Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(49)

“I know.”

“So, I kinda wanted it to be special, the first time I call him,” she tried to explain, jumping high and doing a toe touch.

“You are going to hurt yourself,” Sanders warned.

“Pffffft, no I won't.”

“Why would a phone call be special? Are you going to wait for his birthday?” Sanders asked.

“Don't be silly, it's because -, ACK!” she hit the mattress wrong and took off at an angle, almost bouncing clear into the closet. She hit the floor with a thud.

“I told you,” Sanders' voice called out to her.

She didn't have to worry about whether or not to call Jameson, though, because he called her.

“Have you been good, baby girl?” he asked. She was in the library and she looked across the hall, watching as people swept and cleaned in the kitchen.

“Uh ..., sure. You could say that.”

“Oh god.”

“Sanders is still in one piece,” she assured him.

“I don't want to talk about Sanders,” Jameson replied.

“What would you like to talk about?” she asked.

“How wet you are.”

“Oh my.”

“I'm waiting for an answer.”

By the time they got off the phone, she was laying on the floor behind the desk, her pants around her ankles. Breathing hard. The phone resting on her chest. She probably should've shut the library door, but she didn't really care.

Not when she was sitting on cloud nine.

The next day she and Sanders hit the town. She didn't want to go shopping, but she did want look into job options. She didn't tell Sanders until they were sitting on a bench, her perusing the want ads in a newspaper. He frowned when he realized what section she was reading.

“I don't think Jameson would like this idea,” he warned her. She shrugged.

“I have to do something, Sandy. I can't just sit in that house all the time, hanging on Jameson's every word. I need something,” she stressed, shivering and scooting closer to him.

“Jameson once mentioned that you were accepted to Harvard. That must mean you are smart,” he said. She snorted.

“Thanks, Sandy.”

“Why don't you go back to school? Surely, there is something you are interested in,” he suggested.

“Harvard costs an awful lot of money, Sandy. You gonna float me fifty grand?” she asked.

“If you were serious about going, yes, I would.”

She was shocked.

“I'm not gonna let you pay for me to go to school,” she grumbled, concentrating on the paper.

She hadn't really ever thought of going back to school. Before Jameson, she had been too busy hustling. Too busy having a good time. During Jameson, she couldn't think of anything but him, and after Jameson ..., well, really more of the same. School had never been something on her radar.

But Sanders had a good point. She was smart, or at least she used to be – it couldn't be that hard to get back into the swing of things. She had originally gone to school for political science. Daddy's requirement. She hadn't ever taken the time to think of what she would go back for, if she ever went back.

“Would you let Jameson?” Sanders asked in a soft voice.

“Hmmm. And what should I go to school for?” she asked, letting the paper fold down.

“You are very good with people. You could be a social worker,” he suggested.

“Or a stripper.”

“Sometimes, I'm not sure why I talk to you.”

They walked around after that, and Tate stopped in at a couple bars which were hiring, grabbed applications. But she didn't stop thinking about what he had said. Going to school. Pretty amazing. Something to think about, for the future. She was just taking baby steps towards Jameson. She wasn't about to run and leap into his arms, asking for a hand out that would bind her to him for years.

Later that night, Sanders had to take part in a video conference with Jameson and some suits, around two in the morning. Eight in the morning, Berlin time. Tate laid upstairs in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sanders' voice was a distant murmur in the otherwise empty house.

She couldn't sleep, so she got up and wandered into the sun room. She hadn't spent much time in there, not after she and Ang had been in there. She scooted in behind the computer and stared at the big screen. It was dark. She shook the mouse, and everything turned on, lit up. She chewed on her bottom lip and glanced around.

Tate hadn't looked up anything about Jameson since that night. The night. At first, she hadn't wanted to, and now ..., she was scared to, she realized. Scared of what she might learn, might see. She should trust him. She should give him his privacy. She should not care. He didn't waste his time investigating her. Why should she waste her time on him?

She had already typed his name into the Google search bar before she even realized what she was doing. She figured she was halfway there already, so might as well jump all the way into it. She hit enter, and watched the pages come up.

There was a lot of news about his trip to Los Angeles, him selling his part in a film company. A big film company. Tate wondered why he had gotten out of it, but then another article talked about him turning around and investing a god-awful amount of money in an oil company, so she figured it was a trade of sorts. She never asked him about his money, or what he did with it. She didn't really care, and it wasn't her business.