“Pack. A fucking. Bag,” he hissed. “I don't have time for this, for any of your crazy shit. I will deal with us later, but for right now, this moment, I have to stop this fucking publicity train. Got it!?”
He was leaning over her. Looming. She stared right up at him. Licked her lips, then pressed her hand against his chest. Jameson had always been a little psychic, so she knew she really had to sell it. She let her eyes wander over his features, cementing them in her memory. She always loved him best when he looked angry.
Always loved him, always.
“Jameson, I'm fine. I'll just slow you down. I'll be here when you get back,” she insisted in a soft voice, gently rubbing her hand over his chest. He narrowed his eyes.
“No, you won't. You always run away,” he said. She shook her head.
“I will be here, I promise. I'm fine. Go, do what you need to do. Like you said, we'll deal with us later,” she assured him, pressing herself against him.
“I don't believe you.”
“I don't really care. You're wasting time right now, arguing with me. Go,” she urged.
He suddenly leaned down and kissed her, and it was all she could do not to cry. She had always loved his kisses. This one was soft, his lips pressing against hers, his tongue gentle against her own. His hands came up to cup her jaw, molding her to him. She sighed into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Promise me you'll be here when I come back,” he breathed against her, resting his forehead to hers.
“I promise.”
Note he never said anything about later ...
*
Jameson was only gone for two days. Long enough to slap Petrushka with so many lawsuits, her management team was spinning in circles. A cease and desist was first and foremost. She could not talk about him in connection with her pregnancy, or she would be sued. But that didn't really matter, because there was nothing he could do about the media. He was requesting a paternity test, to see if she was telling the truth. She was fighting it. That one would take a bit longer.
Requesting a paternity test to see IF it's true. Requesting proof to prove that it IS true. Doesn't sounds like he's as positive as he likes to pretend ...
Jameson was wary of her. Eyeing Tate as if she was going to explode at any minute. Fair assumption to make. She teased him and laughed at him about the whole thing. Even Sanders looked at her like she was a little crazy.
“Do you want me to freak out? I mean, it can be arranged,” she laughed one day. Jameson put his forearms on his desk.
“I want you to be truthful,” he insisted. She swallowed thickly.
“I don't think either of us is ready for that right now. Later,” she replied. And he nodded.
Petrushka even called one day. That was some awesome icing on the cake. Tate answered his phone. Syrupy sweet German words dripped down the line, laced in venom. Tate just shrugged and handed the phone over to Jameson. He looked astounded at her for a minute, then like he was going to strangle the phone in the next. He called Petrushka so many impressive names, Tate almost thought it was foreplay.
Maybe it is.
The final straw came a couple days after he had gotten back. Everyone had settled into the library for a nice, awkward evening of not speaking to each other, when Tate's cell phone started ringing. It was Ang. She hadn't told him about everything that had gone down. She answered the phone, worried that he would hear it in her voice.
“Hey, how are -,” she started.
“It's time.”
“Huh?” she asked.
“Ellie. Having the baby. Driving to the hospital,” he spat out. Tate leapt out of her seat.
“But she's got like another month, or something!” she yelled.
“I know. Apparently no one told the baby. Get down here.”
She was halfway out the door when Jameson stopped her.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demanded. She laughed, hopping into a shoe.
“Apparently the whole fucking world is having a baby, not just your girlfriend. Ellie's in labor.”
She really didn't want him there, but he had become like her shadow. Afraid to let her out of his sight. He insisted on going with her, so Sanders drove them both to the hospital. When Tate got to the waiting area, Ang was sitting in a chair with his head in his hands.
“She called you?” Tate asked, hurrying up to his side. He looked up at her.
“She was actually at my place. She had left some stuff, from before, and had come to get it all. We were just kinda chatting, whatever, you know, stuff, and she went into labor. Fucking scared the shit out of me,” he breathed. Tate laughed.
“'Stuff'!? Ang, were you two getting it on?” she asked. He groaned.
“I'm scarred for life.”
Normally, a first time birth took hours. Not Ellie Carmichael. That baby wanted out, and it wanted out now. Ellie didn't want anyone in the room while it happened, her modesty was firmly in place. Tate wasn't exactly surprised. What did surprise her, though, was seeing her mother and father strolling down the hallway.