Completion (17 page)

Phone (617) 555-6486 * Fax (617) 555-6488 *
http://www.kravenbrokerage.com

From: The Offices of Jameson Kane, CEO and Founder, [email protected]

To: Tatum O'Shea,
[email protected]

Time Stamp: February 14, 2015, 16:32

RE: This Day

Baby Girl -

I have been informed – multiple times – by Sanders that today is a day where I'm supposed to send you a romantic card, professing my love and adoration.

This seems fucking stupid to me. You know I love you, “adore” is a stretch, and I don't even know what “romantic” means.

But since he won't leave me alone and is reading this over my shoulder, I will tell you that I am grateful for every day that I get to wake up next to you, and even more grateful for every day that I get to come home to you. Thank you for being the best part of my life.

You may show your gratitude for me (which is overwhelming, I'm sure) by waiting in the library and being naked when I get home (this is not a request).

Respectfully,

Jameson

p/s – change your fucking e-mail address

*

Author's Note: This is a memo “war” that grew to epic proportions on my Facebook wall. After the last memo, it turning into a text conversation “war” between Jameson and Tate, complete with screen shots of the actual text message.

FROM: The Offices of Jameson S. Kane

MEMO: Friday the 13th and Valentine's Day

RECIPIENT: O'Shea, Tatum

Forgot to mention - won't be home Friday and Saturday. Have a weekend engagement apparently. Sanders never tells me about these things till the last fucking minute. On the bright side, it seems like I'll be surrounded by women all weekend. Can't be a total loss. Wanted to give you a heads up so you can make plans of your own.

NO ANGIERS.

Cheers,

Jameson

FROM: Your Mom's House

MEMO: Why can't you call like a normal human being!?

RECIPIENT: The Devil

Seriously. A memo!? Two second phone call, that's all it would've taken. I'm not one of your office drones. And Valetine's Day!? Not cool. I had plans for us! And if you're gonna ditch me, then I am DEFINITELY gonna have Ang over. Have him anyway I want. Cause I'll be all aloney on my owny, HA!

Sincerely,

Tate, a.k.a. Pissed Off Bitch

FROM: The Offices of Jameson S. Kane

MEMO: Friday the 13th and Valentine's Day

RECIPIENT: O'Shea, Tatum

I sent a memo because A) I'm a fucking adult and I'm at work, and B) if I called you, I'd never get off the phone, you never shut the fuck up. And please don't compare yourself to my employees - at least they earn their keep. What, exactly, is it you do to earn yours?

Go ahead. Invite Angier over. Let's see how mad I can really get. Been a long time since we played a game.

Cheers,

Jameson

FROM: Land of Pissed Off Girlfriend

MEMO: Go Fuck Yourself

RECIPIENT: Lord Poopy-Pants McBitch-Face

What, exactly, I do for you is anything and everything - feel like giving yourself head? Go ahead, I'll watch. Cause you sure as shit aren't getting it from me anymore.

Please stop bothering me, I'm having a very important Skype conversation with my darling Ang, discussing our Valentine's plans.

I wonder if that sex club downtown is still open ...

Your loving drone,

Tate

FROM: The Offices of Jameson S. Kane

MEMO: Friday the 13th and Valentine's Day

RECIPIENT: O'Shea, Tatum

Keep talking, I love seeing your ass painted red. I hope you don't have any plans for the rest of the week, because by the time I get through with you, you won't be able to walk right. Better cancel your plans with Angier.

DO NOT message me again, I am a very busy man and am sick of your distractions. Don't make me come home to explain this in person. You won't like it.

Cheers,

Jameson

FROM: HAHAHAHAHAHA

MEMO: I'll believe it when I see it

RECIPIENT: Satan (not to be confused with a bag of hot air)

Big talk. Promises promises. I'll see your threat, and raise you a BULLSHIT.

You want me to stop messaging?

MAKE ME.

Your move,

Tate

FROM: The Offices of Jameson S. Kane

MEMO: Automated Response Activated

RECIPIENT: O'Shea, Tatum

We regret to inform you that Jameson Kane has left the office for the day. If this is an emergency, please contact Sanders Dashkevich.

Mr. Kane will be back in the office tomorrow morning, eight o'clock.

DO NOT REPLY TO THIS ADDRESS

*

Author's Note: This was the original epilogue I wrote to Reparation, way back in … May 2014? Back then, the final chapter was also very different – in the original version, Jameson never said the L-word, because I simply couldn't picture him saying it, at the time. Obviously, a lot changed. None of this has been edited or beta-read or proofed or checked for language accuracy.

~Epilogue~

“God, it's nice out.”

“Uh uh! German! You have to talk to me in German.”

“
Es ist sehr schon aus
.”

“Es ..., ist sehr ..,” Tate tried to sound out the words.

“
Schon.
”

“Schon ... house?” she laughed.

“You should've taken Spanish.”

