Completion (3 page)

“These were all I could find,” he said, holding up a pair of sneakers. Tate took them from him and glanced at Jameson.

“Did you pack these for me? I'll look ridiculous,” she told him, before bending over and slipping on the shoes – a pair of white, skater-style, DCs.

“I know how you are; we can't make it through a whole night without you complaining about your fucking shoes. I just grabbed the flattest ones I could find and threw them in the car,” Jameson explained, taming his hair by running his fingers through it a couple times.

“Very thoughtful of you.”

“I know. Let's get the fuck out of here. Sanders, did you settle up for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. So glad you're home.”

“Um …, me too, sir.”

They started filing out of the room. There was a brief argument because Tate wanted to keep the almost full bottle of Jack Daniel's. Jameson told her to leave it. She didn't want to waste the booze or money. He pointed out that she'd had enough booze, and it wasn't her money, so she shouldn't worry about it. She glared at him and tucked the bottle under her arm, stomping out the door ahead of him.

“That girl,” Jameson grumbled, but he chuckled while she gingerly made her way onto the spiral stair case.

“I'm sorry, but someone seems to have forgotten something,” Sanders' voice came from inside the room. He turned around, and then Jameson really did laugh. Sanders was holding up a rose colored, lace bra. The one Tate hadn't been able to find.

“You know what? Keep it. A souvenir for when you go back to Russia,” Jameson joked, winking at Sanders before turning to leave.

The bouncers weren't keen on the idea of Tate leaving with the bottle, and another argument was had. In the end, Sanders was able to talk it out of her hands. She danced outside, and was delighted to discover that the rap star party from the private room next to theirs was waiting out there, as well.

While they waited for their cars to be brought around, the two groups socialized. Well, Tatum chatted with the ladies while Jameson and the rapper smoked cigars. Sanders stood by a wall.

“So I gotta ask,” one of the girls started saying. “How do you keep a man like that? I read an article saying he used to sleep with a different girl every night.”

Tate laughed and looked over her shoulder. Jameson was standing a little ways behind her. One hand held a cigar to his lips, and the other was shoved into his pants pocket. Her high heels dangled from his wrist, and she smiled.

That man is perfection.

“Lots of threesomes,” Tate finally answered, and all the girls laughed.

Eventually, the rapper's limo was pulled around and they had to say goodbye. Tate waved them off, then danced back to her boys. The DC shoes she had changed into allowed for a lot of movement and she wondered why she hadn't just worn them in the first place. She backed Sanders up against a wall and forced him to suffer through her “
twerking
” on him. When the car was pulled up, he finally pushed her away. She snorted with laughter and fell against Jameson.

“Ready to go home?” he asked. She nodded, clutching his lapels and pulling him closer.

“More than ready,” she replied, before kissing him sloppily.

“You realize,” he pulled back from her as his hands squeezed her hips, “you're providing a show.”

“Huh?”

Jameson jerked his head to the side and Tate glanced behind her. Several men with large cameras were across the street, snapping away. She glared at them. They had probably shown up for the rap star, but then realized who Jameson was; Tate didn't like it. Paparazzi had been responsible for a lot of her and Jameson's problems early on, so she didn't like to provide them with anymore fodder.

So she turned around and gave them the finger, with both hands, holding them up in front of her face.

“That just makes them take more pictures,” Jameson informed her, wrapping his arm around her waist and walking her forward, up to the car.

“So? Nothing usable, they'll have to blur it all out,” she replied.

“You're ridiculous.”

“
You're
ridiculous.”

“Tate?”

“Yeah?”

“
Shut up.
”

The drive home didn't seem as long. Probably because she spent most of it on his lap, kissing and touching as much of him as he would allow. He produced a bottle of Dom Perignon, 1999, and they toasted their glasses. The second glass wound up getting spilled down Tate's front, and then it was a free-for-all. By the time they rolled up to the house in Weston, she was straddling Jameson's lap and he was gripping her jaw, forcing her to look straight up while he poured the champagne down her throat. It spilled over the sides of her mouth and ran down her neck, over her breasts.

“That was a waste,” she breathed when she'd swallowed everything. She ran her hands over her chest, then flicked champagne in his face.

“Tatum, if it gets you wet, it's never a waste,” was his retort. She laughed.

