Degradation (35 page)

Tate knew Sanders had keys to everything and would be in the room in no time, so she acted quickly. Typed Jameson's name in to Google. More of the same info came up, so she just immediately went to the images tab.

She was shocked to see a lot more pictures of herself – she had never noticed any photographers anywhere they went. Her and Jameson walking out of his office building; her and Jameson eating lunch; her and Sanders, laughing next to him outside of a movie theatre; her and Jameson kissing while he held an umbrella over her. She couldn't figure out why at first. Why were there so many all of the sudden? She clicked on one so it would take her to the website of origin, and then gasped at the headline.

Who Will Financial Mogul Jameson Kane Choose? A Sexy American or A Danish Beauty?

Tate scrolled down. Several of the photos of them together were in the article. But the other pictures interested her more. There were a couple old ones of him and Pet together, but a couple of very new ones, too. Them entering a hotel together, exiting the same hotel together. Him holding a car door open for her. His arm around her waist as they entered a clothing boutique.

It was a German tabloid. Tate learned that Pet lived part of the time in Berlin, that's why there was a lot of interest. Some small time rag-reporter had noticed that Jameson was tooling around Berlin with Pet, and then discovered the photos of Tate and Jameson online. Boom. Story. Sex. Scandal. Intrigue. Hell, even Tate would want to read something like that.

If it wasn't actually about
me
. At least they called me sexy.

She was scrolling through another article when Sanders finally opened the door and strode in to the room. He reached for the computer mouse and she batted his hand away. A minor slapping war ensued for a couple moments before she leapt out of the chair. He reached for her arm, but she pushed him away.

“How could you not tell me!?” Tate demanded, circling him. He looked upset.

“I couldn't. I'm very sorry, Ms. O'Shea,” Sanders replied.

“
Fuck you!
We're supposed to be friends! How long have you known about them!?” she shouted.

“For about two weeks. I advised him that it was a poor choice,” he told her.

“Oh, you
advised him
, how kind of you. Did you know he was bringing her here tonight?” she asked. His look went from upset to pained.

“Yes,” Sanders said softly. She gasped.

“How could you let me come here? I thought we were friends. How could you do this to me?” Tate whispered.

“
Because I told him to.
”

They both turned to see Jameson standing in the middle of his bedroom. He took off his suit jacket and then rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Took off his watch and threw it onto the side table. Sanders cleared his throat.

“Sir, I think you owe it to Ms. -,”

“
Leave.
”

Glancing at Tate once, Sanders walked out of the room. Tate struggled to even out her breathing and entered the bedroom proper. Jameson was carrying his suitcase in to his closet. There was a clattering of hangers and he walked back out with a new shirt in his hands.

“Why?” Tate whispered. He lifted his eyes to hers. A pair of blue ice cycles. It felt like it had been longer than a month since she had last seen him. She felt like she was looking at a stranger.

Did I ever know him?

“What's that, baby girl?” Jameson asked, changing in to the fresh shirt.

“Don't call me that!” she snapped. He chuckled.

“I call you anything I want,” he replied.

“Not anymore. Why are you doing this? What did I do to you?” she asked.

“It's all a game, isn't it? I thought you liked games,” Jameson said, throwing the worn shirt onto his bed.

“Fuck your games,” Tate hissed.

“See, now that sounds more like you. It was a very long flight, baby girl, and I could really use something to relax me. Feel like getting on your knees?” he asked. She guffawed.

“
Not fucking likely. Ask your
girlfriend
to do that for you,” she told him.

“But I don't have a girlfriend.”

“Really? Seems to me there is a five-foot-ten '
Danish beauty
' who would argue that point,” Tate pointed out. He sighed.

“There you go again, making assumptions. Would you like to meet her? You'd probably get along,” he said.

“Why are you doing this!? What happened that made you so mad!? I waited for you! Just like you said! Why did you ask me to wait if you were just going to bring her home!?” Tate yelled at him.

“You don't like seeing my picture in the tabloids, right? Well, I like it even less,” he suddenly said. She was lost.

“What?” she asked.

“I don't like being made a fool of, Tate. And that's what I feel like you did,” he informed her.

“
What the fuck are you talking about!?
” she shrieked.

“
You're upset about pictures of me and Pet online? In the tabloids? How about pictures of
you
and a certain baseball player, in the fucking social pages of the goddamn Boston Globe!? How about seeing those on the fucking internet? You and him together,
everywhere
. Pictures of you and me are already out there, and suddenly I'm hearing from people I hardly know that a girlfriend I don't technically have is
fucking a goddamn Red Sox!
” Jameson yelled at her. Tate started laughing.

“
Are you fucking shitting me!? Fuck this, I'm getting the fuck out of here. Fuck your party, fuck your supermodel, and
fuck you
,” she swore, stomping past him. He grabbed her arm, his grip like a vice.

“Oh, you're not going anywhere, baby girl. Because it's all a game, and if you walk away now, you lose,” he warned her.

“
Fuck your games
. I don't want to play games. You're really upset about that? I can't believe it.
The Great Jameson Kane,
jealous. I can't fucking believe it,” Tate snarled at him.

“Watch how you talk to me,” he warned her.

“
Fuck you.
He and I were just friends, you asshole.
We're friends
. You go off to fuck the entire country of Germany, and I can't make a new fucking friend? You wanna know the truth? He asked me out. He didn't try to sleep with me. He wanted to see
me
.
Date
me. And I'm a stupid bitch, because I turned him down! I was stupid enough to think I had something better coming home!” Tate yelled.

