Degradation (5 page)

“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.

“Never address the hosts by their first name, call them -,”

“Just tell me their goddamn names!” Tate snapped. The woman began flipping through pages on a clipboard.

“Wenseworth Dunn and ..., hmmm, let me see,” she kept flipping. It took
forever
. “Ah! Kraven.
Jameson
Kraven.”

Jameson Kraven. Not Kane. Still, what are the chances!?

Tate didn't have time to ponder it – another coordinator rushed in and clapped them all to attention. They were handed trays and sent out in to the fray. Tate balanced a platter of crab cakes on her palm and made her way in to the crowd of suits and cocktail dresses.

She didn't want to see him, but her eyes kept searching for him. She hadn't thought about Jameson much during all the time that had passed since that crazy night; except for when she was alone in bed. Or the shower. Sometimes on the couch.

But other than that, he had been absent from her mind. He had scarred her to a certain extent. For a little while, right after, her silly heart had hoped and prayed he would get in touch with her. “
I will if I want to,
” he had said about seeing her. Very soon, it became apparent that he
didn't
want to – he never contacted her. Then her life had gotten so crazy, Tate hadn't had time to dwell on him, she was too concerned with figuring out where her next meal would come from, or how she was going to pay her rent, to care about Jameson Kane. He hadn't ever really been anything to her. Just a moment in time, that had happened to change her life forever.

She served crab cakes and shrimp balls, delivered drinks and took empty glasses. She
smiled and flirted, encouraged everyone to drink more, and assured them that everything tasted
amazing
. She knew she didn't look as polished as most of the other waiters, but sometimes that worked to her advantage, especially with uptight suit types. They saw her nighttime makeup and mussy hair, and tended to think naughty thoughts. Naughty thoughts equalled bigger tips – and in this case, where the tips were pooled together, it meant more for everyone. So she worked it.

After the toast – which she made sure to miss – the place started to thin out. No one was eating anymore, and they were encouraged to not serve anymore alcohol. She had busied herself with clearing off tables, starting in the back corner, when she heard a noise behind her.

“It is you, right?” he asked. Tate sighed and stood upright.

“I was wondering that myself,” she replied, slow to turn around. Jameson was smiling at her.

“God, you look so different, I didn't even recognize you at first. How long has it been? Six years?” he asked.

“More like seven. What's with the Kraven?” she asked, holding up a champagne glass with the etching facing him. He chuckled.

“Mother's maiden name –
Jameson Kraven Kane
. Has a nice ring,” he explained.

“Makes sense.”

“Are you a waitress?” he asked. Tate laughed.

“Like I said, I just wear aprons for fun,” she responded. He made her uncomfortable. Tatum didn't get uncomfortable anymore, so it was a foreign feeling.

“Cute. So do you just work catering gigs?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?'

“I'm a bartender on the weekends. Temp a lot. Walk dogs. Taught yoga at a retirement home the other day. Do bicycle tours, walking tours, riverboat tours -,” she started to list off when he held up a hand.

“Tours. I get it. I thought you were going to Harvard. You were gonna change the world, or something,” he remembered. She laughed again.

“Once upon a time. But then I had this epiphany – I fucking hated school. I hated my life. I hated my parents. They pretty much hated me, so it worked out great. I left school and got a job,” she recapped her life.

“Why do they hate you?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“One guess, Mr. Kane.”

“No shit,” Jameson said in a low voice, looking down his nose at her.

“Yup. Eloise was never one to take things lying down. Though you would know more about that than me,” Tate teased. His eyebrows went up even higher.

“You are so ..., different,” he told her, his voice soft.

“Well, you never really knew me,” she pointed out.

“I think I got to know you pretty well.”

She sucked in a quick breath and held it. It got about ten degrees hotter in the room. Tatum was no blushing girl, not anymore – she had broken up with Drew that same night, and since then she had slept with a lot of guys. Probably more than she'd like to admit. She wasn't shy about sex. But something about
him
, made her feel that way. She didn't like it. She had to regain the upper hand. She stepped up close to him, almost close enough for their chests to meet.

“
It was one night, Jameson. You don't know
anything,
” she whispered the last part, staring up at him.

Before he could respond, she turned and walked away. She halfway expected him to follow her, but he didn't. When she got back in to the kitchen, she peered out the porthole in the door. He was still standing there, staring after her. She smiled to herself.

Upper hand, achieved.

She didn't know why she felt the need to “beat him”; she didn't matter to him. He didn't matter to her. One fucked up, incredibly hot night together didn't mean anything, in the grand scheme of things. He had done her a favor, if she was honest with herself, and he had seemed to enjoy himself in the process, so it all worked out.

Closure. It was closure, Tate figured, for a chapter in her life she hadn't even known needed closure. Jameson Kane was most definitely a thing of the past. For real, now.

