Degradation (16 page)

“I didn't know that's what I was doing, at the time,” he told her, and then started digging his nails in to her thigh, dragging them up her skin. She hissed.

“Me, neither. Maybe we found each other,” she breathed, letting out a sigh when he lifted his hand. He moved back down to the same spot and repeated the motion. She hummed and let her head drop back, closing her eyes.

“
Sometimes I still can't believe you're here, Tate. That it's really you.
Tatum O'Shea
. Mathias O'Shea's daugher; Ellie's little sister,” he said, moving his hand to her other leg.

“I haven't been any of those things in a long time, maybe that's why it still feels so weird to you,” she suggested.

“If you aren't those things, then what are you?” he asked. She thought for a second.

“Just Tate. Bartender. Party girl. Ang's friend,” she prattled off things that came to mind when she thought of herself.

“
Slut?
” Jameson whispered. She opened her eyes.

“Oh yes. Most definitely that,” she sighed. His nails moved to her throat, so she kept her head back.

“Pain,” he added through clenched teeth. She gave a small nod as he dragged a sharp nail from underneath her ear down to her collar bone.

“Maybe just sex, period. Kinda encompasses it all,” she suggested.

“Very thoughtful of you.”

“
I like it. Tatum '
Sex
' O'Shea. Why not,” she laughed. Suddenly his hand was tight around her throat, squeezing. She rolled her eyes to look at him. He was staring at her neck.

“Sounds good to me. We could -,” he started, but he was interrupted. The library door swung open. Tate didn't have to look to know it was Sanders. It was strange - he walked in and out of rooms without knocking, all the time, but he never seemed intrusive. She hardly even noticed him. She kept staring at Jameson, who gripped her neck even tighter. She took shallow breaths through her nose.

“Tokyo, sir. The eight o'clock meetings,” Sanders' even voice carried over the room. Jameson sighed and finally looked her in the eye. She smiled at him.

“Gotta go, baby girl. No rest for the wicked,” he told her, before letting her go. He leaned in quick and kissed her throat before getting to his feet.

“Gonna be a while?” she asked. He nodded.

“
Probably. You know where the kitchen is, or you can go up to my room. If you need anything, just ask Sanders,” Jameson instructed, looking back and forth between the two of them. Tate gave him the biggest smile she could manage. Sanders stared at the wall.

“Got it. Go make my money,” she told Jameson. He snorted.

“That's not even funny.”

He strode out of the room and Tate stayed as she was for a moment, looking after him. Then she sighed and sat all the way up. Sanders was still standing in the room, still staring at a wall. She looked him over.

“Got a hot date tonight, Sandy?” she asked. She loved to tease him. She would crack him some day.

“No, Ms. O'Shea,” was all he said.

“You look awfully nice tonight. New suit?” she pressed. He cleared his throat.

“No, Ms. O'Shea.”

“Are you ever going to call me Tate, like I asked you to?”

“Probably not, Ms. O'Shea.”

She had an idea. She got the impression that Sanders and Jameson virtually never left the house, unless it was to go to Jameson's office. Not right. Jameson hadn't ever asked to go back to her place, or taken her anywhere fancy. Tate loved every second she spent alone with him, but she didn't want to be someone's dirty laundry, either.

“Do you have any newspapers, Sandy?” she asked, climbing to her feet.

“Several. Which would you prefer, New York Times? LA Times?” he listed them off.

“Just Boston papers, any you got. And any weekly periodicals you have,” she added, running her hands over her legs to shake off any carpet dust. She was standing in front of Sanders only wearing knee high socks, boy-briefs style underwear, and a tight white tank top. She should probably feel bad, she didn't like to make people feel uncomfortable – but if Sanders was uncomfortable, he didn't show it. If anything, he looked bored.

“Is that it?” he asked.

“Just that. Hurry back, it gets lonely in here,” she teased him. He rolled his eyes and headed out of the library. She laughed and then went over to the fireplace, determined to figure out how to turn it down.

