Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(55)

“I'm not freaking out!” she insisted, holding up her hands. “Do I look like I'm freaking out? Why would I freak out? I mean, it's fine. We're allowed to -,”

“Shut her up. Just shut her the fu-ck up, I have to call my lawyers!” Jameson barked, striding back towards his desk. Sanders knelt in front of her. She was still babbling.

“Honestly, I don't care. I mean, it's not like we were together right? We're not together now. We weren't together then. I have no right to ...,” she continued, talking at light speed. Sanders put his hand on her knee.

“Tatum. It's not true,” he insisted. She shook her head.

“... he can sleep with whoever he wants, I'm not the boss of him. I'm not even his girlfriend. It's just fun right, Sandy? Fun, fun, fun. Though it can't call me Auntie. The baby. That would just be weird ...”

“Shut up!” Jameson roared from behind her.

“Tatum, please,” Sanders whispered.

“... but I hope it does have his eyes. God, he has amazing eyes. And her bone structure. It would rule the world with those kind of looks. But it can't call me Auntie. Probably best if I'm not here when it comes over for visitation rights. That would be double weird. I'm not mad, Sandy. Do I sound mad? I'm fine. I'm fine.”

Sanders actually picked her up. Scooped her up off the couch, like she was a baby. Jameson was yelling into his phone while she was carried away. He had his back to the room, slicing an arm angrily through the air.

“No! No! I want this stopped, now! Any kind of lawsuit you can think of, just shut this bullshit up! I want a paternity test. I don't care, she can't claim it's mine without pro-,” he was ranting, but then Sanders whisked Tate through the door.

“You're awfully strong, Sandy. Do you work out?” she asked, resting her head against his chest, trying to catch her breath.

“Pilates. I also run every morning. Weight training in the evenings.”

“Pilates, huh. I wish I would've known. I love pilates.”

“I would be very glad to work out with you sometime.”

“Can we stop talking now?”

“Of course.”

Tate closed her eyes while he carried her up the stairs. Clung tighter to his shoulders. When they got to the bedroom, he tried to sit her down, but she wouldn't let go. He wound up sitting on the side of the bed, resting her against his chest.

“He has never lied to you,” Sanders whispered.

“Except one very important time.”

“Technically, he -,”

“A lie by omission is still a lie, Sanders,” she snapped. He took a deep breath, and his arms around her got tight.

“He is not lying,” he insisted. She took a deep breath.

“I know. I know, I'm just ..., upset. I'll be fine,” she whispered.

“Please. Please, just talk to him,” Sanders urged. She nodded, not lifting her head from his chest.

“Of course. Of course I will,” she replied.

“You need to trust him. You said you loved him,” he reminded her.

“I know what I said.”

That's what makes it so much worse. Why did I have to say it out loud?

By the time Jameson stormed up the stairs, she had gotten off Sanders' lap. Though she was holding his hand. Jameson burst into the room, glanced at them, and continued on into his closet. Sanders and Tate glanced at each other.

“We're going to New York!” he shouted.

“Excuse me?” Tate asked.

“You fu-cking heard me. Pack a goddamn bag,” he growled. She let go of Sanders and stood up. Took a deep breath. Walked into the closet.

“What's in New York?” she asked.

“My lawyers.”

“I don't need to be there for that, I can just -,” she started in a calm voice. He whirled around and he was so angry, she was actually startled. As he stalked towards her, she quickly backed away, bumping into shelving.

“Pack. A fu-cking. Bag,” he hissed. “I don't have time for this, for any of your crazy shit. I will deal with us later, but for right now, this moment, I have to stop this fu-cking publicity train. Got it!?”

He was leaning over her. Looming. She stared right up at him. Licked her lips, then pressed her hand against his chest. Jameson had always been a little psychic, so she knew she really had to sell it. She let her eyes wander over his features, cementing them in her memory. She always loved him best when he looked angry.

Always loved him, always.

“Jameson, I'm fine. I'll just slow you down. I'll be here when you get back,” she insisted in a soft voice, gently rubbing her hand over his chest. He narrowed his eyes.

“No, you won't. You always run away,” he said. She shook her head.

“I will be here, I promise. I'm fine. Go, do what you need to do. Like you said, we'll deal with us later,” she assured him, pressing herself against him.

“I don't believe you.”

“I don't really care. You're wasting time right now, arguing with me. Go,” she urged.

He suddenly leaned down and kissed her, and it was all she could do not to cry. She had always loved his kisses. This one was soft, his lips pressing against hers, his tongue gentle against her own. His hands came up to cup her jaw, molding her to him. She sighed into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist.