“I had this disorder long before Mr. Kane. He's in the library, through that door,” Sanders told her, gesturing along the wall.
She gasped, taking in the huge entry way. Vaulted ceilings, original hard wood floors, a chandelier that probably dated back to the civil war. A huge sitting room opened off to her right, and two large, sliding doors were shut on the room to her left. Farther down the wall, just past a grand staircase, was another door, standing slightly ajar. She could see a glow, like candle light, spilling out in to the hall.
Tate had come from money, grown up in a gorgeous home, but it had been a long time since that life. It felt strange now, to be surrounded by such opulence. The rug she was standing on probably cost more than everything she owned.
“You know, Sandy,” she started, reaching out and grabbing onto his shoulder. He frowned while she steadied herself and bent over, undoing the straps on her shoes. “I think we're gonna get along, just fine.”
With her shoes dangling from her hand, Tate tip toed down the entry way and pushed through the library door. There was a roaring fire in a huge fireplace on the far wall; it was providing the only light in the room. Built-in bookshelves surrounded her, and there were two huge, over stuffed, wing-backed chairs pulled up close to the fire. Off to the right of them stood a ridiculously huge, ornate, gold-inlaid desk. Jameson was standing behind it, holding some papers, and he looked up at her entrance.
“You made it. Quite a cab ride,” he commented as she walked towards him. She nodded.
“Forty-five minutes. I won't be doing that often,” she warned him. He laughed.
“You'll do it often enough. Drink?” he asked, setting down his work and coming out from around the desk.
“God, yes. Your assistant gave me freezer burn,” she laughed, watching Jameson as he walked over to a small bar.
She stayed near his desk and stared at him, letting her eyes wander over his form. Every time she had seen him, he had been wearing expensive suits – blazers, ties, trousers, shiny shoes, and shinier watches. Now, he was in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. No shoes. No socks.
Tate had never once seen him so dressed down, not even when he'd been dating her sister. She was a little shocked. It gave him a whole different look. He almost – though not quite – looked approachable. He was too good looking to ever truly look like a mere mortal. But still. She found herself wanting to peel his shirt off so she could lick every inch of his skin.
“Ah, Sanders. Yes. You'll grow to love him, almost everyone does. What would you like?” Jameson asked. When she didn't answer, he turned towards her. “What? What are you staring at?”
“You're barefoot,” she blurted out, staring down at his feet. He laughed, looking down as well.
“Yes. So are you,” he replied. She wiggled her toes at him.
“Yeah, but I expect that from me. Mr. Kane doesn't walk around barefoot. He has people to walk around for him,” she teased, looking back up at him. He snorted.
“Mr. Kane's feet hurt after a long day. You look nice,” Jameson commented, his eyes wandering over her. She had put on a fitted black dress, for her cocktail hour with Ang – a little overdressed for an evening in the country.
“Thank you. I went out for drinks with a friend, before coming here,” she told him. He laughed.
“Pre-gaming? Scared of coming out here?” he asked, turning back to the bar and picking up crystal bottles.
“No. Just drinks with a friend,” Tate replied, spinning in a slow circle and looking around the room.
“The redheaded roommate?” he asked. She felt something cool, and turned to see him running a glass full of ice and liquid down the side of her arm. She took it from him.
“No. Ang,” she answered, taking a sip. She tried not to make a face. Gin and tonic.
“Ah, the half-man, half-donkey friend. How was the tripod?” Jameson asked, making himself a drink, as well. She laughed.
“Careful, almost sounds like jealousy, and I got enough of that from him,” Tate joked, heading over and falling in to one of the chairs. She let her shoes drop to the floor and she tucked her feet up underneath herself.
“Tripod-man is jealous? I'm flattered,” he replied, taking the chair next to hers.
“Not really jealous, I guess. Just ..., cautious. On my behalf,” she tried to explain.
“Understandable.”
“So, how did you find this place, Kane? Daddy's will?” Tate asked. She knew Jameson and his father hadn't had the best relationship.
“Something like that. Had it almost completely remodeled a couple years ago,” he replied.
“Oh wow. Were you here for that?”
“For a little while.”
“So you came to Boston a couple years ago.”
“As my answer would imply.”
She stayed silent, sipping at her drink. He had been in Boston a couple years ago, but hadn't contacted her. She still thought it was strange. If he was so in to her, so obsessed with that one time they'd been together, why hadn't he looked her up? He would've had to assume that she'd still be in Boston, still going to school. She let out a sigh, tried not to think about it.
“Did you -,” she started, but then he cleared his throat.
“I didn't call you because I didn't think about it. I had just acquired a shit ton of property and money, I was a little busy. You weren't even on my radar. Women were the last thing on my mind,” Jameson said, reading her mind.
“It's probably a good thing – a couple years ago, I was even crazier than I am now,” Tate laughed.
“Jesus.”
“I had a rough patch there, from about twenty to twenty-three. Like I was making up for lost time, or something. I just did everything and anything I could think of,” she told him.
“Hmmm, sounds interesting. Now I wish I had called you,” he responded, and she laughed again.
“What about you? What have you been doing?” she asked. He took a deep breath.
“I started my own brokerage firm, not long after I left Harrisburg. Invested in a start up film company, made a bundle. Sold my firm, moved to Germany for a year to head a new firm there. My dad died, and I inherited all of his businesses. Moved back, lived in Los Angeles for a while. Then Manhattan. Made a lot of investments. I do a lot of consulting work, now,” he summed everything up.
“Wow. I moved from one bad neighborhood to another, while you were moving across the globe,” she laughed. Jameson nodded.
“Your life story is much shittier than mine,” he agreed. She glared at him.
“But probably a lot funner,” Tate countered, finishing off her drink.
“I highly doubt that. Have you ever had sex with a supermodel while sailing through the Mediterranean on your 250 foot yacht?” he asked. Tate thought for a second.
“No. I gave a handjob in an Arby's bathroom once, though. Kinda like the same thing,” she told him with a bright smile.
“I stand corrected. Your life leaves me in awe,” he chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Tired?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and getting comfy.
She had expected to be a lot more nervous around him. For the two years he had dated her sister, Tate had always been a nervous mess around Jameson. She was surprised to find that she felt almost comfortable. Something about knowing she was with someone that she could say absolutely anything to, anything at all, and he most likely wouldn't be shocked or offended, comforted her.