“I certainly won't argue with the stupid bitch part,” Jameson told her.

“Go fuck yourself, Kane.”

“I think that's your job.”

“You're jealous! All this elaborate planning, hiding from me, bringing her back here, making a scene. You're like a girl, Kane.
A goddamn pussy,
” she snapped at him, disdain dripping from her words.

He roughly dragged her across the room, backed her up and slammed her against the wall by the door. She struggled to free her arm, shoving and pushing at him. He moved his hand to her throat and pinned her in place.

“I told you to watch how you fucking speak to me,” Jameson growled, his face near hers.

“
Like I give two shits. Was it worth it? Is she still a good fuck? I hope so. I hope she's
so good
that she finally does trick you in to marrying her. I hope she fucks you all the way in to a horrible fucking marriage, and then takes all your goddamn money.
I hope she's that good of a fuck!
” Tate yelled, pulling at his wrist. His fingers squeezed harder on her neck, but she didn't show any reaction.

“She was never even half as good as you. But maybe we should have Ang fuck her, really do a cross-comparison, get more feedback,” Jameson suggested.

“Why stop there? How about we broaden the circle. There's an awful lot of men down there, and I haven't been fucked in a really long time. I'm sure I'll get rave reviews, much better than a psychotic supermodel,” Tate said in a quiet voice. He narrowed his eyes.

“If you're fucking anyone at this party, it will be me,” Jameson informed her. She laughed.

“That's not going to happen, but maybe we can do the next closest thing. How about I fuck Sanders. I'm sure I could turn his world inside out. Hell, maybe even steal him away from you. Who knows, maybe he'll be a better fuck than you,” she said.

The words had barely left her mouth when Jameson put his fist through the wall, right next to her head. Clean through the sheet rock. She was glad he hadn't hit a stud – that would put a damper on the party, real quick. He stared at her, his eyes blazing, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his fingers continuing to squeeze her neck. She glared right back, not moving a muscle.

“Don't ever fucking talk about him like that again,” he whispered.

“
You don't get to tell me what to do. Not anymore.
Not ever again,
” she whispered back. Jameson squeezed her neck tight one last time, and then let go, backing away from her.

“We can talk about this later. Go downstairs. People are expecting you to be here. Be cordial. Be fucking polite. And don't say one goddamn word to Sanders,” he told her, and then yanked open his bedroom door, striding in to the hall.

Tate gasped in air and choked on a sob. She brought the back of her wrist to her mouth, trying to hold it all in; it didn't work too well. She wasn't sure what to do. She couldn't go home, not without Sanders to drive her, and she didn't think he'd leave the party. Didn't trust him, anyway. A taxi would take forever to get there, and she didn't have any money. She sucked in another breath of air, held it in, then let it out slowly. She straightened out her dress, wiped underneath her eyes.

You can do this. You're Tatum O'Shea. He didn't break you last time. He won't break you this time.

She went downstairs. She was cordial. She was polite. She got a lot of sympathetic looks from women. A lot of lascivious glances from men. She caught a glimpse of the Danish Beauty at one point, but the house was big and Tate knew it well. She fled to another room.

She drank,
a lot
. She flirted with anyone who looked remotely male. Sanders tried to talk to her at one point, but she looked right through him and walked away. She chugged whiskey neat. Snuck the Johnny Walker Blue out of Jameson's personal liquor cabinet and finished it off. She laughed at everything everyone said. Kissed people on the cheek, toasted to good health, gave hugs that were way too intimate to people she didn't really know, though none of the men were complaining.

She actually drank the bar out of Jack Daniel's, so she made her way towards the kitchen in search of more. Jameson usually kept some stocked for her. She wanted to get comfortably numb so she could pass out in the guest house, then hitchhike home in the morning, where she could cry until she died. Sounded like a great plan.

She turned in to the kitchen, and then backed up so quickly, she rammed in to the door jam, ricocheted off, and nearly fell in to the hall. She scooted behind the frame, and then peeked in to the kitchen. Jameson was standing with his back to her, head down, both hands resting flat on the counter. A tall, exceptionally beautiful brunette stood next to him. She was speaking softly in what sounded like German. He shook his head occasionally, murmuring things back in the same language.

I didn't know he spoke German. That could've been hot – dirty talk in another language.

When Pet leaned in close to him, pressed her front to his back and whispered in his ear, Tate couldn't take it anymore. She had imagined Jameson in all sorts of positions with women, but never simple, affectionate ones. It was too much. She choked on a sob and stumbled away.

There was a half drunken bottle of Jack in the library, from their long ago last night together. Tate grabbed it and dragged herself upstairs. She wasn't entirely sure of what her plan was, till she was standing outside Sanders' door. She just wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to be numb.

Xanax.

She walked in to his room. It was a huge space, almost bigger than Jameson's room. She headed straight for the bathroom, began yanking open drawers and rummaging through them. She found the pills in a bottom drawer, clearly labeled. It took her a while to get the stupid childproof lid off, but she did it. She chugged some whiskey in to her mouth and popped in two pills. She didn't want to overdue it – she didn't have a death wish. She just wanted to feel still. Quiet. She swallowed everything and dropped her head back, sighing. She stood that way for several minutes, letting a calm fall over her.

“I knew you were a good time girl, but I had no idea you were this wild,” someone chuckled from the doorway. She didn't lift her head, just rolled it towards the voice. What's-his-name. Dunn. Jameson's partner. Wensle-waddle-whatever Dunn.

“I'm wilder than you can even imagine,” Tate whispered at him. He scooted closer so they were both crowded in to the bathroom's doorway.