Tate didn't respond, staring at the flames. She got lost in thought. She hadn't seen or spoken to her sister in seven years. Most of the time she didn't think about it, but once in a while, the realization slapped her in the face. She hadn't spoken to her father, either, and the only times she spoke with her mother was when the woman was drunk off her face. God, she hated thinking about them.

There was coldness against her arm again, and she looked up to see Jameson handing her a fresh drink. She hadn't even heard him move. She smiled up at him, taking the glass. He didn't move away, though; just kept staring down at her. She kept her eyes trained on his while she took a drink.

“Ambitious, but boring as fuck. I think I started hating her, long before you and I happened,” he said. Tate chuckled.

“Same here,” she agreed.

“But you. You were always something else,” he continued. She laughed.

“Me? You never even noticed me. You were Jameson Kane. My family practically worshiped you. I was always shoved in to the background. You didn't even know my age, that night, and you had been with Ellie for two years,” she pointed out. He shrugged.

“So. I knew you were sexy. That first time I ever saw you, when Ellie brought me home to meet your parents. You walked in the front door. I can remember it so clearly – you were in tight running shorts, arguing with someone on your phone. I can remember thinking that I wanted to peel your shorts off of you and wrap them around your neck,” he told her.

Who knew?

“Huh. That would've been an interesting introduction,” Tate joked.

“And then the night you and I slept together. Ellie and I'd had a big fight. She never told me you were coming over. You walked in, in those preppy sweaters you always wore, and your tight skirt. Long, black hair. So different from her. Sitting at the kitchen table, trying to be an adult with me. You had no idea, but I knew then that something was going to happen,” Jameson said. She laughed.

“No way, Kane. I was whining and complaining like a little girl. You were probably annoyed with me. You didn't even try anything, till you caught me with my shirt off,” she reminded him. He shrugged.

“What can I say, I'm a gentleman at heart,” he replied. She laughed some more.

“Bullshit.”

“No, I guess I'm not, not even a little bit. You just ..., there was something about you, the way you would always look at me. So shy. I wanted to hurt you a little bit.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Tate leaned over the side of her chair a little, setting her glass on the floor. Then she sat forward, arching her neck to look up at him. He stared straight back at her, the fire casting shadows on one side of his face and burning up the other side.

He looks like Satan.

“I never did anything to you, why did you want to hurt me?” she asked. He chuckled.

“Not like how you're thinking.”

“Then like how?”

He reached a hand out. He was gentle as he wrapped his fingers around her throat, and then he squeezed, just enough for her to feel the pressure. He began pulling and she was forced to follow. He pulled her to her feet, so she was standing right in front of him. Then he applied more pressure, his short, sharp, nails biting in to her skin.

“Like this,” Jameson said, still staring straight in to her eyes. She took quick breaths through her nose.

“Maybe you should've just asked,” Tate whispered. “Maybe I would've been okay with it.” He shook his head.

“No. Not back then. You weren't ready, and I wasn't ready to be that person for you,” he replied. She raised an eyebrow.

“And you think you can be that person now?” she asked.

His fingers loosened and his hand trailed down her neck, then continued down to her chest. He pressed his palm flat against her, right over her breasts, and she had a flashback to their night together. She shivered.

“Yes, I do. I remember you being very concerned about Ellie, last time. Wouldn't shut up about her. I've been in threesomes where the women talked less about each other than you did about Ellie. Is that going to be an issue this time?” he asked. Tate laughed.

“You're the one who keeps bringing her up. Maybe you're actually more interested in meeting up with her,” she teased. Jameson rolled his eyes and stepped way from her, heading back towards his desk.

“God, what a horrible thought, Eloise O'Shea, seven years later. Some how, I assume she hasn't turned out quite as ..., grown up as you,” he said, raking his eyes over Tate's body.

“I couldn't give two shits about Ellie. Maybe I should look up all her ex boyfriends, sleep with all of them, really stick it to her,” Tate snorted, picking her glass up off the floor and taking a drink.

“Please don't. I know for a fact I was the wildest person she ever slept with, and even then, I kept things on a very tight leash for her. I would hate for you to waste your time. Now, I've been thinking about our terms. Two-thousand dollars seems like an awful lot of money, when what you said is right – how do I know I'm not getting skunked? I think I need to sample the goods first,” Jameson said, sitting behind his desk. She laughed.

“You've sampled my goods once already. And the salary was two-thousand, five hundred,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes. But those goods are out of date now, and I didn't get a nearly big enough sample. Like your mouth, for example. How can I guarantee you even know what to do with it?” he asked, steepling his hands in front of his chest. She raised an eyebrow at him and sat her drink back down on the floor.