Reparation
Page 35
Tate hopped on the subway and the red line took her all the way downtown, just a couple blocks from the financial district and where Jameson's offices were, on State Street. It took her a little over half an hour, but she was finally standing outside his building at one o'clock. Only an hour late. He was going to be pissed. She was excited and nervous. She still wasn't sure how she felt, after her all night heart-to-heart with Ang. She felt giddy, and nervous. Excited and confused. A lot like she was going to either throw up, or shit herself.
Not fun.
She took a deep breath and was about to pull the door open, when her cell phone started ringing. She scrambled to yank it out of her pocket, positive it was him. If she missed another phone call, he would probably lose it and go find Ang. Put him in a pair of cement booties and drop him in Boston Harbor. Tate snickered at the thought, but then stopped when she saw her screen. It wasn't Jameson. It was Nick.
“Hey, how are you?” she asked, taking a couple steps down the sidewalk.
“Good! I have something exciting to tell you,” he said, sounding a little breathless. Wherever he was, it was noisy.
“Oookay, what's up?” she asked, moving around the corner of the building.
“Guess where I am?” he asked back. She leaned back against a wall.
“Hmmm, I don't know. Some pre-game exhibition?” she replied.
“Nope.”
“Bangkok?”
“Nope.”
“An airport?” she guessed for real.
“Yes,” he answered. She perked up.
“An airport, huh. New York?”
“Nope.”
“Boston!?”
“Yup.”
“What are you doing here!?” she exclaimed. He hadn't mentioned visiting. It was the beginning of February, spring training was going to start in like two weeks.
“They flew the whole team up for some charity dinner thing at the Hilton. I need a date,” his voice was teasing sounding. She almost swallowed her tongue.
“How long are you here for?” she asked, glancing around the corner. She halfway expected Jameson's psychic abilities to call him down to her hiding spot.
“Just a couple days. I was hoping we could catch up. Feels like I haven't seen you in forever,” he groaned. She nodded.
“Yeah, since December. A date, huh,” she mumbled, a plan formulating in her head.
“Yeah. Should be kind of stuffy, but I figured we could go out for drinks later and you could be my wing-man, help me pick up chicks,” he joked. She cocked up an eyebrow. Nick did fine picking up chicks all on his own – he had gotten her pretty easily. She wondered if he had a specific chick in mind. Wondered if it was herself.
“Look, I was just about to go to a ..., meeting, thing. Place. Can I call you back when I'm done? Maybe we can do lunch, or dinner,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, sure. So long as I get to see you. Are you still with ...,” he let his voice trail off.
“Don't worry about him, that's my job,” she laughed.
“Yeah, and worrying about you has somehow become my job,” he laughed back.
“I promise, I will chew through my restraints and come see you tonight. I'll call you,” she assured him.
“You had better,” he stated, but there was a smile in his voice, and she hung up the phone.
She breezed into Jameson's building and smiled saucily at the sexy secretary. The woman gave a broad smile back and Tate figured if Jameson chose to use his birthday gift to have a threesome, that woman wasn't such a bad choice. At least she wasn't Petrushka. Or Sanders. That would be awkward.
She listened to his personal secretary squawk long enough to learn that he was alone in his office, then Tate waltzed into the room. Jameson was on his phone, but his stare practically screamed at her. He didn't take his eyes off of her until she was seated in her chair, across from him. She leaned back, sitting casually while he talked about numbers and stocks and bonds and things she knew nothing about. He was wearing another suit with a fitted vest, and he'd gotten his hair trimmed, though he'd been leaving it long on top. He looked very much like a wolf in sheep's expensive designer hand tailored clothing. She squirmed around in her chair.
“You're very sexy when you're working,” she said in a soft breathy voice.
He held up his middle finger.
He talked for a while. It was obvious there were several people on the other end, as he switched tones of voice and languages. Fluidly between German and English, a little more haltingly between French and English, and the Mandarin was choppy at best. Though he still managed to sound like he knew exactly what he was talking about, at all times. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Jameson got off the phone.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. Tate gestured to her crazy hair.
“Sleeping. I literally jumped out of bed and onto the red line,” she assured him.
“I don't give a fuck. I said noon, not noon-ish,” he reminded her. She shrugged.
“Too late now. We stayed up late,” she told him.
“Doing what, exactly?” he asked.
