Completion (9 page)

At the beginning of their relationship, if it could be called that, Jameson played a lot of games with Tate. She had started it all, he had just wanted to finish it.

For one of his games, he had taken her home to visit her estranged family. Not a very funny game, it turned out. He thought the estrangement had been just that; a group of people who had gotten used to not talking to each other. They would get together, have some drinks, then go back to being the same as any family – still dysfunctional, but at least in the same room together.

He had been very wrong. Jameson could actually admit when he was wrong, it just didn't happen very often. It turned out the O'Shea issues ran much, much deeper than just Tate sleeping with Jameson when she was eighteen. No, there was
a lot
more. Mrs. O'Shea had a serious alcohol and prescription drug problem. Ellie was holding a grudge to the point she was almost delusional. And Mathias O'Shea …, well, Jameson may have been a sociopath, but Mr. O'Shea was closer to being an actual psychopath. Violent, mean, no empathy. Very strange.

It was no wonder Ellie wound up in an abusive relationship. Had Tate's life gone according to plan, she probably would've found herself in a similar situation. Her family cutting her off had probably saved her life, somewhat. Sure, the relationship Jameson and she'd had at the time hadn't exactly been normal, but she had been a fully functional partner in it, complete with her own opinions and free will.

Up until that little vacation, their relationship had been very casual. Sure, Jameson had somewhat realized that Tate meant more to him than just sex, but he hadn't delved into it too much. Figured it would just run its course.

He had come out of the shower one morning to discover Tate gone from his room. Which was fine, he didn't care too much what she did with herself. He had just started to pull clothing out of his luggage when he'd heard shouting from the room next door. Ellie and Robert's room.

Jameson didn't know why, but he'd had a bad feeling. He yanked on a t-shirt and some track pants, sighed, and headed out of his room. He hadn't wanted to deal with real family issues, didn't want to be the person to break up a family fight. But he had heard Tate's voice in the fray, and as always, she had piqued his curiosity.

When Jameson saw Robert hit her, saw Tate go down to the ground, the first emotion he felt was shock. Utter shock, that someone could hurt Tate. The second emotion was rage. Pure rage. He hadn't even thought about it, just slammed through the bedroom door and pinned Robert to the wall.

Jameson knew Tate wasn't exactly a wilting flower. She was a tough girl who had gone through some tough things, not to mention the fact that she had probably experienced more aggressive behavior from Jameson himself, while in bed. But in his mind, it was completely different. He was allowed to touch Tate that way because she was his; because it was consensual. Because she asked him to do it. Because she liked for him to do it. Because he would never,
ever
, hurt her. No one else was allowed to touch her like that, treat her like that.

Should've ripped his fucking head off.

That had marked the change. When Jameson looked back over the years, that moment was the true defining one. That's when he knew it was something different, that it was something more. Any other girl, he would've ended the trip, ended the relationship. Too much drama. Jameson wasn't about drama, he was about sex. But for Tatum, he wanted to grind Robert into dust. Wanted to pick her up and carry her away from it all. Shield her from her horrific family. Do bad things to her in bed, so she could forget about the bad things in real life.

I wanted to save her. Took me all these years to figure it out, but even back then, I wanted to be her prince on a white horse.

*

Tate sighed and leaned back against a wall. Jameson was smiling and mingling around the party. No one seemed to notice the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. When he had punched the photographer, he had clipped the camera. Sliced right through his skin.

Of course he hadn't gone to jail. Bribes went pretty far in Hong Kong, and by the end of the whole ordeal, the paparazzi were the ones being carted off in a police car. Jameson sent a bell hop to tell Ang and Isadora that they would need to find their own way back to the hotel, then he carted Tate outside. Sanders appeared not long after, snapping his fingers at the valet.

“
Why would he say that?
” Tate had asked, leaning over Jameson's hand, trying to judge whether or not he would need stitches.

“
Because people are assholes. Maybe he'll think twice before asking questions like that again.
”

“
You shouldn't have hit him.
”

“
I should've hit him harder.
”

“
What was all that stuff they were saying, about my dad?
”

“
Stuff you don't need to worry about.
”

“
Jameson -,
”

“
Don't push me on this, Tate. I'm not in the fucking mood.
”

Tate hadn't pushed him on the matter, but she didn't want to let it go, either. But after they got back to the hotel, she didn't have time to grill him. He immediately hopped in the shower to get ready for his party. So Tate followed suit and picked out an outfit. Took a shower as well. Made herself look as good as possible.

What a fucking waste.

Just like she'd predicted, she didn't know anybody, and just like she'd predicted, she had to watch Isadora pour herself all over Jameson. Tate wasn't jealous, per se, she just didn't appreciate the blatant disrespect. Ang showed up and blew a raspberry on her neck, promising to distract the Brazilian goddess for her. But before he could make it across the room, he got distracted by a different pretty girl.

Men. What a bunch of fuckers.

“Are you alright?”

Tate smiled as Sanders moved to stand next to her.

Okay, not all men.

“I'm fine. Just bored. How are you? Feels like we haven't gotten to spend any time together,” Tate said, pouting her lip out. Sanders cleared his throat.

“There'll be time later, I'm sure,” he replied, adjusting his tie.

