Completion (8 page)

“You invited me to play tennis with a woman you used to fuck. With a woman who clearly still wants to be fucking you,” Tate laid it all out.

“To be fair, she wants to fuck you, too,” Jameson corrected her.

“Oh, excuse me, that totally changes things. Hold my shorts while I go initiate a sixty-nine.”

“Don't make promises you won't keep.”

“Why didn't you just tell me? I like to be mentally prepared when I have to interact with one of your groupies,” Tate groaned, pulling out her racket as well.

“Hey, I have to interact with
Angier
all the time. You can suck it up for one hour, baby girl,” Jameson pointed out. She snorted.

“That's one hour too long.”

“I actually did it for him,” Jameson said, his voice quiet and confidential.

“Huh?”

“She's lonely here. Desperate. And I know
Angier
will fuck anything with a pulse. Seemed win-win,” he explained.

“You're such a sweetheart,” Tate said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. He swung the racket against her ass, causing her to yelp.

“Don't piss me off. We'll play, they'll flirt, we'll get drinks, and hopefully we can all end the day having sex,” Jameson told her.

“It almost sounds fun, when you put it that way.”

The Brazilian made sexy eyes at Ang for a while, but it was obvious that Jameson was her ultimate goal. As they all took their sides of the court, Tate glared as the other woman flirted and touched Jameson. Leaned against him. Breathed on him.

“What are we doing here?” Ang asked in a low voice.

“That chicks wants to fuck Jameson. He's trying to pawn her off on you. Be sexy,” Tate advised him.

“Bitch, I was born sexy.”

Tate had to agree. Ang was wearing a pair of old fashioned looking Ray Bans, and his hair was cropped extremely short on the sides, but long and wild on top. There was a touch of James Dean about him; something 1950's. His bad boy smile was firmly in place, and though Isadora was focusing on Jameson, she threw a couple flirty glances Ang's way.

“Well, sexy it up some more, get her attention. I don't want to spend the rest of the day trying to talk Jameson out of an orgy,” Tate hissed.

“We could end up in an orgy!?”

“Angier, don't make me serve the ball into the back of your head.”

Tate was rusty – tennis had never really been her sport. She could knock the ball back and forth, but she wasn't great. Ang couldn't play for shit, it was comical watching him lope up and down the court. They both laughed a lot, collapsing into giggle fits enough times to earn a snap from Jameson.

Isadora played the game beautifully and elegantly, like Tate knew she would, and of course Jameson was good at it. If there was something Jameson wasn't good at it, he simply didn't do it, so Tate had figured he'd do well at tennis. Together with the Brazilian bombshell, they dominated the game. Tate couldn't quite figure out why they didn't switch, place a bad player with a good player, to at least even the odds.

But it quickly became apparent that Isadora didn't want to even the odds. She cooed in Jameson's ear, wiggled her ass in his face. Tate spent half the game making puking faces at him, which just earned her wolf grins and him feeding into the flirtation.

“I don't think she's interested in my sexy,” Ang informed Tate, looking over his glasses as Isadora bent straight at the waist, keeping her knees locked while she tied her shoelaces. Jameson stood directly behind her, waving his racket at them.

Tate gave him the finger.

“Yeah, we're not here to play tennis. She invited us here so she could become fuck buddies,” Tate grumbled.

“Wouldn't be all bad. She's kinda hot,” Ang pointed out. Tate snorted.

“I didn't come all the way to Hong Kong to have an orgy with Jameson's ex girlfiend.”

“Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”

“Yes. We went to the Met gala last fall, and
god
, what a nightmare. There was this model, some young blonde thing that Jameson had slept with like a million years ago. Followed him around all night. I don't want to go through that again,” Tate told him.

“What are you going to do about it?” Ang asked.

“Whore you out.”

Before he could argue, Tate jogged up to the net, scooping up the ball as she went.

“Oh, thank you, Tatum,” Isadora gushed in her syrupy accent, running up to the net as well.

“No problem. Say, Ang has never been to Hong Kong before, you should totally show him around after this,” Tate blurted out, not even trying to be subtle.

“Really? I was hoping to catch up with Kane a little more. So little chance to talk during the game. I would be very glad to keep him company while you show Angier the sites,” Isadora offered.

Hmmm, I'm not the only one lacks subtlety.

“See, I kind of had plans with Jameson,” Tate lied. There weren't any set plans, but she figured she didn't need them. He was her boyfriend. If she said he was busy, then he was goddamn busy.

“Yes, of course! The party!” Isadora exclaimed. Tate blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“The party! Kane told me all about it, thank you so much for inviting me!”

“Are we gonna play, or fucking chit chat all day?” Jameson yelled from the back line. Tate stepped to the side.

“Your lovely partner was just telling me all about our party!” Tate shouted back, shielding her eyes with her hand. His own eyes were hidden by the bill of his hat, but the set of his jaw was ominous. He wasn't happy.

“My partner should learn to keep her mouth shut. Let's finish this game,” he called back.

“Oh, I'll finish this game, alright,” Tate grumbled, stomping away.

“Something up?” Ang asked, walking up close to her. Tate leaned into him, pressing her face against his chest and letting out a mock scream.

“What the fuck is going on?” she breathed, turning her head to the side and resting all her weight against him. “First dinner with my parents. Then fucked up tennis. Now a party? Jameson hates parties, he hates any kind of physical activity that isn't sex, and he hates my parents.”

“Maybe he's trying to turn over a new leaf,” Ang suggested, but she could feel him trying not to laugh.

