Degradation (4 page)

“What?” he asked, his voice rough and agitated sounding.

“I'm locked out down here, I forgot my keys. Buzz me in,” Ellie's voice filled the apartment.

Tate dropped her face in to her hands, the gravity of the situation falling down on her. She had just had sex with her sister's boyfriend. It was all fine and dandy to be caught up in the kink and sex of the moment – but the afterwards was
horrible
. She was a horrible person. Ellie was a mean sister, but Tatum was officially the worst.

“What are you doing? I suggest you get dressed,” Jameson's voice floated to her. She lifted her head to watch him walk across the bedroom and in to the bathroom.

“How can you be so calm!? After what we just did!?” she demanded. There was the sound of running water, then a toilet flushing, and then he reappeared, his pants done up.

“It's not a big deal unless you make it a big deal, Tate. Get dressed, or you're going to have a lot of explaining to do to your sister,” he said, pulling a shirt out of his closet and yanking it on. Tate struggled to push herself to her feet and pushed her skirt back in to place.

“I just had sex with you!
We
just had sex! We have to tell her!” she shouted at him.

Jameson finally looked at her, one eyebrow raised, and her breath caught in her throat. He was a massive asshole, but holy shit, he was good looking. And she now knew what he looked like while having sex. She would never be able to look at him the same way again. She swallowed and looked away.

“Alright. You want to start that conversation? Once I'm gone, it's over, I never have to see her again. But you, you're her sister. Much worse for you,” he pointed out.

Tate struggled with her conscience, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. She was going to cry again. He was so cold. He had always been so cold, how could she have thought he'd be different? Sex didn't change things. But he was right. Telling Ellie would just upset the whole family, and he would escape unscathed. He had said he didn't want to date her, so it wasn't like she would gain anything by telling her sister.

“You're an absolutely horrible person,” she hissed at him, blinking through her tears. He laughed, his voice loud in the large apartment.

“No shit, but you just fucked your sister's boyfriend, so what kind of a person does that make you? Now get your goddamn clothes on, and get out,” he said, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her through the bedroom door.

They stopped just long enough for Tate to button up the silk shirt while he grabbed her cardigan off the floor. She refused to look at him while she tried to make herself look presentable, finger combing her hair as best she could, praying she looked semi-decent. Or at the very least not like someone who had just had a steamy affair with their sister's boyfriend.

Oh god.

“I'm going to forget tonight ever happened,” she informed him as they strode towards the front door. Jameson laughed again.

“Baby girl, you couldn't forget if you tried,” he told her in a low voice, pressing himself against her from behind. She shivered and had to force herself not to press back in to him.

“You had better break up with her. If you stay with her, you're ..., you're
sick
,” she informed him, her hand on the door knob. He shrugged, not moving his weight away from her. His body was so warm, like a furnace. She wanted to curl up in him.

“I can live with that. See you around, Tate,” he said. She yanked open the door.

“No, you won't.”

His laughter followed her in to the hallway. It sounded demonic. Like Satan was laughing at her.

“I will if I want to.”

She stomped down the hallway, tears streaming down her face. How could she have let that happen!? She
was
a goody-two-shoes. Tate never acted wild, never did anything bad, never did anything wrong. Sure, she had always secretly kind of wanted to – but maybe something more along the lines of sneaking her dad's brandy, or staying out past curfew. Not
fucking her sister's boyfriend
. That was a little beyond wild.

Speak of the devil – her sister was getting off the antiquated freight elevator at the end of the hall. Tate let out a deep breath, wiping at her face. She didn't know if she could handle this moment. Jameson had just ripped her in half. Ellie would mop the floor with her remains.

“Kane didn't tell me you were still here,” Ellie clipped out in a brisk tone, striding down the hall in her expensive ballet flats.

I would never call him Kane, I hate that. He has a first name, I just screamed it about twenty times.

“I was just on my way out, I dropped off your stuff,” Tate said, her voice low and her head ducked, hoping they could just pass each other. No such luck.

“Are you wearing my shirt!?” Ellie suddenly demanded, grabbing Tate by the arm.

“Yeah, uh, I spilled something on myself. Jameson told me to grab something, so I just grabbed something,” Tate mumbled.

“Jesus, Tate, you're such a child. Kane doesn't know anything about clothing, do you have any idea how much this cost? Take it off, right now,” Ellie demanded. Tate gasped.

Can this day get any worse?

“Ellie! I don't have anything else! You want me to drive home naked?” she asked. Ellie rolled her eyes.

“You're so over-dramatic. You have your sweater.”

“It doesn't close! Ellie, c'mon, I can have your shirt sent back tomorrow. I'll even dry clean it,” Tate offered.

“No. You'll ruin it. Take it off,
now,
” Ellie ordered her.

