Reception
Page 4
“I'm sorry, a … what?” she tried to catch her breath.
“Barbecue.”
“I didn't even know you knew that word.”
“Shut up,” he chuckled, pulling on her ponytail. She got down off the machine and grabbed a towel, blotting at the sheen of sweat that was all over her.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why not? It's been a beautiful summer, and our backyard was designed for entertaining,” he suggested.
“Which you never do. The only time you throw a party is when you want to prove a point. Or piss someone off,” she reminded him.
“Exactly.”
“Oh god. Who are we trying to piss off and prove a point to?” she groaned, pushing past him and walking out of the gym.
“Baby girl, would you please just be thankful that for one afternoon, we'll get to do something you actually like to do?” he asked, following her upstairs.
“This is true, we do usually only do your stuff,” she agreed.
“Yes, but that's because my stuff is better.”
“That's a matter of opinion.”
“I feel like I'm experiencing deja vu, only this is much, much stupider …” he sighed. She threw the towel in his face.
“Remind me why I bother talking to you?” she asked, disappearing into their closet.
“Because I pay for everything,” he stated.
“Everything, ha! You never bought me a pony!” her voice called out. He chuckled and rubbed his hand down his face.
“Tate. You haven't ridden since you were seventeen – why the fuck would you want a pony?” he asked. There was a pause, then she leaned out the doorway.
“Alright then – you never got me a miniature donkey.”
“A miniature … what?”
“Jack ass.”
“I'm regretting coming home,” he sighed. She laughed and finally walked over to him, coiling her arms around his neck.
“A party sounds fun, I don't even care who you're trying to piss off. Want me to organize it?” she asked, scratching her fingernails against the back of his neck.
“No, Sanders is taking care of everything.”
“That's nice. How long is he staying for this time?”
“Only through the weekend – and don't ask, I already tried to get him to stay longer.”
“He's no fun in his old age.”
“Tatum, he's only twenty-three.”
“Okay,” she pulled back. “So what exact day are we having this?”
“Sunday.”
“That's good, gives us today and Saturday to prep. What time?”
“Late, around five.”
“Weird time for a barbecue,” she told him.
“Dinner time, sunset, people won't stay too long,” he listed off his reasons.
“Gotcha. Dinner time barbecue. Who all is invited?” she kept on with the questions.
“Anyone you want. Some friends, partners, from New York. The junior staff over at Kraven,” he spoke while he walked away from her.
“Okay, so Rusty will be there, and I – wait, did you say the junior staff?” her voice was full of surprise as she followed behind him. He didn't bother looking up as he fiddled with his watch strap.
“Yes. Being a junior broker is hard, most of them put in eighty hour work weeks, and for little return. Sunday is the only day they have free, and I'm gonna pay everyone to take Monday morning off,” he explained.
“My god, Jameson Kane being thoughtful and generous. Be still my beating heart!”
“Shut up.”
“You can try to hide it all you want, Mr. Kane,” Tate teased as she stood on her toes behind him and kissed his earlobe. “But you're a good man.”
“And you, Mrs. Kane, are a very stupid woman if you really believe that.”
3
Tate wasn't a stupid woman, though. She could even be smart when she put her mind to it, and she knew Jameson Kane better than anyone else on the planet. And while it was true that he was actually very thoughtful and quite generous, she knew that neither of those personality traits had anything to do with the little “party” he was planning. She also knew that Richard Klimas was a junior broker. That's what the party was about – Jameson apparently still felt the need to prove he had the biggest dick of them all. It was ridiculous, but Tate did love to party, so if he wanted to show off his fancy house and his expensive toys and his new hot wife, she would oblige him.
“Have you ever been to a barbecue, Sandy?” Tate asked, hanging around the kitchen the next day while Sanders wrote down plans for the party.
“No,” was his response. He didn't bother looking up from his notebook.
“Then how do you know what to get? I've been to lots of barbecues,” she informed him.
“I am not surprised, but I assure you, I have this under control.”
“Well, can I at least see what all you've got planned?” she whined. She loved to tease him, and since she so rarely got the chance anymore, she made the most of it whenever he was around.
“You don't trust me?” he asked, finally glancing at her. His eyes, more gray than blue, were always impassive at first glance. But Tate knew how to read their stormy depths – she spoke fluent Sanders. She smiled softly at him.
“I trust you in all things,” she replied. “I'm just trying to be a pest.”
“Well, you are succeeding wonderfully at it.”
But he was smiling, as well, and he slid his notebook down the counter till it was in front of her.
He'd hired an event coordinator for a simple backyard barbecue! He'd also gotten a caterer who specialized in traditional Texan style barbecue. Her mouth watered as she looked over the menu he'd approved. Ribs and burgers and fish, oh my. There would be a fantastic selection of appetizers, followed by a casual stand-up meal that would come fresh from an enormous grill the company would bring with them. And of course, as always, an open bar.
“This is really impressive,” she finally said, handing his notes back to him.
“Thank you. I always thought I hated doing things of this nature, but you know, I've actually been enjoying it. It feels … nostalgic,” he told her.
“Barbecue.”
“I didn't even know you knew that word.”
“Shut up,” he chuckled, pulling on her ponytail. She got down off the machine and grabbed a towel, blotting at the sheen of sweat that was all over her.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why not? It's been a beautiful summer, and our backyard was designed for entertaining,” he suggested.
“Which you never do. The only time you throw a party is when you want to prove a point. Or piss someone off,” she reminded him.
“Exactly.”
“Oh god. Who are we trying to piss off and prove a point to?” she groaned, pushing past him and walking out of the gym.
“Baby girl, would you please just be thankful that for one afternoon, we'll get to do something you actually like to do?” he asked, following her upstairs.
“This is true, we do usually only do your stuff,” she agreed.
“Yes, but that's because my stuff is better.”
“That's a matter of opinion.”
“I feel like I'm experiencing deja vu, only this is much, much stupider …” he sighed. She threw the towel in his face.
“Remind me why I bother talking to you?” she asked, disappearing into their closet.
“Because I pay for everything,” he stated.
“Everything, ha! You never bought me a pony!” her voice called out. He chuckled and rubbed his hand down his face.
“Tate. You haven't ridden since you were seventeen – why the fuck would you want a pony?” he asked. There was a pause, then she leaned out the doorway.
“Alright then – you never got me a miniature donkey.”
“A miniature … what?”
“Jack ass.”
“I'm regretting coming home,” he sighed. She laughed and finally walked over to him, coiling her arms around his neck.
“A party sounds fun, I don't even care who you're trying to piss off. Want me to organize it?” she asked, scratching her fingernails against the back of his neck.
“No, Sanders is taking care of everything.”
“That's nice. How long is he staying for this time?”
“Only through the weekend – and don't ask, I already tried to get him to stay longer.”
“He's no fun in his old age.”
“Tatum, he's only twenty-three.”
“Okay,” she pulled back. “So what exact day are we having this?”
“Sunday.”
“That's good, gives us today and Saturday to prep. What time?”
“Late, around five.”
“Weird time for a barbecue,” she told him.
“Dinner time, sunset, people won't stay too long,” he listed off his reasons.
“Gotcha. Dinner time barbecue. Who all is invited?” she kept on with the questions.
“Anyone you want. Some friends, partners, from New York. The junior staff over at Kraven,” he spoke while he walked away from her.
“Okay, so Rusty will be there, and I – wait, did you say the junior staff?” her voice was full of surprise as she followed behind him. He didn't bother looking up as he fiddled with his watch strap.
“Yes. Being a junior broker is hard, most of them put in eighty hour work weeks, and for little return. Sunday is the only day they have free, and I'm gonna pay everyone to take Monday morning off,” he explained.
“My god, Jameson Kane being thoughtful and generous. Be still my beating heart!”
“Shut up.”
“You can try to hide it all you want, Mr. Kane,” Tate teased as she stood on her toes behind him and kissed his earlobe. “But you're a good man.”
“And you, Mrs. Kane, are a very stupid woman if you really believe that.”
3
Tate wasn't a stupid woman, though. She could even be smart when she put her mind to it, and she knew Jameson Kane better than anyone else on the planet. And while it was true that he was actually very thoughtful and quite generous, she knew that neither of those personality traits had anything to do with the little “party” he was planning. She also knew that Richard Klimas was a junior broker. That's what the party was about – Jameson apparently still felt the need to prove he had the biggest dick of them all. It was ridiculous, but Tate did love to party, so if he wanted to show off his fancy house and his expensive toys and his new hot wife, she would oblige him.
“Have you ever been to a barbecue, Sandy?” Tate asked, hanging around the kitchen the next day while Sanders wrote down plans for the party.
“No,” was his response. He didn't bother looking up from his notebook.
“Then how do you know what to get? I've been to lots of barbecues,” she informed him.
“I am not surprised, but I assure you, I have this under control.”
“Well, can I at least see what all you've got planned?” she whined. She loved to tease him, and since she so rarely got the chance anymore, she made the most of it whenever he was around.
“You don't trust me?” he asked, finally glancing at her. His eyes, more gray than blue, were always impassive at first glance. But Tate knew how to read their stormy depths – she spoke fluent Sanders. She smiled softly at him.
“I trust you in all things,” she replied. “I'm just trying to be a pest.”
“Well, you are succeeding wonderfully at it.”
But he was smiling, as well, and he slid his notebook down the counter till it was in front of her.
He'd hired an event coordinator for a simple backyard barbecue! He'd also gotten a caterer who specialized in traditional Texan style barbecue. Her mouth watered as she looked over the menu he'd approved. Ribs and burgers and fish, oh my. There would be a fantastic selection of appetizers, followed by a casual stand-up meal that would come fresh from an enormous grill the company would bring with them. And of course, as always, an open bar.
“This is really impressive,” she finally said, handing his notes back to him.
“Thank you. I always thought I hated doing things of this nature, but you know, I've actually been enjoying it. It feels … nostalgic,” he told her.
