Degradation (34 page)

A month wasn't so bad. She could get a lot done in a month.

Tatum broke the bad news to Rus. Explained to her that Ang just wasn't a relationship kind of guy. Tate didn't play it, but she showed Rus a DVD of one of his movies. The cover was enough to make Rus turn a little green. So prim and proper. There were some tears, and a general cursing of men, but she got over it.

Tate wasn't ready to call Ang yet, though. She was still so mad at him. The things he had said to her, the way he had spoken to her. She would wait till after Jameson got home, and then she would talk to Ang. She counted down the days.

One really shocking day was when Nick Castille called her; the baseball player she had screwed in her bar. He had gotten her number from her manager. Totally inappropriate and against the rules, but she was flattered.

Tate was lonely and bored, so she agreed to dinner. They had a good time, but she stared at him when he asked if they could go on a “real” date sometime. Nick was extremely good looking, and several times while they ate, people asked him for his autograph. He was also really nice to her, very respectful. It was a novel experience, and she knew he was a catch. But she politely declined his offer – she was holding out for her lord and savior, Satan. Nick seemed a little sad, but he smiled at her, and said he could settle for being her friend.

And he meant it. He got her box seats to one of his games. They went out to eat often, and even took in a couple shows. They got along surprisingly well, despite being from completely different backgrounds and living completely opposite lives. Tate enjoyed his friendship. But she didn't push it – she never went back to his place, and never brought him back to hers. Jameson had never once slept with the same girl twice during their relationship. It wasn't a rule, really, but Tate didn't want to be the one to test whether or not it should be. She would respect Jameson's wishes and actions. She would wait for him.

She didn't speak with him at all, though. Not once. Early on, he texted her a couple times. Mostly filthy things, to remind her who was boss. A couple to ask after Sanders. A couple to remind her of her promises. One to say he missed her. Tate stared at that one for days on end. But then the texts stopped all together, and she found herself hovering near her phone, constantly checking to see if he had sent anything.

When did I become this girl? I surrendered to him without even realizing it.

But nothing, however, was as shocking as what happened during her third week of waiting.

Tate was puttering around her apartment. Rus was at one of her vet tech classes. Sanders was holed up in his penthouse hotel room, doing some translating work for Jameson. Nick was at an away game. Tate was bored. At first she had been afraid that without Jameson paying for everything, she would starve to death, or worse – have to go back to temping. But of course, he thought of everything, and Sanders had supplied her with a steady flow of money. She felt like she was whoring for both of them, but she didn't mind too much. They were both very important to her, so it was worth it.

She was on her phone, getting ready to dial out for Chinese food, when someone knocked on her door.

“Just a second!” she hollered, sliding in to the living room. She peeked through the peep hole, but couldn't tell who it was; it was someone wearing a big, floppy sun hat. A woman, she assumed. Tate yanked open the door. “I have religion, so I don't -,”

Her sister turned around to face her. Ellie was wearing huge sunglasses that weren't doing a very good job of hiding a black eye. Her arm was in a cast. And even though it hadn't been that long, her stomach looked noticeably bigger. They stared at each other for a while, till Ellie started to tremble.

“I didn't know where else to go,” she whispered.

“Come in, come in,” Tate urged, guiding her sister in to her tiny apartment. Ellie looked around, and then burst out crying.

After Jameson's little O'Shea family reunion, things had apparently gone downhill for Ellie. A broken jaw didn't slow Robert down at all. There had been more fights. More smacks. She thought she could handle it, but then he had pushed Ellie down a flight of stairs. That was where she drew the line. He could do what he wanted to her, but he couldn't hurt the baby. If he could treat an unborn child like that, how would he treat the child when it was standing right in front of him? She didn't want to find out.

“I'm sorry, I know you hate me. I know I ruined your life, but I just didn't know what else to do,” Ellie sobbed. Tate grabbed her hand and dragged her to her bedroom.

“I don't hate you, Ellie. I don't even know you. And you didn't ruin my life. My life is pretty awesome. You saved me,” Tate told her as she laid her sister down.

“I wish someone could have saved me,” Ellie cried. Tate frowned and laid on the bed next to her, got right up behind her and spooned her.

“I wasn't there. I could've called, I could've checked on you guys. I could've saved you,” she whispered.

It took Ellie a while to calm down, but finally her breathing evened out. She fell asleep. Tate crawled out of the bed and called Sanders. Appraised him of the situation. He told her that he was “
on it
”, though she wasn't sure what that meant. She
really
wanted to call Ang, but they hadn't made up yet. She hadn't spoken to him at all, so it would be awkward, and worse, she worried it would come off as her using him. She decided to make some tea instead, and carried it in to her room.

“I'm awake now,” her sister mumbled. Tate smiled and knelt next to the bed. Her sister sat up to take the coffee mug and Tate's eyes wandered down to her belly.

“Have you picked out any names yet?” she asked. Ellie sighed.

“Mathias if it's a boy,” she said. Tate had to laugh.

“Good old Daddy probably loves that. What if it's a girl?” she asked. Ellie chewed on her bottom lip.

“I was thinking maybe Tatum,” she whispered. Tate's eyebrows shot up.

“You're fucking with me,” she spat out. Ellie shook her head.

“I want her to be strong. Stronger than her mother. More like you. I always wished I could be more like you,” Ellie explained. Tate felt her eyes fill with tears and she forced out a laugh.

“If this gets any sweeter,
I'm
going to have morning sickness, all over you,” she joked, and Ellie laughed as well.