Something snapped in Tate.

“
Fuck you
, Eloise. It's a
goddamn shirt
, and I'm going to wear this
goddamn shirt,
all the
goddamn way
home,” she snarled, and then stomped in to the elevator.

She leaned against the wall as the old contraption clanked and rattled its way to the ground floor. She couldn't believe she had spoken like that to Ellie. She had never talked that way,
to anyone
. Jameson had loosened something in her, shaken her up. She now knew that he was Satan in a male model's body, but he had done something to her, there was no denying it.

She dragged her feet as she made her way outside. She didn't want to think of the repercussions of her actions. It was safe to assume that Ellie was already calling their father. That never ended well for Tate, under the best of circumstances, and
these
circumstances were complete shit.

Snow was coming down, adding to the layer that was already on the ground. She got to the back of her car, but then couldn't resist looking up. Jameson's apartment had huge floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out over the parking lot and street. Gorgeous on a sunny day.

She had a clear view of the inside of the loft. Ellie looked like she was throwing a temper tantrum, shaking her arms and head at a very still Jameson. He had his arms crossed, and almost looked bored. At first Tate couldn't figure it out – if Ellie was freaking out over the shirt, then she was totally overreacting. Usually, she was sugary-sweet to Jameson.
Fake
. But she looked like she was screaming. She was holding something in her hand, and it clicked in to place in Tate's mind.

She's shaking
my
panties in her boyfriend's face. Apparently, this night
can
get worse.

Tate knew she should be scared. That she should feel bad, or guilty, or some kind of upset. But she didn't. Her sister was a bitch, and Tate just didn't care any more. About
anything
. She let out a shaky breath, and it was like she was breathing for the first time ever.

I really, truly, honestly, completely, just don't give a fuck.

Ellie's form turned to look out the window, and saw Tate standing down there. She fumbled with a latch, and then a huge section of the window was swinging open. A black scrap of lace was thrown outside, and Tate watched her underwear float to the ground.

“
You stupid whore! I'm telling Daddy! I'm telling him
everything!
” Ellie was shrieking, leaning halfway out the window.

Tate smiled.

“You know what, Ellie!?” she called back, her fingers working at the buttons on the front of the blouse. She slipped it off her shoulders. “
I don't give a shit!
” She let the shirt fall to the snow covered pavement, and then she stepped on it, grinding her heel in to the fabric.

“
No!
You bitch! You stupid bitch!” Ellie screamed, and then ran from the window. Tate could just picture her tearing down the hall. She laughed to herself.

“Good for you, baby girl!” Jameson laughed down at her.

Tate stared up at him, shivering as snow sprinkled down on her bare shoulders. She was standing in a parking lot, at eight o'clock at night, and it was freezing out, and she was only wearing her bra and a nerdy skirt. She had gone crazy.

And she absolutely loved it.

She raised her arm and gave Jameson the middle finger. He laughed again, and then blew her a kiss before walking away from the window. Tate scowled and hustled in to her car. As she pulled out of her spot, she saw Ellie running in to the parking lot, waving her arms like a crazy person. She scooped up the shirt from the ground, screaming something at Tatum's car as it drove away.

I don't care. I don't think I ever did.

“
Alright, who wants to get
fucked up
tonight!?
”

Tate grabbed a guy by the back of the head and forced him to lean backwards over the bar. He smiled up at her and she winked at him, right before pouring straight tequila down his throat. She then clamped her hand over his mouth and shook his head back and forth. He stumbled when he stood up, but managed to turn around.

“That one's on me, honey,” she said, her voice flirty while she spun the tequila bottle in her hand. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out some bills.

“
You're the best bartender
ever!
” he shouted, slapping the money on the bar.

“That's what they all say!” she laughed, sweeping the money off the bar top. She eyeballed it quickly before shoving it in to a jar behind her. Two twenties. Not a bad tip at all.

“You
are
the best, Tatey! We goin' out after this!?” her fellow bartender, and roommate, Rusty Dobber shouted at her. As loud as the music always was in their bar, a person had to shout to be heard at any given time.

“We'll see, Rus. I'm working on something,” Tate replied, nodding her head. Rus glanced over her shoulder. A sexy guy sat at the end of the bar, eyeing Tatum up and down. Brad, one of Tate's regulars.

In more ways than one.

“Oh pooh, you're so boring!” Rusty laughed before dancing away, heading to a group of guys who were clamoring for a drink.

Tate loved being a bartender. She had never gone back to Harvard. After Eloise had tattle-taled on her, her “free ride” had been stopped. But Tate would have quit anyway. She knew that before she even got home that fateful night. She hated going to college. She had hated high school. She hated studying. Hated her pastel colored wardrobe. Her pastel colored
life
. She got home, packed her bags, and ran. Didn't stop till she got to Boston – a seven hour drive.

