“That's very nice, but six months worth? Seems a little excessive,” she called out. He came back out, carrying some shirts and pants on hangers.
“I'm an excessive kind of person. I have no doubt that one of us will run the other off before six months is up, but it was a nice, even number,” he told her, folding up the clothing and dropping it in to the bag. She grabbed his wrist, halting his movements, and stared him in the eye.
“Thank you,” she said plainly. He gave her a tight lipped smile.
“Don't thank me yet. It wasn't for free,” he warned her, pulling his arm out of her grasp.
“And that's why I call you Satan,” she sighed. “I don't think it's very fair, to expect payment for something I didn't ask to buy.” He laughed and walked over to the side table, grabbing some watches and loading them in to a travel case, which also went in to the luggage.
“Are you fucking with me? Do you think I actually care what you think is fair? C'mon, get up and get dressed. We're leaving in half an hour,” he informed her, heading back in to the closet.
“Where are we going? Are you going away somewhere? You just got back,” she said, running her hands over the shirts in his bag. He walked back out and dumped some socks, underwear, and a pair of shoes in to the bag.
“We are going away somewhere,” he said, pushing her hands away and closing the bag.
“Excuse me?” Tate asked, shocked. He pulled her off the bed.
“I have to get back at you for that ridiculous dinner last week, and you owe me for the rent situation. You are coming with me, on a trip,” he said, moving her to stand against the edge of the bed.
“I am!?” she exclaimed. Her heart was suddenly ridiculously happy. If this was a punishment, she would take it without any questions. He wanted to go away with her somewhere. Surely, it couldn't just be sex between them.
“Yes. We're going away for the weekend,” Jameson said, holding the dress up against her. She grabbed it and he walked away, grabbing a box off his side table.
“Wait, for the whole weekend? I have to work,” Tate told him as he came back to her. He sat the box on the end of the bed and opened it, pulling out a very fine, sheer, black stocking.
“No, you don't. I arranged for you to have this weekend off,” he informed her, laying the stocking across her forearm. It was quickly followed by the second one.
“You did!?”
Heart. Bursting.
“I set this up while I was in Los Angeles.”
A pair of very expensive looking red panties joined the stockings.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Jameson laughed, finally moving to stand in front of her.
“Now that is a secret. Go change in to everything. Put your hair up, nicely, and subtle makeup. No slutty-eyes today,” he told her, scooting her towards the bathroom.
Tate laughed. Normally she would argue with him, but she was so happy, she couldn't bear to – that day, he could make her do whatever he wanted. So she swept her up in to an artfully messy French twist, and then took her time putting on her makeup. Cat's-eye style eyeliner and nude eye shadow, with just powder foundation. She did, however, put on a heavy, matte, red lipstick. Hint-o-slut, like a naughty secretary. Perfect, Jameson would love it.
She didn't know when he got the clothing, or how he had known just what size she wore. The red panties fit perfectly, the stockings felt like they came straight from Paris, and the dress was like a second skin. Went from her collar bone to her knees, and was very tight, with a thin belt around the waist. At first glance, it was almost demure, but when she turned around, she could see that there was virtually no back. Just open skin from her shoulders to her waist. She felt like she was wearing a woman's version of a power suit. With her hair and makeup, she looked very professional. Very rich. She frowned. Almost like ..., how she might have looked had she never left home. She shook her head. No, still too sexy. She wasn't that girl. She would never be that girl.
“How did you know all the right sizes, Jameson?” Tate asked as she padded out of the bathroom.
But he wasn't in the bedroom. A shoe box was sitting on the bed, with a couple of jewelry boxes next to it. She pulled out diamond earrings – those can't be real – and a simple chain with a solitary diamond pendant. She put them all on, and when she opened the shoe box, her breath caught in her throat. Red bottoms. The most coveted of all shoes. She actually moaned out loud as she took the heels out, her eyes traveling over every inch of the leather. Sex with Jameson was pretty amazing, but even Louboutins had him beat. She slipped them onto her feet and moaned again.
“You like?” Jameson asked as he strode back in to the room.
“I want to fuck you, like, so hard right now,” she told him. He laughed.
“Maybe when we're in the air. C'mon, baby girl, we have to go,” he said.
“How did you know all the right sizes to get?” she asked.
“I took one of your dresses and a pair of your ridiculous socks, gave them to a private shopper. The underwear was easy, I am very familiar with your ass,” he assured her, his eyes sweeping over her body.
“Well, it all fits like it was made for me. How do I look?” she asked.
“Absolutely stunning.”
Tate blushed. He had never said something like that before, she was always sexy, or filthy, or hot. Rarely ever beautiful. Never stunning.
“Was it expensive?” she asked in a soft voice. He raised an eyebrow.
“Very. Now stop questioning me. Let's go,” he ordered, and marched out of the room.
Sanders was waiting at the front door, next to two black rolling bags. Tate could only assume that one was for her, probably already packed with similar clothing. Sanders' eyes wandered over her, and she thought she might have seen a hint of a smile on his lips. She winked at him and pinched his butt while they walked out the door.
They didn't talk as they drove to an airfield a little ways away. She was surprised they didn't just go all the way in to Logan Airport. Jameson barely even looked up from his phone as they breezed through security and headed out onto the actual tarmac. Money talked. They approached a small, private plane, and her jaw dropped.
“Where exactly are we going?” she asked as Sanders climbed in to the plane ahead of them, loading up their bags.
“I told you, it's a secret,” Jameson said, pressing a hand against her bare back and leaning close to her ear.
“Yeah, but ..., a private plane? Do you own this plane?” she asked. He laughed.
“No, I chartered it for the weekend. I feel like if I ever buy a plane, I will have irreversibly slipped in to the land of douchey-rich-guy,” he told her. Tate laughed.
“I don't know about that, might be nice to always have a plane on standby,” she said.
He kept his hand on her back while she climbed the stairs ahead of him. Sanders was already seated in the back of the plane, a laptop open in front of him. A flight attendant fiddled around in the back and a pilot smiled at them from the cockpit. Tate wasn't sure where to sit, so she just plunked down in a chair close to the door. Jameson sat in the seat across from her, his eyes wandering over her face.
“You look excited,” he commented.
“I am. I'm holding out hope that we're going to the Bahamas,” she told him. He threw his head back and laughed.