Sanders showed up later in the night. He didn't say anything to anyone, just breezed through the living room, giving his tight lipped smile to Ellie. Even though he'd never been there, he lead the way straight in to Tatum's room. Tate followed after him and closed the door behind them.

“What's up?” Tate asked, kind of surprised to see him.

“Mr. Kane sent me. He wanted to know how you were,” Sanders answered. She laughed.

“
Mr. Kane
could just call me, himself. Tell him I'm fine,” she replied. Sanders didn't laugh, though. If anything, his mouth got tighter.

“We were worried that her husband might come here and try to seek revenge. We both feel it would be best if you went to stay in a hotel,” Sanders told her. She laughed even louder.

“How would Robert even know where I lived? He thinks Ellie and I hate each other; she had to steal my address from my mom's contact book. I'm not leaving my home,” Tate informed him.

“We would feel much more comfortable if -,” he started, but she held up a hand.

“
We?
Let's tell the truth, Sandy. It's you, isn't it. Just you. Did you even talk to him?” she demanded. He nodded.

“Yes, I did. He was very upset,” Sanders assured her.

“But did he really say that? That he wanted me to go to a hotel?” she pressed. Sanders was silent for a while.

“If he'd had a chance, I know he would have. I know him very well, I know what he would say in these situations. He was very busy when I called,” he explained. Tate started to get a little ticked off.

“Busy, huh. Too busy to talk to you about my '
situation
'. Too busy to talk to
me
. Has he said when he's coming home?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“Yes. The end of this week.”

Tate was shocked.

“Wow. Were you planning on telling me?” she asked. Sanders looked away from her.

Uh oh.

“Yes. He wanted me to let you know, there is going to be a party at the house. Sunday. All the partners will be there, people from his offices in New York and Los Angeles and Berlin; everywhere. Black tie. He gets in to town that same day,” Sanders said quickly.

“Shit, that's cutting it a little close, isn't it?” she asked. He shrugged.

“He has me taking care of everything. If his flight can't make it, the party will just go on without him. He told me to ask you to buy a dress,” Sanders told her. She laughed.

“Of course he did. A fancy dress, for a fancy party. Is there something you're not telling me?” Tate demanded. Sanders usually had the best poker face of anyone she knew. But now, there was something off. He was back to not quite meeting her eyes.

“Ms. O'Shea, I ..., I've enjoyed our time together here in Boston. You are a good friend to me. I am going back to the house tomorrow and will be staying there. Would you like to join me?” he said quickly, his voice almost shy sounding. She was touched.

“Why Sandy, are you inviting me to move in with you?” she teased. He blanched.

“No. But your company would be greatly appreciated, as always,” he told her. She laughed and pulled him in for a hug.

“Of course I'll come with you. Help me calm Ellie down, and I'll go anywhere with you,” she whispered.

And then shockingly, his arms came around her and Sanders hugged her back.

*

Something wasn't right. Something most definitely, positively, wasn't right.

Tate could feel it in the air. Jameson's house felt like home to her, and she loved Sanders, but she could just tell;
something was not right
. Sanders wouldn't tell her anything, and she'd had no communication from Jameson. She even figured out the time difference and called him once – the first time she had
ever
called him, in the entire time they'd known each other.

He didn't answer.

By Saturday afternoon, she was a wreck. The house had been turned upside down by event planners. Sanders was running around, helping to get everything ready. Tate hovered in the background. Helped where she was needed, asked Sanders if there was anything she could do, but he had practically become a mime. He wouldn't speak, not if he didn't have to. Finally, she cracked and texted Jameson.

Is this a game?

It was hours before he replied. She was laying in his bed, ready to go to sleep, when her phone dinged.

Yes.

She sat up, turned on a light.

What are the rules?

No more rules.

That sounds dangerous.

I thought you liked danger.

She chewed on her bottom lip, glanced around the room.

What is going on?

But he ignored her question and asked one of his own.

Where are you, right now?

Your room.

In my bed?

Yes.

Good.

What is going on?

See you soon, baby girl.

He wouldn't respond to anymore of her texts. She stayed awake for the rest of the night.

*

The next evening, some of Jameson's colleagues showed up early for the party, made themselves at home in his library. Tate got ready, wandered around the house. She was coming out of the kitchen, struggling to open a jar of peanut butter, when laughter burst out of the library. She stopped by the door.

“Clever man. Keeping girls on two continents,” one was guffawing.

Tate's breathing doubled.

“Which one do you think he likes better?” another voice.

“Well, the girl here seems wilder, more his tastes. I bet she's an animal in the sack.”

She nodded to herself. Sounded like her.

“But Pet's more polished, more refined. You can take Pet to parties; you take the other girl to bed.”

Tate pressed herself against the library door. Fuck being subtle.

“Yes, but what do you do with both of them at once?”

“Sounds like a hell of a party!”

Bawdy laughter.

“I guess we'll find out, they'll be here tonight.”

“What's-her-name is already here.”

“Jameson and Pet got in on the six o'clock flight. They should be here any time now.”

There was a sharp ringing in her ear and Tate stumbled away from the door. Dropped the peanut butter. When she turned around, Sanders was standing behind her. They stared at each other. Just stared, for about a minute solid.

Traitor.

She took off running up the stairs. Sanders thundered after her, calling out her name. She had never heard him speak in such a loud tone before; any other time, and she would've been in awe. She ran down the hall, almost biting it in her heels once. She skated through Jameson's door just before Sanders and managed to shut it in his face, turning the lock. She dashed out onto a balcony that had been converted in to a sun room. Jameson kept his computer out there. She had never bothered with it before, never had a reason to.