*

Jameson strode back in to his library just over two hours later, and was in for a little shock. The fire was much smaller, and the over head lights were turned on – he almost never used them, himself. Tate was sitting cross legged in the middle of his floor, surrounded by newspapers and clippings. She was cutting something out of one of the papers, the tip of her tongue visible at the corner of her mouth.

Almost cute.

“What are you doing?” he asked, striding through the mess of papers.

She looked up at him and broke in to a big smile. He had to steel himself against it. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get too comfortable with her, and Jameson tried to make it a habit to never get too comfortable.

“Coupon clipping!” Tate responded in an excited voice.

“Excuse me?”

“When I first met Ang,” she started. He had never met the man, but Jameson already kind of hated her best friend. “I was really desperate for money. My jobs sucked, I was a shitty waitress. Scraping the bottom of the barrel. Ang showed me how far coupons can get you. He goes on Groupon all the time, too. We get in to places free, get all kinds of free food, and free swag. It's pretty awesome.”

“'
Awesome.
' Why are you doing that here, now?” Jameson pressed. She smiled up at him again, only this time it was a devilish smile. That was the smile he liked, the one he wanted to slap off her face.

“Because I'm taking you out on the city, mister. You and Sanders. We're gonna go out, and you're gonna live like a real urban-ite for a day,” she informed him. He laughed.

“There is no fucking way I am
ever
fucking doing that, so get that out of your fucking mind, right fucking now,” he suggested. She shook her head.

“Oh, you're going to do it, and afterwards we're going to a dinner party. I had already agreed to go to dinner at a friend's house. You can come with me,” she told him. He scowled.

“And if I don't go?” he asked. Tate shrugged.

“
Not that big of a deal. We can just officially declare you the king of all pussies. And
not
in the good way. You don't have to go, I can go as Ang's date,” she assured him.

“I guess I'm going to a fucking dinner on the bad side of Boston. You get two hours, no more,” he told her. She laughed.

“You hear that Sandy, you're getting out of here!” she called out. Jameson hadn't even realized the other man was in the room – he was in for another shock. Sanders was behind the desk, snipping and cutting away at a newspaper, as well.

“Sounds exhilarating. If no one requires my services anymore, I'm going to get back to work,” Sanders said, getting up from his seat. Jameson nodded.

“We're not doing early tomorrow, so sleep in as late as you want,” he told him. Sanders nodded, and walked forwards. Tate held up her hand, palm facing backwards.

“Up top, Sandy,” she said, her eyes never leaving the paper she was scanning. Sanders high fived her and then continued out of the room. Jameson stared after him.

What just happened?

“
I think he likes you,” he mumbled. Tate shrugged.

“Most people do. I'm pretty fuckin' awesome,” she told him. He burst out laughing and walked over to her, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet.

“Yes, but usually, Sanders doesn't like anybody,” Jameson laughed, pulling the scissors out of her hand and tugging her away from the sea of newspapers.

“But I wasn't done. What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oh, you're done. Time for good girls to go upstairs and show me how bad they can be,” Jameson told her.

“I don't think there's very much that's good about me anymore,” she laughed, following him out of the room.

“I think you have no idea what bad really is – you almost have
too much
good,” he replied.

“I don't think -,”

“Stop arguing, or I'll make you crawl up the stairs.”

Tate was silent for about two seconds, and then turned in to a prosecuting attorney, arguing all the points on how she couldn't possibly be good. Jameson stopped moving, smiling at her back as she started up the stairs. Then he reached forward and grabbed her ankle, pulling her leg out from underneath her. She went to her knees, hands flying out to catch herself.

“
Shit!
” she cursed. He moved a few steps ahead of her, then squatted down and fisted his hand in her hair.

“Why are you always set on defying me, baby girl?” he asked, his voice low as he pulled her hair, forcing her head up towards his own. She looked up at him, a smile playing on the edge of her lips.

