Reparation
Page 27
“Tatum, come over here.”
She got up and walked around his desk. He swiveled his chair towards her and she moved next to him, swung her leg over his knees, then sat on his lap. He grabbed her by the hips and helped her to adjust, so she was sitting as close as she could get, her face inches from his own.
“Hi,” she laughed, as the chair rocked back and forth.
“Tatum O'Shea, sometimes, I almost think I like you,” he told her.
“See? Such a dick.”
“Shut up. When do I get my real present?” he asked, using one hand to pick up the bottle from off his desk. He turned the front of the whiskey towards her. She had used the label to address him, then wrote her own little note.
When this bottle is empty, you may return it for one night of anything-you-can-think-of-sex, and the giver must comply. ANYTHING. Happy Birthday, Satan.
“It says it right there, when the bottle is empty,” Tate replied. Jameson let go of her entirely and unscrewed the lid.
“You do realize, I have a very vivid imagination. You wrote 'anything', and I'm going to hold you to it,” he warned her, before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a healthy swig. She nodded.
“I know what I wrote. I'm just very glad you don't own any double ended vibrators,” she joked.
“Yet.”
“I said anything, meaning anything you want. I'm a woman of my word,” she assured him. He narrowed his eyes and took another drink.
“Sometimes,” he amended her statement.
“But I'm begging you, please, no threesome with the busty secretary,” she pleaded. He laughed and his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head up.
“You said anything I want, baby girl,” he reminded her, then poured the Jameson down her throat.
Doesn't taste as good as him.
Since she was on a roll with the apologizing and forgiving, she decided it was time to face her sister. She wasn't sure if Ang had already told Ellie about their dinner, but Tate figured she had to talk to her anyway. Just get it all out there. So she invited her sister out to the house that night.
She made Jameson promise to stay hidden in the library. He wasn't very happy about it – he'd had plans to finish the bottle of whiskey then possibly fuck her with it. She told him it was quite a waste of such an extravagant gift, was that the best he could think of? She was literally thrown out of the library after that comment, and told not to come back unless she was on her knees.
As she watched her sister waddle across the driveway, she couldn't help but wonder what Ellie was thinking as she stared up at the grand house. In another life, Ellie had thought everything would be hers. The house that Tate felt was more like home than the one she had grown up in, was meant to be Ellie's. The man Tate slept with, had been picked out for Ellie. The apartment in Spain, the penthouse in New York, everything, all meant for Ellie.
It must be hard. I should be nice to her.
“Did you find the house okay?” Tate asked. Ellie leaned down to air-kiss her cheeks.
“Yes. It's very beautiful,” she commented, and the wistful look was plain-as-day on her face. Tate shut the door and led her into the kitchen.
“There's a formal dining room, but I figured we could just snack in here,” Tate explained, gesturing to some stools at the end of the large island which sat in the middle of his kitchen.
“I can't believe I'm here. I always wondered what this place was like,” Ellie breathed, her eyes roaming over everything.
“You knew about this house?”
“Yeah, his father talked about it, a lot. His dad was originally from this area,” Ellie explained. Of course, Tate already knew that – but she didn't say anything.
“Oh. Well, he's done a lot of remodeling. The conservatory on the back is new, and he had all new hardwood floors put in, wiring, new modern bathrooms, the works,” Tate explained, waving her hand around. Ellie frowned.
“Pity. I would never have let him do that, I would've kept it as close to the original building as possible,” she commented. Tate frowned. She didn't care for Ellie's tone. It was one she recognized well; Ellie's “I would've been soooooo much better than you, at everything you've ever done” voice. Like Tate wasn't keeping Jameson in line enough, or something.
“I love it. You should see the master bedroom, he completely gutted it, doubled its size. The bed is huge,” Tate couldn't resist adding. Ellie frowned.
“I'll take your word for it.”
They sat in silence for a while, nibbling on snacks Tate had sat out. She and Ellie had never really reached a place where they were comfortable just chatting. They were a lot better than they were a year ago, but still not besties. Sometimes they could laugh and have fun together. Other times ..., other times were more like old times, and Tate felt like she was in a competition. This felt like one of those times.
“So when is the baby due?” Tate asked, glancing at Ellie's huge stomach.
“About six weeks. God, I'm over this. I'm just ready to meet him,” she laughed, patting her baby bump. Tate smiled.
“Still gonna name him Mathias?” she asked. Ellie scrunched up her face.
“I've been having second thoughts. Daddy still won't speak to me,” she replied.
“Join the club. I think we're better off,” Tate assured her. “What about Robert, is he coming down for the birth?”
