"You say that about every guy you're with, you know. Even back when you used to date. Now you don't even do that – just screw 'em and lose 'em. What kind of man does it take to satisfy the insatiable Tatum O'Shea?" Rus asked.
"If I'm 'the insatiable Tatum O'Shea', then by definition, I can't be satisfied," Tate joked.
"No, seriously. What would it take? Perfect man. What do you want?" Rus pressed.
"I don't want a boyfriend. I've tried that, don't like it, over it. I like playing around," Tate replied. Rus shrugged.
"Okay, so what would it take for a guy to be so good in bed, that you'd never want to leave it?" she changed the question.
Tate pressed her lips together and stared out the window, silent for a minute. It wasn't a line of questioning she liked too much. Made her think about the past, which she didn't like to do, at all.
"Someone a little domineering, someone who can handle my crazy, weird, personality. Someone who can make my eyes roll back in my head. Someone who can talk absolute filth to me, but still know where the line is, and even know when to step over it on occasion," Tate started. "Someone who ..., will just let me be me, and be cool with it. Let me come and go."
"Emphasis on the come?" Rus asked, and Tate burst out laughing.
"You have the maturity of a twelve year old. Let's get some tacos, I'm starving," she groaned.
They sat outside, on top of a picnic table. Tate threw excess lettuce to some birds while Rus chattered on about her own guy problems. She was always looking for Mr. Right, and her current boyfriend wasn't stacking up. She was explaining how Vinny wouldn't know his way around her body even if she printed him a map, when Tate's phone went off. She glanced at the screen and then groaned before answering it.
"Yeah?" she answered, her voice muffled by almost half a taco.
"Tate, sweetie, cover for me tonight? I'll make it up to you, I promise," a voice whined over the other end. Rachel. Another friend, who worked for a catering business. Tate temped with them on occasion, so Rachel would call her to cover every now and then.
"I don't know, I had kind of a late night last night," Tate grumbled.
"This'll be easy. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres at some swanky building downtown, seven to ten; get there at six, done by eleven. Please, please, please, I will owe you my life," Rachel begged. Tate rolled her eyes.
"Keep it, it's not worth anything anyway. I'll do it, I'll do it," she responded. She could always use more money.
"Eeeeek! You're the best, Tatey-Watey, the absolute best," Rachel gushed, and then passed along the address and event info. Tate hung up the phone and sighed.
"Her voice is so hard to resist. Wha'd she rope you into, this time?" Rus asked, finishing off the last taco.
"Just some party, cocktails and stuff. Some new company that just opened downtown, kind of a welcome event thingy. Kraven and Dunn, brokerage firm or something. A bunch of suits, people that are rich out the ass," Tate explained.
"Oh, so your kind of people?"
"Shut up," Tate snapped, punching Rus in the arm when she started to laugh. "Not anymore. My mother would die if she saw the way I lived."
"We're not so bad," Rus piped up. Tate nodded.
"I know – it's more of a comment on them than us," she explained before jumping off the table. "Let's get out of here. I gotta go shower and find that uniform."
Tate showed up at the address at six o'clock sharp. The whole office building belonged to the firm, and the party was being held on the top floor. Ooohhh, big money. Could mean big tip. Or no tip. Rich people were funny that way, she had noticed.
She changed in a bathroom stall, and then examined herself in a mirror. She hadn't really been sure how cleaned up she should get – when she catered, she always tried to score more low key events. She hoped her heavy eye makeup wasn't too much, she didn't want to go through the hassle of scrubbing it all off. She pulled her hair in to a high ponytail and made her way in to the kitchen.
All the servers were gathered together and walked through the event space, a large conference room that had been cleared of all its furniture and set up for the party with little tables everywhere. No guests were there yet, but some guys in suits were wandering around, looking things over. Tate sighed and picked at her nails, ignoring the run through; blah blah, serve the drinks, blah blah, don't talk to the guests, blah blah, drop a tray and instant death. It was always the same.
There wasn't a whole lot to do till guests got there, and Tate was a mover by nature. She didn't like standing around doing nothing. She began prepping drink trays, preloading some with champagne glasses that had been designed special for the occasion – there was supposed to be a toast at the end of the night, and all of the glasses had a large, cursive K etched in to the glass. She set them up in the kitchen, and then carried them to a table where the other trays were filled with food, ready to go. She was on her last tray when she turned around and rammed right in to somebody.
"What the shit!" she exclaimed, dropping the tray and falling to her knees.
"Excuse me," a man's voice floated down to her. She grumbled and began grabbing at the broken glasses, slamming them onto the tray.
"Walk much!? Or is this your first time as a pedestrian?" she snapped. The guy squatted down next to her.
"Sorry, I didn't see you there," he repeated, though his voice sounded anything but sorry.
She flicked her eyes to his face, giving him her most severe glare before concentrating on the glass in front of her. She frowned. Light eyes. Dark hair. He had been staring at her. He was very good looking, and wearing an expensive looking suit. God, had she just told off one of the guests? What was a guest doing in the kitchen?
"Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. You just startled me," Tate mumbled an apology. He laughed.
"That didn't exactly sound genuine," he chuckled.
"Just doing my job, sir," she managed a tight lipped response.
"You work here?"
"No, I just like to wear aprons and run around kitchens for fun," she said before she could stop herself. He laughed again.
"Ah, a caterer. C'mon, get up. Ignore those, I'll get someone to clean it up," he said, and then grabbed her arm, forcing her to climb to her feet. She was a little shocked at the audacity of just grabbing her like that, but she didn't say anything. Couldn't. His fingers felt like they were burning holes through the oxford shirt she was wearing.
"But I can't just leave that, I -," she started, trying to bend back down. He kept his grip on her.
"Leave it," he ordered, and a shiver ran down her spine. She finally looked at him again.
"You can't just tell me to leave a mess there, and it's okay. Who are you?" she demanded. He smiled down at her, and something fluttered in her chest.
No. Not possible.
"See the K on those glasses?" he asked. She glanced down at the tray.
"Yeah?"
"That's me. I'm the Kraven in Kraven and Dunn," he explained. She managed a nod.
"Oh."
"You seem surprised."
"No. Just really wishing I hadn't yelled at you now," Tate replied. He laughed again, loudly. She frowned. Something wasn't right. Her universe felt like it was tilting to the left.
"It's fine. I wasn't paying attention, I shouldn't have just barged in here. I just thought ..., thought I saw something," he told her.
"I should probably get back to work," she said, staring in to his eyes. His blue, blue eyes. He squeezed her elbow and then let it go. She took a couple steps away.
"You probably should. See you around," he said. She nodded and walked off.
See you around.
Tate stopped breathing. Almost stopped moving. She made it to the end of a short hall and then stepped to the side, pressing her back against a wall. She felt like she was going to hyperventilate. It was ridiculous. It couldn't be, that guy said his name was Kraven. Not Kane.
She leaned to the side and peaked her head around the corner. He was still standing there, his hands in his pants pockets, looking down at the mess. She studied his profile. Dark hair. Strong features. Light eyes. Broad shouldered, and tall, probably like six-foot-two, or so. Very sexy. So good looking ..., she felt like if she stared at him for too long, she'd go blind.
Oh my god.
She hurried off, pushing her way through the other waitstaff till she found one of the event coordinators. The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of a nervous break down, but Tate didn't care. She had to know something.
"Who is hosting this event?" she demanded.
"We went over this earlier, Kraven and Dunn," the girl responded.
"Yes, I know that – what are their names, Kraven and Dunn? Their full names?" Tate asked, struggling not to shake the girl.