“Good response, Mr. Kane. Can we go inside now?” she asked.

“I thought you'd never ask.”

They tripped up the front stairs, banged up against the door. Like a couple of horny teenagers, unable to keep their hands off each other. Jameson finally unlocked the front door and they literally fell inside, landing hard on the stairs. Tate groaned and Jameson pulled her up, moving her so she was a couple steps ahead of him.

“Jameson, wait, just wait,” she breathed, gripping onto his shoulders while he pulled at her shirt.

“No,” he replied, moving on to unbutton her shorts. She shoved his hands away.

“I know you want to take me upstairs and ravage me,” she tried to say, their hands fighting with each other.

“No shit. Stop talking.”

“But I had other plans,” she said, holding onto his wrists.

“What other plans? I'm fucking you tonight, I don't give a shit about your plans,” he snapped, yanking free from her.

“Oh, I didn't say we wouldn't be having sex – I definitely want you to fuck me,” she told him, smoothing her hands up his chest.

“Then what the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded. She leaned in close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“I'm talking about tonight. I was thinking that you should fuck me in the ass,” she whispered.

The next second, she was shrieking as Jameson threw her over his shoulder. She laughed uncontrollably as he jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Jesus, Tate, why didn't you say something earlier!? I would've left that fucking club hours ago!” he complained. She gripped onto his belt.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“A very welcome one. Goddamn, did you get fatter?” he teased, adjusting her weight as he strode down the hall.

“What!? Oh, that's it. Put me down. I'm putting on a onesie and you aren't getting sex for a week!” she yelled at him, but was still laughing.

“Oh, I don't think so. Too late. You already said it, so it's happening,” he replied. As they went through their bedroom door, she shot her arms out, gripping onto the door frame.

“No way. This'll teach you to make fun of me.”

“I don't know why you're still talking, Tate. It's not like you have a say in any of this.”

Then he yanked her free of the door.

“
Wake up.
”

Tate groaned and burrowed further under the pillows. But Jameson refused to be ignored and suddenly the mattress was shaking underneath her.

“What!?” she snapped, pushing herself up. “What time is it!?”

“It's eight o'clock. C'mon, get up,” he urged. He was leaning over her, both of his palms flat on the mattress, shoving it up and down.

“
Eight!?
Jameson, we just went to sleep like two hours ago! Go away,” she groaned, starting to lay back down. But he grabbed her arm, pulling her sideways off the bed.

“No no no, time to get up. I have a surprise for you,” he offered, helping her to stand up.

“I hate surprises,” she complained, but followed as he dragged her to the bathroom.

“You'll like this, I promise,” he assured her.

“Doubtful. I just want to sleep, Jameson. I'm sore in ways you can't even imagine.”

“You'd be surprised.”

Tate snorted.

It was a good surprise, though. Jameson had drawn a bath for her, complete with bubbles and everything. She moaned as he helped her into the sudsy warmth, and she kept moaning till she was chin deep in bubbles. Her eyes were closed, so she wasn't aware that he was joining her till she felt him climbing in the water. It was a huge tub, and he sat at the opposite end, arranging her legs so they were on top of his own.

“Okay, so it's not so bad,” she conceded, and he laughed.

“I thought you'd like it,” he replied, grabbing a sponge and soaping down one of her legs.

“Thank you. But what got into you that you had to do this at eight? I would have loved this at two in the afternoon, when God intended for good human beings to wake up,” she pointed out. He chuckled and started massaging her left foot.

“Because I had something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he started. Tate frowned. Jameson was rarely hesitant, and if he was starting a conversation by doing something nice for her, then she was doubly afraid.

“Oh god. Now I really wish I'd stayed in bed,” she groaned, resting her head back against the porcelain.

“I have some issues that I need to go over with my lawyer,” he informed her.

“So?”

“So, I also need to have my will re-drafted, and there's a business merger I'm looking into,” he went on.

“Still not sure how any of that involves me. Unless you're leaving everything to me in your will. Then I'm very interested,” she joked.

“You wish. It involves you because the lawyer who handles this stuff isn't in the country, and won't be for a while. I have to go to him,” Jameson continued.

“Okay. Bon voyage,” Tate yawned.

