Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(50)

She hesitated with the mouse over the tab for a while, but then she clicked it. Images. Pictures immediately filled the screen, and she sighed. He still had the ability to turn her into a giggly, stupid girl, no matter how many times she saw him. No matter how much time they spent together naked. He was just so handsome. She sighed, scrolling through the photos.

Tate was relieved to see none of him and Pet, not since the old ones. There were pictures of him in Marbella, from a Spanish tabloid. One of him and Tate, standing on the bow of his yacht, talking to each other. Or arguing, she couldn't tell. Neither of them looked happy.

She moved on, found more pictures of them. One of them at a cafe in Marbella, another of them leaving a shop. Tate would never get used to seeing pictures of herself online. There was even one of them leaving the restaurant, after her run in with Pet. It was at night, and it was grainy, but it still made her smile. Him mid-stride, walking confidently ahead of her. Her laughing, holding onto the hem of his jacket, bent over a little as she struggled to keep up with him. He almost looked happy as well, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips.

She printed the picture out, and while she looked at it, she realized she had no pictures of them together. She subjected Sanders to selfies all the time, and of course she had tons of pictures with Ang. Even Nick, with the amount of team events she went to with him. But no real pictures of her and Jameson together. At least, none that were taken on purpose with their express permission.

She frowned and moved back to the search bar, typed in their names together. She was astounded at the amount of photos that popped up. Them everywhere together, all over Boston. Pictures of them in the Bentley, in restaurants, coming out of his building, going into his building. In front of his building. Lots and lots around his office building.

Her favorite was an old one, one from before their brief split, where they were caught in the rain. She was soaking wet, because she had been standing outside waiting for him. When he had come out to meet her, he had taken one look at her and gone back inside. He came back with an umbrella and held it over her. She laughed, and he had kissed her. The photographer caught that moment. She was still smiling through the kiss, and Jameson had one hand against the side of her neck. They looked ..., they looked almost normal.

She printed that picture out as well.

“What are you doing?”

Tate screamed so loud, she was pretty sure the police would be showing up. Sanders jumped a little, took a step back from her. She bent over the keyboard, trying to catch her breath. He had just shaved about ten years off her life.

“DON'T EVER fu-ckING DO THAT!” she yelled.

“I'm sorry. I assumed you heard me come in, my apologies. What are you doing?” he asked, glancing between her and the screen.

“Looking up pictures,” she replied, leaning back in the chair, still trying to breathe.

“Last time you did that, things did not end so well. He hasn't seen her, since he's been there,” Sanders assured her. She nodded.

“I believe you. I was looking up pictures of us, together. I don't have any. Look! Here's one of me and you!” she pointed out, making the picture larger. Sanders squinted at it.

Jameson was in the foreground of the photo, talking on his phone. They were in the background, Sanders standing very straight, with Tate leaning on him, her arms around his shoulders, smiling up at him as she held her face close to his own. Probably teasing him about something. Tate looked at the title of the article and burst out laughing.

“What?” Sanders asked. She pulled up the webpage, pointed out the headline.

Trouble In Paradise: Is Jameson Kane's Current Play-Thing Cheating With His Guy-Friday?

“We're an item, Sandy,” she told him. He snorted.

“This is why I don't look these things up. They are full of lies and a waste of time.”

“At least you got a sorta-title. I'm just a 'play thing',” she pointed out.

“Please, turn it off,” he asked. She obliged, closing the windows. She held up the two photos she had printed out.

“I just wanted these, I wasn't trying to dig up dirt,” she promised him. Sanders took the photos and examined them under the desk lamp.

“They're nice. May I take them?” he asked. She raised her eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, sure, I guess,” she replied, a little caught off guard.

“I will find them frames,” he explained.

“Good. I thought maybe they were for your secret shrine,” she teased.

“No. I only use solo pictures of you for that.”

She laughed until he cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry, yes?” she gasped for air.

“Jameson would like to speak to you, that's why I'm up here,” he told her. She jumped out of the chair.

“God, has he been on hold this whole time?” she asked, hurrying down the hall. Sanders nodded.

“Yes.”

When Tate picked up the phone in the library, she could hear the sound of Jameson drumming his fingers against whatever kind of desk it was he was sitting behind.

“Sorry,” she breathed. “I didn't know you were on the phone.”

“Sanders failed to mention it?” he asked.

“He was ..., distracted,” she explained.

“How are you?” Jameson asked.