Once there, it wasn't long before she got the phone call from Daddy. Her parents were beyond strict. They had their daughters' lives all mapped out. Ellie was a paralegal, on her way to becoming a lawyer – someday a supreme court judge. Tatum was going to become a political adviser, and someday a senator, or a governor.

But Tate didn't want those things. She had loved to paint, but had never been allowed to. She loved to sing, and dance, and be silly. All against the rules in the O'Shea house. So was sleeping with a sister's boyfriend – even if said boyfriend didn't even like the sister. The Kane family was very wealthy, very well connected. The O'Sheas wanted that connection. In their minds, Tatum had ruined that, had ruined
everything
. Worst. Christmas.
Ever
.

She wasn't invited back for Easter.

Her apartment had been paid up till the summer, nothing Daddy could do about that, and Tate certainly wasn't lazy. Going against her own nature for years had been hard work. She went out and found a job. Found two jobs. Made friends.
Real
friends, for the first time ever. Had a social life. Dated. Screwed around.
Acted her age.
She didn't talk to her family at all, but that was okay, because she didn't like them anymore than they liked her.

So now all these years later, life was better than ever – in her opinion. She realized that sure, maybe some of that was thanks to a certain blue eyed he-demon, but she didn't think about him too much. Jameson had awakened something in her, brought about her change, but
she
was responsible for her life. She had taken control. She had grown up. And he hadn't been there for that. He wasn't anything to her. Nothing at all. He didn't exist anymore.

And she was perfectly fine with that.

*

Tatum came to with a start the next morning, not quite sure where she was, at first. She squinted in the bright sunlight, held up a hand. There was an open window across from her. She moaned and almost pulled the covers up over her head, but a snort came from the pillow next to hers, and she stopped moving.

“Oh, jesus,” she groaned, bringing a hand to her head. Brad was snoring next to her.

She kind of remembered now. She had gone to an after-hours club with Rus and Brad. More drinks had flowed between them. Shots were taken. Tate was a pretty solid party girl. Under normal circumstances, she could handle her liquor and controlled substances very well, but last night had gotten a little wild, even for her. She could sort of remember stumbling up to Brad's apartment. Doing something naughty in the hallway outside his door.

There was something about going down on a guy in public that just drove her wild.

But it hadn't gotten a whole lot better from there on – a couple drinks, and Brad was pretty much done for the night. He'd passed out on the bed, right in the middle of Tate's striptease. Not confidence inspiring. But since she was already half naked, she just crawled in to the bed next to him and passed out, as well.

She was regretting that now. Brad tended to get clingy when she stayed the night. He wasn't her boyfriend. More of a stress reliever, really. She liked that, and wanted it to stay that way. But it had become more and more obvious that
he
didn't want it to stay that way.

Tate managed to slide out of the bed without waking him up. She tip toed around the room, collecting the clothing she'd tossed everywhere. She shimmied in to her tight white t-shirt and then hopped around, struggling more with the tight leather leggings.

“Now that's a sight I could get used to,” she heard Brad say from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. She was bent over, struggling to get her foot through the pant leg. Her thong-clad ass was pointed straight at Brad.

“You could take a picture,” she offered, and then succeeded in getting her foot through. She got the other leg in no problem and yanked the leggings up over her hips.

“You'd really let me do that?” he asked. She shrugged, pulling on her boots.

“Maybe. Depends. Not with my face in the picture,” she said, grabbing her jacket off a chair.

“Why are you always in such a rush? I could use some help here,” he chuckled, gesturing to the tent that was happening in his sheets. Tate laughed out loud.

“
Are you joking? You owe
me
one, after last night,” she pointed out, searching around for her purse.

“What are you talking about? I thought we had a great time,” he said. She gave him a Look.

“
You
had a great time, coming in my mouth after about two seconds, and then passing out. You have the the
worst
case of whiskey dick, of anyone I've ever met,” she informed him, and then spotted her purse, halfway under the bed. She crawled around, struggling to get to it.

“I could make up for it now,” he offered, his hand stroking his erection. She snorted.

“No thanks, that train has left the station. See you around!” she sang, dashing out of the room.

She stood on the corner down the street, waiting for Rus to come pick her up. She sipped at a coffee she had bought, playing on her phone. After about fifteen minutes, a beat up looking VW Beetle pulled up to the curb. She slid in to the passenger seat.

“So, was it amazing? Fireworks?” Rus asked. Tate chuckled, resting a booted foot against the dash.

“
Pshaw
, not hardly. I don't know why I keep trying with him. It used to be fun. Now it's just like ...,
eh,
” she replied, pushing her aviators higher up on her nose.

“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.