“Because it's always so much fun.”

“
You are such a mindfuck, Tate. Something is wrong with you, that you want to be treated like this, that you like being a
whore,
” he hissed at her. She chuckled low in her throat.

“
Hmmm, but really, what does all that say about
you?
That you want to treat someone like this? That you want to be with a whore?” she replied.

“I've made peace with my desires.”

“Like you said, we're the same animal. You had a bad weekend. Let's go upstairs, and you can take it out on me,” she whispered. He tugged harder on her hair and she raised up onto her knees.

“Sounds like that works out more in your favor, than mine,” he pointed out. She laughed, reaching out to scratch her nails down his arm.

“Baby, all I do is give you favors. You should feel blessed, to have such an accomodating
whore,
” she purred. He snorted and shoved her forward, forcing her back onto her hands.

“
Burdened is more like it.
Now fucking crawl.
”

And she did, all the way to his bedroom.

Maybe I should keep this one ...,

A week later, Tate rushed around her apartment, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. She grabbed various articles of clothing, shoving them in to an oversized purse. She had stayed at Jameson's for most of the last week – even gone back to his place after her shifts at the bar – and she didn't know how this week was going to go, but she wanted enough clothing to cover all her bases. She snorted at that thought.

Not that I wear much clothing.

It was August in Boston, which meant hot and humid – but Jameson insisted on keeping the house at near boiling temperatures. She pretty much lived in her underwear, tank tops, and socks when she was there. If it bothered Sanders, he didn't show it, so she didn't think twice about doing it.

Tate also liked to think that she and Sanders were developing a friendship of sorts. The kind where only one friend talks, and the other just stares and says the bare minimum. Friendship-
ish
.

That morning, she had managed to drag them in to downtown Boston to play at being poor with her. She got them free lunch, took them through a Sunday market, forced Sanders to try on ridiculous clothing. Jameson wasn't as easy, he simply refused to do anything.

But he went along with her, and even laughed when she held Sanders' hand and told a clerk that he had just proposed, so could they, please, join in on the champagne brunch the store was throwing for newly-engaged people? Jameson laughed even harder when she really sold the act by planting a big kiss on Sanders' mouth – tongue and everything. The really shocking part was Sanders kissing her back. Cheeky man.

But then Jameson got called in to work; a client was having some sort of financial crisis. Tate let him go, but only after making him promise to pick her up at six o'clock. He had said he would go to her dinner, and she was holding him to it.

Tate tried not to think of it as a dinner date with friends – she thought of it as an elaborate form of torture,
a game;
seeing how far she could push him. Also, a tiny part of her had wanted to see if he'd actually go through with it. They spent so much time at his place, only venturing out on occasion for dinner, that she was beginning to think he
was
hiding her away. It was strange – she didn't really mind being someone's whore, but she hated the thought of being someone's dirty secret.

She dropped her toothbrush in to the sink and spit out the excess toothpaste foam. Water, gargle, spit, and she was good to go. She threw on a jacket and headed for the front door, when there was suddenly a loud banging. She paused, but the banging didn't. A voice with a heavy Boston accent started shouting.

“I know yuh in there! Open the doo-or!”

Landlord.

Tate cursed under her breath and began backing away. She noticed a note stuck to the fridge - “
Avoid front door – I would be mad you haven't paid rent yet, but can't pay either. Love ya, bitch! Rus.
” Tate swallowed a groan and headed for her bedroom.

“Tatum! I know yuh in there! You owe me money! I want it, now!” the landlord yelled. She hurried to her window and was fighting with it to go up when her cell phone rang. With an aggravated sigh, she pulled it out and answered it.

“I'm at the curb, where are you?” Jameson's voice demanded.

“Uh, still in here,” she answered in a hushed voice. “Look, pull around to the back alley. I'll meet you out there.”

“
Back alley?
And why the fuck are you whispering?”