“How could you not recognize him!?”

Tate bent at the waist, swung her hips in a circle, clapped her hands, and then stood upright.

“I don't know, I was caught off guard! I didn't recognize him.”

Bend, circle, clap, stand.

“He must look really different.”

Bend, circle, clap, stand
.

“Not really. Older, for sure, but still the same. Sexy as fuck.”

Bend, circle, clap, stand
.

“Then how did you not recognize him!? I find it hard to believe you forgot the face of the guy who fucked you retarded and then treated you like shit.”

“
Excuse me!
”

Both Tate and her best friend, Angier Hollingsworth, looked over their shoulders at the woman who had just interrupted them. Okay, so maybe a Zumba class wasn't the best place to be having that particular discussion, but Tate hadn't started it. Plus, she thought eavesdropping was a nasty trait – if people were going to do it, they should have the good graces to pretend not to be listening and keep their mouth shut.

“Oh, shut up, this is probably the hottest thing you've heard all week,” Ang snapped at the woman before he turned back towards the instructor. They began hiking their knees up, skipping in place at the same time as pumping their fists in the air.

Zumba wasn't Tate's usual work out, but free was free, and she couldn't exactly afford a gym membership. Ang was a compulsive coupon hoarder, and always took her when he got a buy-one-get-one deal. She had been to many a jazzercise, step, Tae Bo, cycling class, courtesy of Ang. They also always knew where to go to score free smoothies, appetizers, cookies, whatever. When they really put their minds to it, the two of them could spend a whole day on the town and not spend a dime.

“I don't think about him that much. I guess I kinda forgot,” Tate kept their conversation going, body rolling to the right.

“So he's still sexy, huh? Gonna hit that?” Ang asked, rolling right behind her. She laughed.

“Um,
no
. Don't think so. I think one time was plenty, thank you. The things he said to me ...,” she let her voice trail off as they sashayed to the left.

“Get you so hot, you're probably soaking wet right now,” Ang finished for her, and she burst out laughing. The woman behind them huffed, but didn't say anything.

“You're so disgusting,” Tate snorted at him, brushing sweaty hair away from her forehead. Stupid as she felt, Zumba was one hell of a workout.

“I'm not the one getting off in the middle of a gym full of middle-aged women. Oh my god, you really are, aren't you? I can tell, come here,” Ang said, and broke out of the line to grab at her. She burst out laughing, slapping his hands away. They stumbled to the left, Ang digging his fingers in to her waist and hips. She laughed uncontrollably, trying to skip away from him.

“
Excuse me!
We are in the middle of a lesson!” the instructor barked out over the microphone. Ang rolled his eyes.

“C'mon, we can do this at home with techno music and vodka, let's blow this place,” he said in a loud voice, swinging an arm around Tate's shoulders and dragging her away from the floor.

“We probably won't be allowed back, you realize,” she pointed out.

“Who cares? There's a ton of other places. Shower?” he asked, stopping in front of the locker rooms.

“Yeah, I feel disgusting. Meet you in fifteen,” she said, but he started bustling after her through the women's door. She laughed and put a hand against his chest.

“What? If you're all randy from Mr. Angry-Fucker, I think I should get to benefit,” Ang said with a serious face. She snorted.

“I am not randy, and I don't think so,” she laughed, pushing at him.

“Oh c'mon, sweetie, it'll be quick. You always love it,” he begged, pouting out his bottom lip. She put both hands on his chest.

“I'll take a rain check.”

He let up when a disgruntled looking soccer-mom shoved her way out past them. Tate crossed her eyes at him and then danced off in to the locker room. Gathering her shower stuff together, she headed under the spray.

She had met Angier at a frat party, five years ago. Her rebellious phase had been in full swing. Streaks of color in her hair, way too much eye makeup – she might have even had her eyebrow pierced. It was the first night Tate had ever tried coke, and she had felt like a live wire, running around the building. She wanted to talk to everyone, meet everyone. Ang had cornered her. A lanky six-foot-four topped with light brown hair and striking gray eyes, he was very good looking. She had thought he was going to hit on her, but he had something else in mind.

He had asked her if she would be interested in doing a porno with him.

Tate had thought it was a joke at first, but he had been very serious. She had a great body, he told her. Perfect smile, good teeth. Great for porn. She politely declined. He had shrugged it off, but then invited her to come to a taping, get a “
feel
” for it, maybe. It was one of the most surreal moments she'd ever had with another person.

They had been best friends ever since.

Tate never got in to porn, but Ang swore by it. He did gay, straight, “selfie” porn – he would do pretty much anything. He explained that although he was straight, for the right price he could be just about anything someone wanted him to be; she knew that feeling, having been desperate for money in those days. Since she wouldn't do porn, he taught her the ways of coupon clipping.