She crawled up Jameson's body, laid on top of him. He didn't take off his sunglasses or move his head to look down at her, but his arm came around her.

“School doesn't start for another month or two, I could switch,” she said, folding her hands on his chest and resting her chin on them.

“I would highly recommend it. Your German accent is shit,” he told her. She laughed.

“I have a shitty teacher. Now you have to say everything to me in Spanish,” she warned him.

“
Hoy me voy a tomar toda la ropa de
-,” he started speaking rapid fire.

“Hey! Hey, I don't speak it yet!” she laughed, slapping him on the chest. He chuckled and his other arm came around her.

They were on the top deck of his yacht. He'd had it brought to America and they were docked in Miami. It was July, so it was stifling hot, but she pretty much lived in her bikini, so it wasn't too bad. Bonus, he spent almost all of his time in a bathing suit as well. She would never get tired of his body.

Sanders was going to MIT in the fall. Engineering. He was going to learn how to design cars. Who knew? Tatum was also going to school in the fall, but not MIT. Not even Harvard. She was starting small, at a community college, just to take some general education classes and see if business was something she really wanted to do.

Since it seemed everyone would be busy come fall, Jameson had the idea of them getting away for part of the summer. They had cruised down the east coast, from Boston all the way to South Beach. Now they were spending the rest of the summer in Florida and the Keys. She had even talked him into bringing Ang. Life was as near perfect as it could possibly get.

Petrushka had only been a problem once. Calling the house, repeatedly, despite the restraining order. Tatum finally picked up the phone and threatened her – pregnant or not, Tate would kick that supermodel's ass if she kept trying to contact Jameson. Tatum was the only woman in his life, and Pet had better fucking get used to it.

She never called again.

Nick also came back to Boston, though he wasn't a problem. Sometimes, she caught him looking at her a little wistfully, but then he was would smile his puppy-dog-smile, and continue on with whatever he was doing. He and Jameson even spent an evening together, playing poker in the library. She wasn't sure what happened, but by the end of the night Nick had a black eye, Jameson had split knuckles, and they were talking and laughing like they were the best of friends.

Boys are so fucking weird
.

“Did I tell you,” Jameson suddenly started. “We got an invitation.”

“
We
did?”

“I did,” he corrected himself.

“To what?” she asked.

“I am cordially invited to the wedding of a Mr. Wenseworth Dunn and a Ms. Petrushka Ivanovic,” he prattled out. Tate burst out laughing.

“You're shitting me. They didn't,” she gasped.

“Oh, they did. It has a plus one. I thought of inviting Sanders, but I think you look better in a dress,” he told her.

“Probably. I'll only go on one condtion,” she said.

“And what is that?”

“We get to have sex, as loudly as possible, in a bathroom during the service,” she told him.

“You're so filthy, baby girl. I love it,” he chuckled, his arms getting tighter around her.

“Where does '
baby girl
' come from? Did you call Pet that?” she asked. He scrunched up his nose.

“You've always just been that, it's
your name
. Since the first time I saw you. Pet had her own nickname, after I got to know her,” he replied. She pushed herself up so she was straddling his waist.

“Ooohhh, I want to know,” she breathed.

“
Fotze
.”

“Meaning?”

“
Cunt.
”

She laughed again.

“I'm almost jealous. Are we going?” she asked, sweeping her eyes across the harbor.

“I'll think about it,” he said, sighing and resting his hands on his chest where her hands had been a moment ago.

She looked down at them and smiled. He had a scar on the side of his hand, running from just under his pinky knuckle to the top of his wrist. When he had punched out the window on the Jag, the cut had gone deep. Sanders had stitched it up. Apparently, he wasn't as good at sutures as he was at everything else. But she actually liked it. She had scarred Jameson.

It was only fair.

“Where is Sanders? I thought we had plans to go to lunch. He's always bailing on me,” she complained. Jameson laughed.

“He's scared of you. Ever since you got him so wasted on his birthday that he couldn't even see straight, he doesn't trust you,” Jameson reminded her. She laughed.

“Oh, he was fine.”

“I have never seen a grown man puke that much.”

“Shut up. Where's Ang, then? It is suspiciously quiet around here,” she looked around her, realizing it for the first time. Jameson's hands moved to her thighs.

“It's probably because I asked everyone to stay away,” he told her. She raised her eyebrows.

“You asked everyone to stay away?” she clarified.

“Well, I
told them
to stay away. In very graphic language. They are staying in a hotel for the weekend,” he said.

“Why?”

He sat up suddenly and she laughed, holding onto his shoulders so she didn't lose her balance. He secured her legs around his waist and then stood up, carrying her to the stairs. She glanced around them, wondering what was going on.

“Because I have plans for us tonight,” he told her, going down to the upper deck. He had finally replaced the furniture that the angry maid had thrown overboard. But he walked past it all, carrying her to lower deck.