She rolled her eyes and climbed out onto the fire escape.

“Just fucking meet me back here!” she hissed at him and then hung up the phone.

By the time she was dropping to the ground, Sanders was pulling the car up next to her. Tate practically fell in to the backseat, the strap of her jumbo-sized bag tangling around her legs. She laughed, breathless, as the car started rolling again.

“Okay, first of all,
never hang up on me again
. Second of all, what the fuck is going on?” Jameson asked. She stretched a leg over his lap, pulling at the strap.

“My landlord was at the door,” she was still laughing, pulling her foot towards her chest, the strap pulling tight around her ankle.

“Do you often run from him?”

“Only when rent is late.”

Jameson grabbed her leg, stilling her, and he pulled the strap free.

“You haven't paid your rent, Tatum?” he asked in a soft voice. Only she knew better now – Jameson was only soft before he did something sharp.

“Well,
someone
wasn't being very truthful about paying me – I've only worked six days in the last two weeks. Not exactly raking in the dough, so I couldn't pay. I have to start temping again; I have to pay my rent, Jameson. Rus depends on me,” she told him. He snorted.

“I'm not just going to give you a thousand dollars -,”

“
Four thousand dollars.
”

“
Any amount of money
, in cash, to run around with – you're insane. You'd probably spend it all on hookers and cocaine.” She didn't deny it. “I'm going to set you up an investment portfolio. As fun as sucking dick for money at eighty probably is, I don't think you want to be doing that.”

“Doesn't change the fact that I need to make rent. I need to eat, I need to pay my bills. Three days a week just doesn't cut it, I told you that,” Tate reminded him as she smoothed out her skirt. It had climbed up to her hips during her struggle with her purse.

“I'll feed you, and don't worry about the rest,” was all he snapped before turning away, looking out his window. Subject apparently closed. She snorted.

“You're too extra. What's got you in such a sweet mood?” she asked.

“Your life is ridiculous. You were skipped ahead in school, graduated at the top of your private school, and you were accepted in to an accelerated program at
Harvard
. Why are you fucking around? Such a fucking child,” Jameson growled.

She stared at him for a second. He sounded angry. Like,
for real
angry. It didn't make sense. Why did he care what she did? Since asking about Ellie that first night, Jameson hadn't asked her one single other thing about her life or family. She was kinda shocked he even remembered that she had been moved ahead in school. Tate frowned at him.

“You call it being a child. I call it living my life the way I want to,” she replied.

“But it's the
wrong
way,” he informed her, his voice dripping with disdain.

Who the fuck was he to judge her life!? She wasn't good enough to be his girlfriend, but he still got to boss her around and pass judgement on her life? She didn't think so. Her anger started to boil.

“Says who?
The great Jameson Kane?
” Tate snapped at him, her voice loud. “What, I should live a life more like
yours?
Why on earth would I want to do that? I get to be who I am, the real me,
every single day
. I say what I want, and do what I want. You hide behind your money, and your business, and your suits, and your intellect.
Pretending
to be this suave guy, when we both know you're two steps away from being a complete sociopath who -,”

She didn't get to finish her sentence. He turned around on her in an instant, grabbing her by the throat. She didn't miss a beat – Jameson Kane had yet to learn that Tate was usually capable of giving as good as she got. She knocked his arm loose, but by then he was halfway laying on top of her. It was a blur of hands and arms, her trying to push him back, him batting her away. They wound up stretched across the back seat, one of her arms pinned under his knee as he knelt over her. Her free hand pulled at his wrist, trying to yank away the hand that was back around her throat.

“You think I
hide
, Tate? You think I
pretend?
” he hissed, his face close to hers. She glared up at him.

“
I don't think,
I know,
” she snapped back.

“
And what is it you're doing, baby girl? Ran away from home. Ran away from your family. Ran away from school. That's all you do,
run away
. I'm counting down the days till you do it to me,” he told her. She sucked in air through her teeth.

