Completion (6 page)

One thing Tate had learned about Jameson was that he was obsessed with money. Almost as much as he was obsessed with sex. It wasn't even necessarily because he wanted to be rich, he just couldn't sit still when there was a profit to be made, a deal to be drawn, something to be happening. He didn't even have to be making money for himself, hence why he kept working at all. Jameson had enough money to retire for multiple lifetimes. He mostly kept working to help
other
people make money. It was just second-nature to him.

So
of course
he found a way to make money in Hong Kong.

“You promised not to leave me alone, remember?” Tate pointed out as they walked down a street.

“And I haven't, I would like it noted. I flew your best friend out here. I think I can have a day to myself to work,” Jameson told her. Tate frowned but didn't argue. She leaned into his side, wrapping her arms around him.

“
Fiiiiine
. I just don't get it. If you have time to be wheeling and dealing, don't you have time to be flying to Singapore to visit your lawyer?” she asked.

“Tate.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up. I'll see my lawyer when I want to see my lawyer.”

“
Fiiiiine
.”

“Look. I'm trying to invest in this property. How about we throw a party – you like parties,” Jameson suggested. Tate smelled a bribe and let go of him.

“I like my kind of parties, not yours. It's fine, really, go do your deal, make your money. I'll just spend all day with Ang.
Alllll day, alllll alone
. With Ang. Alone. Ang. And me.
Alone,
” she teased.

“I swear to all that is holy, if I find out you did anything inappropriate, I'll -,” Jameson started to threaten.

“You know talk like that just gets me hot,” she warned him. Jameson pressed his lips together hard, but didn't say anything else.

They stopped in front of a large building. He made a phone call while Tate poked at Sanders, making him move around. Finally, Jameson kissed her goodbye and left them to their own devices.

“What should we do?” Sanders asked. Tate gave him a wolf grin.

“Anything we want,” she replied in a husky voice. He turned pink and looked away.

“Please don't make me uncomfortable.”

She laughed and hugged him close, leading him back down the street.

“I wouldn't dream of it. Let's get Ang and go get into trouble,” she suggested.

“On second thought, please, feel free to make me uncomfortable.”

Jet lag had knocked Ang out for a solid twelve hours, but he was up and ready to go by the time they got to the hotel. Tate changed into her bathing suit, then they went off in search of a beach. Jameson could work on making money. Tate would work on her tan.

“It's way too fucking hot,” Ang complained, laying down flat on the sand, not even bothering with a towel.

“It's not as bad as I thought it would be,” Tate said, dropping her towel down and spreading it out flat.

“Cause Satan keeps it like a sauna in your house. Where's his little demon, anyway?” Ang asked, sitting up and looking around.

“Can you imagine Sanders in a bathing suit?” Tate laughed, stretching out on her towel. “He'll be back in a couple hours, I'm sure he's off making mischief of his own.”

“Does he even know how to spell mischief? Sanders wouldn't know how to stumble into trouble,” Ang snorted.

“That's what you think.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

They were silent for a while. Tate settled in, soaking up the warmth and humidity. Hong Kong did kinda feel like a giant sauna to her. When they were outside, the heat and heaviness of it all just made her want to curl up and take a nap. Which she pretty much did, right there on the beach. But then something woke her up. She felt something against her leg.

“I didn't realize it left such a scar,” Ang mumbled.

Tate opened her eyes. Ang was still sitting up and was looking down at her legs, frowning. He was running his forefinger up and down a scar that ran parallel along the side of her right knee. It really wasn't that big, maybe three or four inches, and had faded over the year.

“It's not so bad. I think it's kind of cool, makes me look like a bad ass. I tell people I got it in a knife fight,” Tate joked, bending her knee up. She had been in a nasty car accident the previous winter, gotten pretty banged up. The cut had required stitches, which wasn't so bad.

The broken leg, however, had sucked ass.

“I'm glad I wasn't there, I probably would've lost my shit,” Ang commented.

“God, Jameson lost his shit enough for you, me, and twenty other people. I swear. If I ever doubted that man's love, that accident certainly proved it. I didn't know he could get that upset,” Tate said, sitting up and looking at the scar as well. She had been jogging. The driver hadn't been paying attention. Next thing she knew, she had been waking up in a hospital room.

Jameson actually tried to beat up the driver. Only Sanders and two police officers had stopped him. Then he stayed in her room, the entire time she'd been in the hospital. Didn't take one phone call, didn't see one client. Slept on chairs till she got her cast, then slept in the bed with her. Completely wrapped around her, like he was afraid to let her go.

“I can't imagine Satan getting upset over anything,” Ang laughed, wiping sand off of her leg.

“You'd be surprised. It was very sweet. He was very worried about me,” Tate said softly.

“Maybe there's hope for him after all.”

Tate chewed on her lip. She had never told Ang the full story. They had been visiting Sanders when the accident had happened, halfway across the world. It had been a supremely fucked up trip, though luckily most of the drama hadn't involved her – for once. She didn't feel quite ready to share it all with him.

“Jameson asked me something weird last night,” Tate changed the subject and lowered her legs.

“Why doesn't that surprise me?”

“He asked me if I ever miss sleeping with you. Isn't that weird? He's never asked me something like that before,” Tate started.

“He's threatened by me. Good. I like it,” Ang teased. Tate threw a handful of sand at him.

“Shut up.”

“And what did you say?” he asked. She shrugged.

“I told the truth – no. I mean, we had some great times, Angie-wangy, but I love my life now,” she was truthful. Ang nodded.

