“You thought wrong. Now go, you have a party to plan.”
*
Two days later, at one-thirty, Jameson stood on his front porch. His arms were folded across his chest and he wore an expensive pair of wayfarer sunglasses. His back yard was filled with about twenty of his friends and colleagues, most with their significant others, but he was waiting for one specific person.
And she was late.
“Did she call you?” he asked. Sanders appeared in his line of vision.
“No. You keep asking me that. Why would Ms. O'Shea ever call me?” Sanders responded. Jameson shrugged.
“She likes you, you two are friends,” he replied.
“She likes you, too.”
Jameson frowned.
Finally, ten minutes later, a cab pulled in to the driveway. Jameson knew he could always send Sanders to get her, but then the whole process would take twice the amount of time. Plus, she needed some accountability – it was up to her to call the cab and get in it and get there. Frankly, he was surprised she managed it at all.
“Sorry, it really wasn't my fault this time,” Tate laughed as she climbed out of the back seat.
“Sure it isn't,” he replied, scowling at her.
She was wearing the same shorts she had worn when he had gone to her bar, and a sheer black blouse with a black bikini top underneath it. She had flip flops on her feet, a ridiculously huge purse, and aviator glasses that were so shiny, he could see his reflection in them. While they talked, she pulled her hair up in to a sloppy ponytail. She looked completely different from any other person in the house.
He wanted to devour her.
“It's really not her fault, sir,” the cab driver started, actually stepping out of the cab. They all turned towards him. “I got a flat tire on the freeway. I have a pinched nerve in my back; the young lady actually changed the tire for me. No charge for the ride.”
Jameson turned back to Tate, his eyebrows raised. She smiled broadly and flexed her arms like a body builder, kissing one of her biceps. He laughed and gestured for Sanders to pay the man anyway.
“You changed a tire, dressed like this?” he asked as he led her in to the house. She threw back her head and laughed.
“No, I changed in to coveralls first. Yes, like this, Jameson. I didn't have much of a choice. Do you even know how to change a tire?” she asked. He pulled on her ponytail.
“No playing with me this early, we've got to act respectable for a little while,” he told her.
“Why?”
But he didn't have to answer. The back part of the house was a conservatory that over looked his pool and back yard. She gave a low whistle. There were a lot of people on his back lawn, all laughing and smiling. Clinking glasses and chatting, looking like they were all having the time of their lives. Jameson Kane rarely invited people to his private dwellings. Tate stood completely still, staring at everything.
“Scared, baby girl?” Jameson whispered. She shook her head.
“No, but why? Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“You said I treat you like a secret. This is everyone I know in Boston. Except for Angier. Forgot to invite him,” Jameson said, his tone full of bite. She lowered her glasses and gave him a Look.
“But why?” she pressed.
“You're not a secret to me, Tate. I'm not ashamed of you or what we do. You're two steps above being an employee anyway,” he pointed out. She snorted.
“Employees get paid, and I haven't seen a fucking dollar. I ate macaroni and cheese ALL weekend,” she told him.
“Whatever. I'm being nice. This may be your only opportunity to see it in action,” he warned her. She took a deep breath.
“I'm not like these people, Jameson. I won't fit in. I'm very flattered, and this means a lot, that you did this. It's very sweet. But ...,” she let the sentence hang.
She is scared.
“Alright. I made my statement. You don't have to go out there. Since you're scared. And hey, now we really know who the bigger pussy is,” he mocked her.
Tate turned to look at him, shoving her glasses onto her head. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor, then shoved her shorts off her hips. She was wearing a black bikini, the bottoms breaking in to two strings that curved around her hips. She had an amazing body, and the scorching summer had given her a killer tan. He drank in the sight of her.
“I'm not scared. By the end of the day, those people out there will like me more than they like you,” she informed him. He laughed.
“I have no doubt of that. But you do realize that not one single other person out there is just strutting around in their bathing suit. I didn't realize you had to be half naked to feel comfortable,” Jameson said, gesturing outside. He was right. There were some board shorts, and a lot of ladies were wearing bathing suits underneath fancy covers and long dresses, but no one was serious about getting in the pool. Tatum shook her head.
“You said wear a bathing suit, so I'm ready. Let's do this,” she replied, and strode out the back door. Jameson caught up with her, and it was obvious he surprised her when he hooked an arm around her hips, guiding her to the closest group of people.
“Cecily. Livvy. Tad, this is my friend, Tatum. Our families were close, in Pennsylvania. I recently discovered her living right here in Boston. Tate, Tad's a junior broker at the firm, Livvy is his wife, and Cecily keeps the accounting department in order,” he introduced her.