“You call it running, I call it freeing myself.”

“Bullshit. If that was true, you wouldn't be so upset over what I said,” he pointed out.

“I'm not upset, I -,”

Suddenly he was shaking her. She dug her nails in to his wrist and he let go of her, but only long enough to pin that arm between her body and his thigh. His hand immediately went back to the base of her neck and he lowered his face till he was directly above her.

“Don't ever fucking lie to me, Tate. Stupid fucking girl. Put your fucking hands on me like that again, and you'll see how mean I can really get,” he warned her, his lips so close they were brushing against her own.

She felt her temperature soar through the roof. Jameson had an uncanny gift that made it impossible for her to be truly mad at him – the angrier she got, the more she just wanted to have sex with him. He was blessed that way; or rather, she was cursed.

“
You keep promising to show me.
Still waiting,
” Tate whispered back. He chuckled, and the anger in his eyes cooled a little. There was a long pause while he stared at her, and then there was a cough from in front of them.

“One block away, sir,” Sanders' voice carried in to the back seat. Jameson glanced at him and then returned his attention to Tate.

“You just want to piss me off, I swear to god. You have no idea, the things I want to do to you,” he told her.

“The windows are tinted. Sandy would probably like the show,” she offered, sliding around underneath him, rubbing her body against his legs. Jameson quirked up an eyebrow.

“I doubt that. We'll go home, and I'll put a happy end to this argument,” he informed her. She narrowed her eyes.

“We can't go home – we're going to dinner,” she reminded him. He shook his head.

“Bad girls get sent to bed without dinner,” he stated. She began to struggle against his weight.

“No. You agreed to go, so you have to go. I told everyone we would be there,” she said.

“Do you really think I give a fuck?” he asked with a laugh.

“
That's not
fair
. You
agreed,
” Tate stressed.

“
Why is this so important? You want me to meet your friends? I don't care about your friends, Tate. If you think I care about your life, you're mistaken. Stupidity annoys me, whether it's you, or some guy down the street, or something on TV, doesn't matter. I think you're
stupid,
and that
annoys me
. Don't read in to things. We
are
going home, and we will finish this discussion there. The only reason I'm not fucking you right now, is because I have too much respect for Sanders,” Jameson spat out at her.

But not for me.

The problem with playing her games, Tate had long ago learned, was the line between fun and bad was too blurry. For instance, Ang had called her just about every dirty name they could both think of, but one time, while just hanging out at his apartment, he made a sarcastic remark about her family hating her because she was a huge whore. She didn't speak to him for two weeks. Took him even longer to get back in her pants.

What was real, and what wasn't real? Calling her a “
dumb cunt
” was fine, as long as Jameson didn't really think she was one. Knowing and thinking she was a whore was fine, as long as she was treated with respect. Was he playing a game now? If he had said all those same words at another time, a different situation, she would have already been thinking of ways to get him naked in the car. But it didn't feel like he was playing. If he was, it wasn't fun anymore. Her feelings were hurt. She
hated
that.

“
Get off of me.
”

Surprisingly, he complied without hesitation. Tate pushed away from him, getting as much distance between the two of them as she could on the seats. Sanders was just pulling in to a parking spot outside of her friend's apartment building. She refused to look at Jameson, just went about straightening her clothing.

“Oh my, I've struck a nerve. I didn't know Tatum O'Shea had those anymore,” he said, his voice quiet. She looked over at him.

“
Fuck you,
Kane,
” she spat out. He laughed.

“Strike one. Let's go inside, get this over with.”

“
I'm
going inside.
You
can go fuck yourself.”

“I see. I've hurt you. Interesting,” his voice was quieter still, his eyes wandering over her face. She shook her head.

“No, just enlightened me. If I'm so fucking stupid, so fucking annoying, so not worthy of your fucking respect, maybe you should just find someone else to play with,” she told him.