“Just some light bondage, nipple clamps, car batteries, things like that,” she said with a smile.
“Nothing in comparison to what I plan on doing to you.”
A shiver ran over her whole body and she had trouble not drooling.
“Sounds fun.”
Not fun.
She took a deep breath and was about to pull the door open, when her cell phone started ringing. She scrambled to yank it out of her pocket, positive it was him. If she missed another phone call, he would probably lose it and go find Ang. Put him in a pair of cement booties and drop him in Boston Harbor. Tate snickered at the thought, but then stopped when she saw her screen. It wasn't Jameson. It was Nick.
“Hey, how are you?” she asked, taking a couple steps down the sidewalk.
“Good! I have something exciting to tell you,” he said, sounding a little breathless. Wherever he was, it was noisy.
“Oookay, what's up?” she asked, moving around the corner of the building.
“Guess where I am?” he asked back. She leaned back against a wall.
“Hmmm, I don't know. Some pre-game exhibition?” she replied.
“Nope.”
“Bangkok?”
“Nope.”
“An airport?” she guessed for real.
“Yes,” he answered. She perked up.
“An airport, huh. New York?”
“Nope.”
“Boston!?”
“Yup.”
“What are you doing here!?” she exclaimed. He hadn't mentioned visiting. It was the beginning of February, spring training was going to start in like two weeks.
“They flew the whole team up for some charity dinner thing at the Hilton. I need a date,” his voice was teasing sounding. She almost swallowed her tongue.
“How long are you here for?” she asked, glancing around the corner. She halfway expected Jameson's psychic abilities to call him down to her hiding spot.
“Just a couple days. I was hoping we could catch up. Feels like I haven't seen you in forever,” he groaned. She nodded.
“Yeah, since December. A date, huh,” she mumbled, a plan formulating in her head.
“Yeah. Should be kind of stuffy, but I figured we could go out for drinks later and you could be my wing-man, help me pick up chicks,” he joked. She cocked up an eyebrow. Nick did fine picking up chicks all on his own – he had gotten her pretty easily. She wondered if he had a specific chick in mind. Wondered if it was herself.
“Look, I was just about to go to a ..., meeting, thing. Place. Can I call you back when I'm done? Maybe we can do lunch, or dinner,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, sure. So long as I get to see you. Are you still with ...,” he let his voice trail off.
“Don't worry about him, that's my job,” she laughed.
“Yeah, and worrying about you has somehow become my job,” he laughed back.
“I promise, I will chew through my restraints and come see you tonight. I'll call you,” she assured him.
“You had better,” he stated, but there was a smile in his voice, and she hung up the phone.
She breezed into Jameson's building and smiled saucily at the sexy secretary. The woman gave a broad smile back and Tate figured if Jameson chose to use his birthday gift to have a threesome, that woman wasn't such a bad choice. At least she wasn't Petrushka. Or Sanders. That would be awkward.
She listened to his personal secretary squawk long enough to learn that he was alone in his office, then Tate waltzed into the room. Jameson was on his phone, but his stare practically screamed at her. He didn't take his eyes off of her until she was seated in her chair, across from him. She leaned back, sitting casually while he talked about numbers and stocks and bonds and things she knew nothing about. He was wearing another suit with a fitted vest, and he'd gotten his hair trimmed, though he'd been leaving it long on top. He looked very much like a wolf in sheep's expensive designer hand tailored clothing. She squirmed around in her chair.
“You're very sexy when you're working,” she said in a soft breathy voice.
He held up his middle finger.
He talked for a while. It was obvious there were several people on the other end, as he switched tones of voice and languages. Fluidly between German and English, a little more haltingly between French and English, and the Mandarin was choppy at best. Though he still managed to sound like he knew exactly what he was talking about, at all times. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Jameson got off the phone.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. Tate gestured to her crazy hair.
“Sleeping. I literally jumped out of bed and onto the red line,” she assured him.
“I don't give a fuck. I said noon, not noon-ish,” he reminded her. She shrugged.
“Too late now. We stayed up late,” she told him.
“Doing what, exactly?” he asked.
“Just some light bondage, nipple clamps, car batteries, things like that,” she said with a smile.
“Nothing in comparison to what I plan on doing to you.”
A shiver ran over her whole body and she had trouble not drooling.
“Sounds fun.”