“Yeah. Life isn't so bad,” he agreed, letting sand run through his fingers.

“So you don't miss it at all?” Tate asked, but she was smiling. Ang snorted.

“Tater tot, do you know what I was doing before I got on the plane? Having a foursome with three of the top winners from AVN last year. I love you, you fuck like a champion, but I'm good,” he assured her. Tate burst out laughing and threw more sand at him.

“Oh geez, what happened to '
I'm over having sex
', Mr. Jaded-One?
Pffft
, having foursomes. Over sex, my ass,” Tate kept shoveling sand at him.

“Okay, maybe '
over it
' was an exaggeration. Stop!” he shouted, shoving sand back at her.

“How come we never had a foursome?” Tate demanded, turning her head away and just blindly flinging sand.

“Hey, I tried! Remember that open house we went to!?” Ang reminded her, and then a handful of sand hit her in the chest.

“Angier! I was not going to fuck some random couple at a house viewing! We were there for the free food!” Tate shouted.

“You were always too prudish for me, thank god Satan came along,” he teased.

Tate gasped and turned to face him, only to get sand thrown in her open mouth. While she gagged and coughed, Ang tackled her to the ground. They rolled around in the sand, limbs flailing, struggling to shove as much sand as they could into each others' clothing.

“I can't breathe,” Tate hacked as he pinned her arms above her head and straddled her waist.

“Do you give?” he asked, gripping both her wrists with one hand while his free hand scooped up more sand.

“I give, I give, you win, get off of me,” she begged, rolling her hips.

“Hmmm, now that I've got you at my disposal …,” Ang murmured.

“Stop it,” Tate laughed.

“All this talk of foursomes has gotten me pretty worked up,” he told her.

“Please. You couldn't handle me, I'm way freakier now then when we used to sleep together,” she taunted.

“I'd like to test that theory.”

“
Pffft
, too bad.”

“
Ahem.
”

They both snapped their heads up to see Sanders standing behind them.

“Ang is being an ass!” Tate whined.

“Tate's refusing to sleep with me!” Ang whined as well.

“The '
ass
' part I believe,” Sanders started. “Tate refusing to sleep with somebody, however, is somewhat shocking.”

They all laughed at that one, and Ang got off of her. After they had shaken most of the sand out of their bathing suits, they headed back to the car. She hadn't realized she'd slept so much; they'd been at the beach for almost three hours.

“What're we doing for dinner? I'm
starving,
” Tate groaned, struggling to yank a tank top over her head.

“Jameson has something planned for the two of you. Mr. Hollingsworth and I will be dining in our rooms,” Sanders explained.

“What!?” Tate exclaimed, popping her head through the neck hole. “Ang flew a bajillion miles to be here, at a moment's notice! He's coming to dinner with us.”

“It's fine, Tate, I can just -,” Ang started.

“The reservations are specially made, they can't be changed. I am very sorry,” Sanders interrupted.

“This doesn't make sense. Why did Jameson fly him all the way here, just to leave him out? When we get back, I'm going to inform
Mr. Man
that Ang
will
be dining with us,” Tate said.

“Jameson isn't at the hotel.”

“Huh?”

“He's not there. His appointment ran late. He will be meeting you at dinner.”

Tate groaned.

The whole time she was getting ready, she didn't stop thinking about it. Why invite Ang, but then not want him around? She knew Jameson didn't like him, but he couldn't avoid him the whole time they were there, it would be ridiculous. But since he had flown Ang halfway across the world, Tate decided she could let it slide. For at least one night.

Tate shimmied her way into a tight, designer dress, and took care with her makeup. She didn't doubt that they would be eating at a nice restaurant and wanted to look up to par with Jameson.

She was shocked when Sanders pulled up in front of the restaurant and Jameson was waiting outside. He never waited for her. Usually when they met for dinner, he was already seated and working on his first drink. Or his actual meal, depending on how late she was running. But there he was, walking up to the curb and opening her door.

“What are you doing?” Tate blurted out, staring up at him. She tried to remember the last time he'd held open a door for her.

“Being a gentleman,” he replied, holding out his hand.

Tate burst out laughing.

“Can you even spell that word?”

“Get out of the fucking car.”

Tate stumbled a little as he yanked her out, still laughing. They said goodbye to Sanders, then made their way inside. But before they could make it past the entrance way, Jameson pulled her to a stop.

“What? Is there something on my dress?” Tate asked, looking down at herself. He was staring at her in the strangest way.

“No. You look perfect. I wanted to tell you that, before we went in,” he said. She snorted and looked up at him.

“Are you feeling okay?” she chuckled, pressing her hand to his forehead. He pushed her away.

“Yes. Just … you know everything I do for you, I do out of love, yes?” he questioned.

Funny time was over.

“Okay, now you're scaring me.”

“Shut up,” Jameson snapped, then put a hand on her back, guiding her forward. “I'm just trying to warn you. This is for your own good. Something that needed to happen.”

Tate went to reply, went to ask him what the hell was going on. But then they turned a corner, and all the breath left her body. She stopped moving and he pressed up against her from behind.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Tate hadn't seen or spoken to her parents in a long time. Before Jameson had re-entered her life, she'd gone seven years without speaking to her father. It worked for her. He didn't like her. She didn't like him. Her mother was a moot point – too drunk or high to ever matter. It was harsh, but it was the truth. They didn't care about her, so Tate didn't care about them.

So what the fuck are they doing here!?