Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(9)

“The magic,” he deadpanned, and she cracked up.

“Sometimes. C'mon, look at this,” she said, and led him into the walk-in closet.

“If you're trying to impress me, it won't work. My sexual favors can't be bought,” he told her, fingering one of Jameson's blazers. Tate pulled the jacket down.

“Yes, they can. Try it on,” she offered, holding the jacket out. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“I'm sure you miss him, but I am not about to dress up like him and ride around on you while you wear a saddle, or whatever sick fetish you richies are into,” he said loudly. She burst out laughing.

“Ang. This is Dolce & Gabbana. It cost over $2,000. Have you ever worn an article of clothing that cost that much? C'mon, put it on, and we'll go get high, and then he can bitch about that time Angier made his two-grand-jacket smell like weed,” she suggested.

Ang put it on.

“I'm taller than him,” he commented, staring at his wrists where they jutted out of the cuffs.

“Duh. Haven't you noticed?” she asked, walking around, straightening out the material. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, let her touch linger.

“I mean, yeah, I guess. He's just ...,” he let his voice trail off.

“Larger than life?” she filled in for him. He nodded again.

“Don't tell him I said that.”

“Won't breathe a word.”

“Good. At least I've got something on him,” he commented, pushing up the sleeves.

“At least two and a half inches. He's like six-two,” she told him, coming back to his front.

“Short stuff.”

“You've got more on him than that,” she teased, winking at him. He nodded.

“Damn straight, and don't you forget it. Now where's the weed?” Ang asked.

They moved into the make-shift office Jameson had created out of a balcony. She opened the windows before pulling up two chairs for them. She produced a joint and they tucked in, Tate spreading a blanket across both of them. They sat in silence for a while.

“It's so peaceful here,” she finally sighed. Ang nodded, taking a deep pull.

“Surprisingly. I thought hell would be a lot scarier,” he managed to squeak out before exhaling the smoke.

“A person can get used to hell,” she replied softly.

“What?” he asked, turning towards her. She shook her head, taking a drag.

“It's not so bad, huh? Nice house, nice grounds,” she commented, passing it back to him.

“Heh, nice grounds. Groooouuunds,” he drew out the word before leaning forward and grinding the butt out against the window sill. “I'm happy if you're happy, kitty cat. Are you happy?”

“Most of the time,” Tate breathed, closing her eyes.

You don't want to do this. Don't be this person.

“What do you mean? Are you really okay?” he asked, and when she opened her eyes, he was looking at her. She wondered why he hadn't thought to ask that question before he had started fu-cking her sister.

“Yeah, I'm good. Just cold, let's get out of here,” she said, pushing the blanket away and standing up.

After she secured the huge windows, she led him back into the bedroom. She showed him the sideboard where Jameson kept most of his every day things – a lot of cuff links, tie pins, watches, things of that nature. Everything plated in gold and diamond and platinum. While Ang guffawed over all the stuff, Tate made her way over to the bed. Knelt on top of it and crawled towards Jameson's side.

“Holy fu-ck, Tate, this table holds more money than I'll ever see in my life. I don't know whether to be impressed, or disgusted,” Ang called out from behind her. She pulled a box out of Jameson's night stand and then turned back to Ang.

“Look at this,” she offered, knee walking back towards him. He met her at the edge of the bed and she opened the box. “This is a Jacob and Co. watch.”

“It's awesome,” he said, taking the box into his hands and looking over the timepiece.

“It's worth over $300,000.”

“fu-ck!” he exclaimed, and dropped the box. It bounced on the mattress and rolled, the lid snapping shut. She laughed and picked it up, sat it on the pillows.

“I know, right? Who would spend that kind of money on a watch?” she asked.

“Why the fu-ck would you even let me touch that? That watch is worth more than I am,” he laughed as well, but he looked a little shaky.

“I think it's funny. All this stuff, it's silly,” she said, reaching out and playing with the button on the blazer he was wearing. He was taller than Jameson, but leaner. The blazer was pretty loose on him.

“It's fu-cking stupid. A watch!? Why? How often does he wear it?” Ang asked. Tate shrugged, unbuttoning the jacket and pushing it open.

“Not often. Once in Spain. You should see the shit he keeps in the safe,” she said, plucking at his shirt. He began absent mindedly batting at her hands while he glanced around the room.

“You're shitting me. Please tell me it's behind a huge portrait of like his dog or something,” he chuckled. She hooked her fingers inside his belt.

“No. It's in the closet,” she replied.