Degradation (The Kane Trilogy 1) by Stylo Fantome

“Mr. Kane's feet hurt after a long day. You look nice,” Jameson commented, his eyes wandering over her. She had put on a fitted black dress, for her cocktail hour with Ang – a little overdressed for an evening in the country.

“Thank you. I went out for drinks with a friend, before coming here,” she told him. He laughed.

“Pre-gaming? Scared of coming out here?” he asked, turning back to the bar and picking up crystal bottles.

“No. Just drinks with a friend,” Tate replied, spinning in a slow circle and looking around the room.

“The redheaded roommate?” he asked. She felt something cool, and turned to see him running a glass full of ice and liquid down the side of her arm. She took it from him.

“No. Ang,” she answered, taking a sip. She tried not to make a face. Gin and tonic.

“Ah, the half-man, half-donkey friend. How was the tripod?” Jameson asked, making himself a drink, as well. She laughed.

“Careful, almost sounds like jealousy, and I got enough of that from him,” Tate joked, heading over and falling in to one of the chairs. She let her shoes drop to the floor and she tucked her feet up underneath herself.

“Tripod-man is jealous? I'm flattered,” he replied, taking the chair next to hers.

“Not really jealous, I guess. Just ..., cautious. On my behalf,” she tried to explain.

“Understandable.”

“So, how did you find this place, Kane? Daddy's will?” Tate asked. She knew Jameson and his father hadn't had the best relationship.

“Something like that. Had it almost completely remodeled a couple years ago,” he replied.

“Oh wow. Were you here for that?”

“For a little while.”

“So you came to Boston a couple years ago.”

“As my answer would imply.”

She stayed silent, sipping at her drink. He had been in Boston a couple years ago, but hadn't contacted her. She still thought it was strange. If he was so in to her, so obsessed with that one time they'd been together, why hadn't he looked her up? He would've had to assume that she'd still be in Boston, still going to school. She let out a sigh, tried not to think about it.

“Did you -,” she started, but then he cleared his throat.

“I didn't call you because I didn't think about it. I had just acquired a shit ton of property and money, I was a little busy. You weren't even on my radar. Women were the last thing on my mind,” Jameson said, reading her mind.

“It's probably a good thing – a couple years ago, I was even crazier than I am now,” Tate laughed.

“Jesus.”

“I had a rough patch there, from about twenty to twenty-three. Like I was making up for lost time, or something. I just did everything and anything I could think of,” she told him.

“Hmmm, sounds interesting. Now I wish I had called you,” he responded, and she laughed again.

“What about you? What have you been doing?” she asked. He took a deep breath.

“I started my own brokerage firm, not long after I left Harrisburg. Invested in a start up film company, made a bundle. Sold my firm, moved to Germany for a year to head a new firm there. My dad died, and I inherited all of his businesses. Moved back, lived in Los Angeles for a while. Then Manhattan. Made a lot of investments. I do a lot of consulting work, now,” he summed everything up.

“Wow. I moved from one bad neighborhood to another, while you were moving across the globe,” she laughed. Jameson nodded.

“Your life story is much shittier than mine,” he agreed. She glared at him.

“But probably a lot funner,” Tate countered, finishing off her drink.

“I highly doubt that. Have you ever had sex with a supermodel while sailing through the Mediterranean on your 250 foot yacht?” he asked. Tate thought for a second.

“No. I gave a handjob in an Arby's bathroom once, though. Kinda like the same thing,” she told him with a bright smile.

“I stand corrected. Your life leaves me in awe,” he chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Tired?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and getting comfy.

She had expected to be a lot more nervous around him. For the two years he had dated her sister, Tate had always been a nervous mess around Jameson. She was surprised to find that she felt almost comfortable. Something about knowing she was with someone that she could say absolutely anything to, anything at all, and he most likely wouldn't be shocked or offended, comforted her.

“Very tired. It was a long day. I'm also involved in mergers and acquisitions. Sometimes people are not so eager to give up their stuff,” Jameson said in a gruff voice.

“Poor baby,” she cooed at him. He snorted.

“Shut up. How is Ellie?” he asked.

She went still. She hadn't expected him to ask about her family. Sure, Tate had asked about his house and life, but in a general, “let's make conversation before I explode and rape you”, kind of way. She knew he didn't care about her, or her family.

“Fine, I guess. We don't speak. My mother gets nostalgic after a couple bottles of wine, calls me, keeps me updated on the family. Last I heard, Ellie's pregnant,” Tate replied, turning to stare in to the fireplace.

“First child?”

“Yup.”

“Married, I assume.”

“Within a year of you two splitting up.”

“She was always ambitious.”