“You're coming with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, you're coming -,”

“No, I heard you,” Tate started, sitting up right and looking at him. “What do you mean? Why do I need to go?”

“Because I want you there, I like having you with me when I travel,” he informed her.

“Well, that's awfully sweet of you, but I have a job, Jameson. I have things going on here, I just can't -,” she began rambling.

“It's taken care of.”

“Huh?”

“It's taken care of – I spoke to the bar manager and bartender, they're going to run everything, it'll be fine. You haven't been there that much lately, anyway,” he pointed out. Tate pulled her feet away from him.

“What the fuck, Jameson!? Would you like it if I called your work and arranged for you to have time off behind your back?” she demanded. He laughed at her.

“That wouldn't work, my secretary would never listen to you.”

“This isn't right, and you know it. You don't get to do something like this,” she snapped.

“Well, your business
is
half mine. I could just close it down.”

Fucker.

“I knew it,” Tate hissed, pulling herself to her feet. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you threw that in my face.”

“Tate, calm down and just listen to me,” Jameson sighed.

“Why? What's the point? Whether I listen or not, you're just gonna make me do whatever you want, so let's just cut out the bullshit,” she said, wrapping a towel around her body.

“Watch your mouth,” he replied quickly. She glared at him.

“
You
watch it. So where are you dragging me to now!?” she asked, stomping out of the bathroom.

“It won't be for that long, Tate, so just calm the fuck down,” Jameson called after her. She rolled her eyes and made her way into their closet.

“I don't care. This is shitty. Where are we going?” she repeated the question. He finally followed after her.

“Hong Kong.”

“
Hong Kong!?
”

“Did I stutter?”

“For how long!?”

“One week, maybe longer,” he answered her. Tate groaned, grabbing one of his old t-shirts out of a drawer.

“Maybe longer? Why not just make it a month, seeing as how I'm not even needed here to help run
your
business,” she grumbled, letting her towel drop to the ground before yanking the shirt over her head.

“You can shut the fuck up any time now,” he offered.

“
You
shut up. When are we leaving?” she refused to look at him as she wiggled into a pair of yoga pants.

“In about two hours.”

“
Two hours!?
”

“Yes. So you better start packing.”

“
You
fucking pack. I didn't know about this trip, I didn't plan this trip,
I don't want go on this trip
, so you know what? I'm gonna keep on with the trend and not have anything to do with this trip,” she informed him, then went to stomp out of the room. Jameson grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“You better change your fucking attitude. Whether you like it or not, we're getting on a plane soon, and I don't wanna spend the next twenty-four hours dealing with your shit,” he warned her. She smiled sweetly at him.

“Oh, you'll spend a lot longer than twenty-four hours dealing with it.”

Then she yanked away and stormed into the bedroom.

Tate didn't have to pack. She wrapped herself into a blanket burrito and stayed like that, listening while Sanders packed a bag for her. She felt kinda bad, but she also knew that he had to be in on the trip – he was going, after all. And she didn't like surprises. Not like that, not ones that underminded her as a business owner and a boss.

She made one last valiant attempt to refuse to go, but Jameson just picked her up, blanket burrito and all, and carried her out to the car. Before she could work up the energy to seriously be a bitch, they were at the airfield, loading their belongings onto the plane. A
private
plane; Jameson had finally bought one. Mostly for her – what with Ang's career exploding, he couldn't really visit whenever he wanted, so Tate was flying out to L.A. and Vegas all the time. Eventually, Jameson decided it would be more economical to just buy a plane and give her free use of it.

She decided not to think about that little fact as she made herself comfortable on a couch. He sat down next to her, taking off his jacket while the plane took off.

“You've been suspiciously quiet,” he commented, looking down at her.

“I can get loud if you want,” she offered. He chuckled.

“No, thank you. I'm surprised you're this uppity. I thought you'd be wrecked with a hangover this morning,” he pointed out.

“No such luck,” Tate sighed. She was actually pretty sure she might have still been just a little bit drunk. But she wasn't going to tell him that.

“Good. I hate dealing with you when you're ill.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual. And I'm not hungover, so don't worry about it.”

“I won't.”

*

Two hours later, Tate felt like she was going to die. She panted for air, resting her back against a wall. Jameson chuckled.

“Done?” he asked. She licked her lips, letting her eyes droop shut.

“You make this worse, I hope you know.”

“I could leave,” he offered.

“Could you!?” she snapped back.

Jameson started to stand up, but at the same time Tate felt her stomach dip to the left and she grabbed onto his pant leg. He didn't move, and when she lurched forward to stick her head over the toilet, he sat back down. Gently gathered all her hair and held it at the back of her head.

“The things I do for you, baby girl,” he sighed as she dry heaved and gagged into the toilet.

“God, I have never felt this bad. I just want it to stop,” Tate begged, bracing one hand against the toilet tank. Jameson used his free hand to rub her shoulders.

“Want something to drink?”

“No, I'll just puke it up.”

“Better than stomach acid.”

“Will you make fun of me if I start crying?” she asked, taking deep breaths as she felt another wave of nausea roll through her stomach.

“Not till you're done puking, I promise,” he replied. She managed a laugh, but that just made her stomach cramp up worse, and she was back over the toilet.

Sanders eventually appeared with a ginger ale. Jameson moved to sit on the floor with her, feeding her crackers. She thanked him, then laid down, resting with her head in his lap. She was too hungover to be mad at him anymore. Besides, she knew that most wealthy stock-broker-CEO-financier-tycoon-type dudes wouldn't be willing to hold their girlfriend's hair back while she puked, so she figured that made up for Jameson talking to her staff behind her back.

When there was absolutely nothing left to vomit up, they finally moved back into the main cabin. Tate stretched out on a couch, beaching herself against Sanders while Jameson went to scrounge up something real that she could eat and potentially hold down.

“Are you alright?” Sanders asked in a soft voice, closing his laptop.

“No, I'm dying,” she croaked, shivering. He draped his arm on top of her, rubbing her wrist affectionately.

“You are not dying. You shouldn't drink so much,” he pointed out. She pinched his leg.

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You should've stopped me,” she retorted.

“It is not my job to police how much you -,”

“Sanders?” she interrupted, wrapping her arm around his waist and pressing her face against his ribs.

“Hmmm?”

“Please shut up now, you're making me feel worse.”

“Of course.”

Tate slept against him all the way to San Francisco. They landed there to refuel, and Jameson actually left the plane to run an errand. Normally, Tate would have been suspicious, but she was too hungover to care. He could be arranging the sale of her body to an oil sheik, and she wouldn't care. So long as no one bothered her while she was hungover.

After they took off, she slept some more, clear to the halfway point between the U.S. and Hong Kong. Then she woke up, let out a loud belch, and realized she was starving. Sanders was sleeping in a back room, but Jameson had stayed up to keep an eye on her, so he had some food brought out for her.

“Jesus, Tate, don't make yourself sick again,” he laughed, watching as she wolfed down a plate of food.

“I feel like I haven't eaten in years,” she replied around a full mouth.

“You're certainly eating like it.”

“Jameson,” she ignored his rudeness.

“Yes?”

“Why do you need me to come to Hong Kong?” she asked. Now that her brain was clearer, she didn't feel the need to be quite so bitchy.

“Because. As hard as it is to believe, baby girl, I like being around you,” he told her, moving so he was sitting next to her.

“That's very sweet, Jameson. But I really,
really
, don't like how you went about it. You could've just asked me,” she said, pushing her tray away and tucking her feet underneath herself.

“I was trying to do something spontaneous. Fun. Remember those words?” Jameson taunted her. Tate tried to glare, but couldn't hold it up. She smiled and leaned into him.

“Once upon a time. And Hong Kong? It's gonna be so hot,” she complained.

“You'll love it, I promise,” he assured her, kissing the top of her head.

“You can't just ditch me,” she started, wrapping her arm around him. “No spending all day in meetings. I hate that. You ruined London for me, that one time.”

“You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?” he sighed.

“No, probably not,” she shook her head.

“I'll spend every day with you, I promise,
Liebe,
” he whispered. She smiled.

“Good.”

They talked for a while, about a lot of different things. Conversation always flowed between them, despite the fact that they were two very different people. It just worked for them. Then an hour before they were scheduled to land, Sanders wandered out, looking fresh as a daisy in a newly pressed suit. Tate looked down at herself, still wearing her hangover clothing, and laughed. Kissed Jameson before flouncing off into the back to change and clean last night's makeup off her face.