“
When you're done dry humping, some of us would like to keep playing!
”

Tate glared as Jameson's voice carried across the court. Oh, so he could let some hoochie Brazilian rub her ass all over his crotch, but Tate couldn't hug Ang!? Oh, it was on. It was
soooooo
on.

“Ang, could you do me a favor?” Tate started, running her hands up and down his sides.

“Hmmm?”

“Just go with anything I do.”

“Huh?”

Tate ignored him and peeled her top off. She wasn't being scandalous, she was wearing a sports bra – there were plenty of women running around the courts wearing the same thing. No, that wasn't enough to get the reaction she wanted. But turning around and pressing her back to Ang's front and doing a toe touch stretch, she was pretty positive
that
would inspire a response.

“Does he look upset?” Tate asked, not even trying to hide her smile as she pretended to stretch from one leg to the other.

“Murderous. Are we trying to piss him off?” Ang questioned.

“Just having some fun, messing with him. He made me sweat with all his flirting, now it's his turn,” Tate laughed.

“Then let's make it count.”

Ang smacked her on the ass, hard enough to cause her to fall forward and place her hands flat on the ground.

“I'm not fucking around, Tate. You have two seconds to knock it the fuck off!” Jameson yelled.

“Ooohhh, feels like a challenge to me! Game!?” she yelled back, slowly standing up and stretching her arms above her head.

“Don't push me – you won't win.”

“
Pffft
, I always win.”

Tate spun around, facing Ang as she stretched her arms back, forcing her chest out. Ang didn't even hide the fact that he was staring at her tits.

“I'm not really sure what kind of game you're playing, but I gotta be honest, I like it,” he joked. Tate snorted and lowered her arms, coiling them around his neck. He rested his hands on her hips.

“Does he look mad?” she asked. Ang glanced behind her.

“Hard to tell. He always looks mad,” he pointed out, walking backwards and forcing her to follow.

“If he's standing still, he's not mad,” Tate explained.

“Oh, then he's definitely mad.”

“Is he moving?”

“He's right behind you.”

Before Tate could respond, she was grabbed by the arm and spun around. She let out a shriek as Jameson bent forward, throwing her over his shoulder before standing up right. She laughed and waved goodbye at Ang as she was carried off the court.

“Why are you always fucking pushing me?” Jameson demanded, kicking open the fence door and heading towards the main building.

“Because it's so much fun,” Tate snickered and snorted, trying to push herself upright.

“I don't find it fun,” Jameson told her.

“You certainly found
Ms. Brazil
fun,” Tate countered.

“Jealousy isn't attractive,” he reminded her.

“Ms. Brazil rubbing her ass all over your crotch wasn't particularly attractive, but I got through it.”

He slapped her on the ass.

“You probably enjoyed it.”

“Not even a little.”

“Well, I enjoyed it, and that's what counts.”

“Jameson, put me down,” Tate urged.

He dropped her abruptly and she stumbled on her feet, grabbing onto his arm to find her balance. She glared up at him.

“I was going to tell you about the party,” he began slowly. He'd always been a little bit psychic – she'd just been about to ask him.

“Oh really? What, right after people started showing up?
What party
, Jameson?” Tate demanded, folding her arms across her chest. He sighed.

“That real estate deal. Turns out Isadora is trying to go in on the same hotel property. Everyone thought it would a good idea to have a party for investors, introduce everyone. I offered the suite,” he said quickly.

“Why!?” Tate whined. “Why did we have to have it at our place? And tonight! Is there a fire!?”

“Just how the chips fell, baby girl. Gotta roll with it,” Jameson suggested. Tate sighed and rubbed at her forehead.

“I swear, I'm not being a bitch, Jameson, but after last night, I just don't think I have the energy to watch sexy-pants out there flirt with you all night while I socialize with a bunch of people I don't know and will never see again,” she explained. Jameson rolled his eyes and pulled her close.

“Shut up. You'll look sexy and find some guy of your own to flirt with,” he pointed out, guiding her towards the lounge.

“You hate it when I flirt with other men.”

“Flirting is fine. Acting like a whore is another. That will get you slapped.”

“Promises, promises.”

Tate was laughing, so she wasn't really paying attention to what was going on – they were walking past the main entrance, heading towards the lounge where Sanders would be waiting. Before they could make it, though, a man scurried away from the front doors and blocked their path.

“
Kane! Kane! What are you doing in Hong Kong!?
” the guy practically screamed in their faces. Two other men appeared out of nowhere and suddenly camera flashes were blinding her. Tate held her hand up, blocking her face.

“Guys, c'mon, we just got done playing tennis. Fuck off,” Jameson snapped, moving so Tate was mostly hidden behind him.

“What can you tell us about the new super resort!?” one of the other camera guys yelled.

“Nothing. Security!” Jameson shouted, keeping one arm around Tate while trying to side step the paparazzi.

“Is it true you met with Mathias O'Shea last night!?”

That caught Tate's attention. Normally they never bothered with her, only harassed him about business issues. Why would they care about her father?

“Seriously, fuck off.”

“Is it true Kane Holdings just forced O'Shea out of his position on the board of -,”

“Shut the fuck up, right now!”

“- and Kraven Brokerage is moving to block the trades being made by O'Shea's firm!?”

What the hell are they talking about!?

“Tatum! Tatum!” camera guy number two shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around. “Is it true your own father thinks you're Jameson's personal prostitute?”

“What!?” Tate shrieked, stumbling backwards.

She never got an answer though. Jameson's fist slamming into the guy's face pretty much shut everyone up.

I bet Hong Kong prison won't be very fun ...