Hmmm, awfully early to be twitching. He's nervous.

“Sandy,” Tate started. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because of this party. Dinner last night. Ang.
Isadora
.”

“The party is because of the resort property he is investing in, Mr. Hollingsworth is for you, dinner was a matter of right-time-right-place, and Ms. Silva just happened to be an investor in the same resort,” Sanders prattled off quickly. Tate turned to fully face him.

“One thing I've learned about you – when I really want to know the meaning behind an action, you feed me all the obvious points. But I know
you
know what I'm really asking,” she called him out. He swallowed thickly, didn't quite meet her eyes.

“Then the question is why do you keep asking me, if you know I'll always respond that way?” he countered.

“You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If he was planning something bad?” Tate asked in a quiet voice. Sanders' eyes finally met hers.

“Of course I would,” he assured her, his voice very serious. She smiled and reached out, squeezed his arm.

“And what will it take to convince you to move home for good? I miss you,” she decided to change the subject.

“And I miss you, as well. But you know it's not that simple,” he replied. She snorted.

“It is. There's plenty of -,”

“
Sanders!
”

Jameson had a voice that could carry when he wanted it to, so there was no mistaking who was calling. Sanders gave a tight-lipped smile to Tate before making his way across the room. She watched as Jameson laughed, clapped Sanders on the back. Introduced him around.

This is so fucking boring.

Tate groaned and pushed away from the wall. A glance at her watch told her it was only five in the afternoon. The party would go on for a while, but she was over it already. She wound her way through people, smiling politely at everyone. When she finally got to the other side of the room, she slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her.

Her phone was at one end of the dresser, plugged in and charging. She could see the notification light blinking on it, so she made her way over. Turned on the screen. It was from Rusty, her old roommate. Tate laughed as she scrolled through pictures of the other girl at a bachelorette party in Vegas. Tate had been invited to the same party, but had turned it down because she'd thought she would be busy with the bar. Turned out she was busy on the other side of the world.

Well, not technically busy.

Tate didn't know how long they texted back and forth. Long enough that she made herself comfortable, bending over the dresser and resting her elbows on top of it. She told Rusty all about her own trip, about Jameson dragging her from one odd incident to the next. Rusty and Jameson had met, several times, but the other woman had always been a little afraid of him. So Tate sent some embarrassing photos of him, hoping to humanize him a little.

“
What are you doing?
”

Tate glanced up to see Jameson standing in the doorway, his hand still gripping the knob.

“Talking to Rusty,” she explained, going back to her phone.

“There's a party out here, you know,” he pointed out. She nodded.

“I know.”

“Full of people.”

“Yes.”

“In person, that you can talk to.”

“Got it.”

“Tatum. Get the fuck off your phone and get out here.”

“No thanks.”

She heard the door shut, and then he was walking towards her.

“I wasn't asking, Tate,” he warned her.

“I'm just really not in the mood, Jameson. I swear. Have your party, I'll just hang out in here. You can wake me when everyone goes,” Tate offered, finally looking at him again. He had moved to lean against the dresser right next to her.

“I thought you liked parties,” he said in a soft voice. She chuckled.

“I like
my
kinds of parties. This is people chatting and smiling and trying to guess how much everyone is worth. What no one seems to realize is none of them are as rich as you, so the rest doesn't matter.
Boring
. They don't even notice if I'm there or not,” she told him.

“
I
notice, and that's all that matters,” he corrected her. She snorted.

“I'm too tired to argue with you. Go to your party, flirt with your Brazilian, it'll be over before you know it,” she instructed him. He moved to stand behind her.

“I'm sensing a little jealousy,” he replied, then she felt his hand on her back. He slowly ran his fingers down her spine.

“Not jealous. Maybe a little annoyed, but not jealous.”

His hand kept moving, sliding over the material of her tight pencil skirt, smoothing over her ass.

“And attitude, I'm sensing
lots
of attitude. I don't care for that,” he said.

His voice was getting hard, the pressure from his hand heavier. Tate stopped looking at her phone and without turning, tried to see if she could spot him from the corner of her eye. But he was completely out of her vision.

“Not trying to be attitudey. Just telling you how I feel. And I don't feel like partying,” she continued, her voice low.

“I don't give two fucks how you feel.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

He smacked her on the ass and she trapped her bottom lip between her teeth.

Someone is definitely in the mood to play. I must not be the only one who finds this party boring.

“Why couldn't you just come find me and ask me to end the party? Why do you always hide away?” he demanded, his hand moving back and forth across her skirt.

“Oh, right, like that would work,” she laughed, then gasped when he spanked her again.

“There's that attitude.”

“Jameson,” she breathed.

“Hmmm?”

“You have forty people in the next room, all here at your request. You have to go back out there,” she told him.

“Telling me what to do, Tate?”

“Wouldn't dream of it, sir.”

Spank.

“Fucking attitude. Fuck, Tate. I fly you half way around the world, and half the time all I've gotten in return is your goddamn attitude,” he hissed.

“Oh, c'mon, more like a third of the -,”

Spank.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You better be willing to finish what you start,” Tate panted.

Suddenly, his hand was on her back, shoving her down. Her arms went out from underneath her and she dropped her phone as she was held down flat against the dresser.