Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(72)

“Only sometimes.”

“Tatum. Why are you doing this?” Ang asked.

“I told you. I just want a normal life,” she said.

“You're using him,” Ang hissed.

“No. He knows how I feel. I told him this is just a trial thing. It's his idea,” Tate pointed out.

Nick had asked her to move in with him. She had resisted for a while. She hadn't had sex with him since that time in her hotel room, two weeks ago, but he had kissed her plenty. He was trying to win her heart. She warned him that there was a strong possibility that it would always belong to Jameson.



“Then why don't you go be with him?”

“Because he doesn't have a heart to give back.”

“So if you can't be with the man you want, you're going to settle for a man who wants you?”

“No. I could just be alone. Unfortunately, there is a certain man who won't leave me alone.”

“Sorry. You're addicting. I have high hopes that I can change your mind.”

“I have rational realizations that you most likely won't.”

“When you talk like that, I think it's really him talking.”

“I think so, too.”



Conversations like that were what made Tate decide she was going to take Nick up on his offer. She had been living in a hotel room for over a month. Sanders hadn't answered her phone calls for the last two weeks. No word from Jameson, at all. It was really over. She needed somewhere to go, someone to be. Maybe it wouldn't work out with Nick, but he was okay with that, okay with trying. And she had to at least try.

She was staying at a Marriott hotel, near the University of Arizona. There was a huge function being thrown at the hotel that night, a ton of baseball teams were gathering together. Food, champagne, awards of some sort. Seemed a good time to tell him she would move in with him.

“You're in love with Jameson.” Ang said it as a statement. She swallowed thickly.

“Maybe. But I'm done waiting for him to be in love with me. And he and his stupid girlfriend can go have their love child together and live -,” she started to ramble, pacing outside the doors to the hotel.

“Don't you watch the fu-cking news!?” Ang interrupted.

“Huh?”

“You idiot. It's not his. The real father stepped foward, proved that it couldn't be Jameson. There was a paternity test and everything. Jameson's lawyers have been suing the shit out of her. Will you come home now!?” he whined. She stopped pacing.

“Not his?” she asked.

No. No, no, no, no.

“Not his. That fu-cker, from the party, who hit you,” Ang told her.

“You are shitting me,” Tate gasped.

“Not at all. Apparently she didn't go straight back to Berlin after Jameson kicked her ass out. She hung around with that Dunn guy. It's his baby,” Ang explained.

She was blown away. She started laughing. She was fully aware that she looked completely crazy, cackling into the phone like a hyena. Well, Petrushka had wanted an American financier. She got one, and one who was almost as big an ass-hole as she was; winning.

“This is amazing. Ang, you have made my day,” Tate gasped for air.

“Good. Will you come home?” he demanded. She sighed.

“Ang. Do you love me?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“Right now? Not very much,” he snapped.

“Just let me figure shit out, alright. I tried it with Jameson. It didn't work. Let me try it with Nick. If it doesn't work, I'll run home,” she promised.

“Or somewhere else. Tate ..., please. I'll sleep with you. I'll love you. Don't just give up,” he urged.

“A lot of women would kill to be in my position, moving in with Nick,” she pointed out.

“Exactly – and you're robbing them of that. I'm worried for you, worried you'll end up like your mom,” Ang said softly. She stiffened up.

“That won't happen. I'm not giving up. I'm testing the waters,” she replied.

“Last time you 'tested the waters', I had to pull you out, and baby girl, I'm not there this time around.”

Tate hung up on him. Stared at the phone like she was holding a snake. Ang had never called her 'baby girl' before, ever. He had called her just about every other name under the sun, but not that one. No, that was Jameson's name for her. What he had been calling her since she was eighteen. And to bring up the pool, that was low. Even for Ang.

She sighed and looked out onto the street, trying not to cry. Tate had made a deal with herself. No more tears. She focused on different things, tried to distract herself. There were a lot of really nice cars everywhere, a lot of rich baseball players were checking into the hotel. She saw a Porsche. A couple Escalades. A Ferrari. She smiled sadly when her eyes landed on a black Bentley.

At least someone at this hotel has classy tastes.

She walked through the lobby, glancing around. The hotel was buzzing with people. Lots of new people checking in, bell service people running around. A cart whizzed past her, filled with Louis Vuitton luggage. She frowned. Something didn't feel right.

Tate stood in front of an elevator, frowning at her feet. It was just Ang. His phone call was weighing on her soul. That's why she felt weird. And the Bentley. She would probably never be able to look at a Bentley the same again. Good thing she didn't know anyone else who owned one.