She got up and walked around his desk. He swiveled his chair towards her and she moved next to him, swung her leg over his knees, then sat on his lap. He grabbed her by the hips and helped her to adjust, so she was sitting as close as she could get, her face inches from his own.
“Hi,” she laughed, as the chair rocked back and forth.
“Tatum O'Shea, sometimes, I almost think I like you,” he told her.
“See? Such a dick.”
“Shut up. When do I get my real present?” he asked, using one hand to pick up the bottle from off his desk. He turned the front of the whiskey towards her. She had used the label to address him, then wrote her own little note.
When this bottle is empty, you may return it for one night of anything-you-can-think-of-sex, and the giver must comply. ANYTHING. Happy Birthday, Satan.
“It says it right there, when the bottle is empty,” Tate replied. Jameson let go of her entirely and unscrewed the lid.
“You do realize, I have a very vivid imagination. You wrote 'anything', and I'm going to hold you to it,” he warned her, before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a healthy swig. She nodded.
“I know what I wrote. I'm just very glad you don't own any double ended vibrators,” she joked.
“Yet.”
“I said anything, meaning anything you want. I'm a woman of my word,” she assured him. He narrowed his eyes and took another drink.
“Sometimes,” he amended her statement.
“But I'm begging you, please, no threesome with the busty secretary,” she pleaded. He laughed and his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head up.
“You said anything I want, baby girl,” he reminded her, then poured the Jameson down her throat.
Doesn't taste as good as him.
Since she was on a roll with the apologizing and forgiving, she decided it was time to face her sister. She wasn't sure if Ang had already told Ellie about their dinner, but Tate figured she had to talk to her anyway. Just get it all out there. So she invited her sister out to the house that night.
She made Jameson promise to stay hidden in the library. He wasn't very happy about it – he'd had plans to finish the bottle of whiskey then possibly fuck her with it. She told him it was quite a waste of such an extravagant gift, was that the best he could think of? She was literally thrown out of the library after that comment, and told not to come back unless she was on her knees.
As she watched her sister waddle across the driveway, she couldn't help but wonder what Ellie was thinking as she stared up at the grand house. In another life, Ellie had thought everything would be hers. The house that Tate felt was more like home than the one she had grown up in, was meant to be Ellie's. The man Tate slept with, had been picked out for Ellie. The apartment in Spain, the penthouse in New York, everything, all meant for Ellie.
It must be hard. I should be nice to her.
“Did you find the house okay?” Tate asked. Ellie leaned down to air-kiss her cheeks.
“Yes. It's very beautiful,” she commented, and the wistful look was plain-as-day on her face. Tate shut the door and led her into the kitchen.
“There's a formal dining room, but I figured we could just snack in here,” Tate explained, gesturing to some stools at the end of the large island which sat in the middle of his kitchen.
“I can't believe I'm here. I always wondered what this place was like,” Ellie breathed, her eyes roaming over everything.
“You knew about this house?”
“Yeah, his father talked about it, a lot. His dad was originally from this area,” Ellie explained. Of course, Tate already knew that – but she didn't say anything.
“Oh. Well, he's done a lot of remodeling. The conservatory on the back is new, and he had all new hardwood floors put in, wiring, new modern bathrooms, the works,” Tate explained, waving her hand around. Ellie frowned.
“Pity. I would never have let him do that, I would've kept it as close to the original building as possible,” she commented. Tate frowned. She didn't care for Ellie's tone. It was one she recognized well; Ellie's “I would've been soooooo much better than you, at everything you've ever done” voice. Like Tate wasn't keeping Jameson in line enough, or something.
“I love it. You should see the master bedroom, he completely gutted it, doubled its size. The bed is huge,” Tate couldn't resist adding. Ellie frowned.
“I'll take your word for it.”
They sat in silence for a while, nibbling on snacks Tate had sat out. She and Ellie had never really reached a place where they were comfortable just chatting. They were a lot better than they were a year ago, but still not besties. Sometimes they could laugh and have fun together. Other times ..., other times were more like old times, and Tate felt like she was in a competition. This felt like one of those times.
“So when is the baby due?” Tate asked, glancing at Ellie's huge stomach.
“About six weeks. God, I'm over this. I'm just ready to meet him,” she laughed, patting her baby bump. Tate smiled.
“Still gonna name him Mathias?” she asked. Ellie scrunched up her face.
“I've been having second thoughts. Daddy still won't speak to me,” she replied.
“Join the club. I think we're better off,” Tate assured her. “What about Robert, is he coming down for the birth?”