After a drunken night at a wine tasting – free, of course – they slept together for the first time. Ang came the closest, of anyone she had ever been with, to making her feel the way Jameson had made her feel. And best of all, he didn't have any expectations of her. Sex was just sex to Ang. Almost like exercising. Something that had to be done to stay healthy, and it felt super good – bonus! But it didn't really mean anything to him beyond that, which made it easy to be with him. He was also a total freak, so she never felt bad about her own preferences, the way she sometimes did with other men. Ang was like a security blanket. A sexy, naughty, deviant, security blanket.

“What's taking you so long!?” Ang's voice boomed through the locker room while Tate held her head under a hand dryer. A couple ladies shrieked, but Tate just laughed. She righted herself, ran her fingers through her black locks, and then grabbed her stuff, hurrying out to meet him.

“I'm a girl, I take longer to look presentable,” she pointed out.

“What, exactly, looks presentable about you?” he asked, and she elbowed him in the stomach.

“Shut up.”

“So,” he began as they pushed their way outside. “Seriously. Are you going to see him again?”

“No. I mean, why would I? Unless he needs a waiter at his firm, I don't think I'll be hearing from him,” Tate replied, bouncing her gym bag off her knees.

“So. You could call him, you know where he works,” Ang pointed out. She scrunched up her nose.

“Why on earth would I want to call him?”

“Because you still think about him,” Ang replied, and she barked out a laugh.

“I do not. I told you, I didn't even recognize him at first,” she reminded him. Ang shook his head.

“But you compare every guy you're with to him. I've pulled some of my best moves on you – remember the swing!? – and I still don't stack up,” he said. She stopped laughing.

“I do not. You're amazing, you know that.”

“Well, duh, but I can tell. I'm good at these things – have to be, in my line of work. I'm pretty good, I can tell I'm one of your faves, but I'm not him,” he finished. She frowned. She didn't like this subject. She did not compare every guy to Jameson Kane.

Did she?

How could she? She'd only slept with him once. Surely he hadn't left that big of an impression on her.

She had to change the channel.

“If you're so good at sizing sex up, how do I stack up against all the people
you've
slept with? It's not really fair, I have to compete with both sexes – twice the competition,” Tate joked.

“
Bitch, please. If I could find a woman who fucks like you, and would let me actually film it and sell it for money, I would
marry her,
” Ang said with a straight face. She laughed.

“That's what I like to hear.”

He walked her up to her apartment and stayed for a little while, making flirty comments at Rusty. It wasn't right, Rus had a huge crush on him. Tate had tried to explain to her that Ang didn't really date, wasn't looking for a relationship, but it didn't stop Rus from hoping. Tate was beginning to think she'd have to share some of her and Ang's dirtier stories, in hopes of scaring her roommate off from him. Rus was a sweetheart – sex swings and ball gags probably weren't her thing.

“Oh! I forgot, you left your cell phone here – it rang a whole bunch,” Rus said, after Ang had danced out the door. Tate grabbed the phone off the table, squinting at the screen. It was the temp agency she worked for – a new job? Score. She called them back.

“Hi, Tatum, how are you?” the temp agency manager, Carla, breathed down the phone line.

“Super dooper. You called me, like eight times? What's up?” Tate asked, rifling through a bowl of of mixed nuts and goodies.

“I've got a job for you, if you're interested!” Carla breathed.

“Sure. What is it?” Tate said around a mouthful of food.

“A law firm downtown is having a conference. Their regular assistant is sick and they have an important meeting with a client tomorrow afternoon. You won't have to perform her normal duties, just show up for the meeting and serve water, muffins, that kind of stuff. Quick and easy,” Carla's voice got even breathier.

How does she talk like that? Did she take lessons?

“Sounds like my kind of job. What should I wear?” Tate asked.

“Business attire. If you have a dress that works, that would be great, but a skirt, or trousers, and button down blouse would be fine. Be there at one o'clock sharp, okay?” Breathy McBreather breathed.

“Sure, sure. Where is it at?”

“Um ...,” Carla prattled off the address, her voice barely a whisper. “And make sure you're on time. They made a big deal out of that. They requested you especially, you know.”

Tate choked on an almond.

“Me!? Why me?” she managed to cough out.

“I don't know. Said they'd seen your work. I guess you did a really great job! One o'clock, remember!” Carla's breathy voice almost sang.

“Remembered.”

Tate stared down at her phone after she'd ended the call. She could kinda remember temping for a lawyer, but it wasn't like she'd done anything amazing. At least she didn't think so. She wasn't even sure if it was for the same law firm, but maybe it was; maybe her filing skills were super impressive. Legendary. Maybe she'd blown the guy. Who knows.

Oh well. A job was a job. She wandered in to her room and spent the next hour digging through her closet, seeing if she had anything that fit the bill.