one was serious about getting in the pool. Tatum  shook her head.

"You said wear a bathing suit, so I'm ready. Let's do this," she  replied, and strode out the back door. Jameson caught up with her, and  it was obvious he surprised her when he hooked an arm around her hips,  guiding her to the closest group of people.         

     



 

"Cecily. Livvy. Tad, this is my friend, Tatum. Our families were close,  in Pennsylvania. I recently discovered her living right here in Boston.  Tate, Tad's a junior broker at the firm, Livvy is his wife, and Cecily  keeps the accounting department in order," he introduced her.

Tad stared at her tits the whole time, Livvy looked like she wanted to  draw blood, and Cecily laughed, shaking Tate's hand. Tate, of course,  was friendly and personable. She laughed easily and it was obvious that  making friends came naturally to her. Jameson introduced her to a couple  more groups of people, and then left her to her own devices. He had  done his part, shown her that she wasn't someone he wanted to hide away.  She was a friend, he guessed, just like the rest of them.

Now he could go back to being an asshole.

Jameson hovered near the makeshift bar, chatting and laughing with some  of the guys, but always keeping an eye on her. She floated around the  party, mingling with everyone. Cecily took to her, as did a couple of  the other girls, but most of the women watched her with venom in their  eyes. It was obvious that Tate was aware of this, and she flirted  shamelessly with every single guy. More so with the ones who had  judgemental girlfriends or wives at their sides. She stretched out on a  lounge chair at one point, and made a show of putting sun tan lotion on  every visible inch of skin.

He was not immune to the pull she was having on the other men.

"Where did you find her?" Wenseworth Dunn walked up to Jameson's side,  gesturing to Tate as she stretched her arms above her head.

"I told you, our families -," Jameson started.

"Bullshit. Most blue blood types don't breed daughters that hot," Dunn laughed. Jameson nodded.

"Agreed. But she is Mathias O'Shea's estranged daughter," Jameson supplied. Dunn whistled.

"Oh wow. Pretty powerful guy. Playing with fire, Kane," he warned.

"Not really. Severely estranged. Haven't spoken for seven years. I'm  part of the reason why, though he still speaks to me," Jameson said.  Dunn turned to look at him.