“Baby girl, the things you get yourself into,” he sighed.
“Why did he have to sleep with her?” Tate whispered, sliding her arms around his waist, curling her fists tightly into his t-shirt.
“Life takes some interesting turns – especially when it comes to the people we wind up sleeping with,” Jameson pointed out.
“You're not allowed to make me feel better. You're an asshole.”
“True. But I'm an asshole who used to be very good at making you feel better,” he reminded her. She sighed, pressing her face into his chest.
“And making me feel like shit.”
“You like that almost as much.”
Not when it's for real.
“Why didn't you tell me?” Tate whispered.
“Because I didn't know.”
“He asked if he could bring his girlfriend. I said I didn't care. I didn't ask who the girlfriend was, why would I ever care who Angier is fucking?” Jameson asked her.
“Sanders knew,” Tate breathed. She felt his fingers dig into her hips.
“He didn't. Stop trying to find someone to blame. Shit happens. Get over it,” he instructed her.
Shit doesn't happen. Jameson fucking Kane happens.
“Why did you do this? To rip me and Ang apart? To make me hate him, so I would like you more? Or to teach me a lesson? That I shouldn't forget my past? Shouldn't forget what a horrible person I am? Trust me, I'll never forget that. You made sure of that last time,” she told him, visions of water dancing through her head. So much water. So cold. All around her. Only this time, there was no Ang to save her.
“You're not a horrible person, baby girl,” Jameson whispered. “I'm not playing with you. No more games.”
It was always games between her and Jameson. She had lost sight of that for a little while. It was easy to do, when a person was surrounded by sweet words and sweeter lies. She felt like being with Jameson was like living from one panic attack to the next. She didn't know how much more her pysche could take, if she let it go on. It wasn't fair. His ego wasn't even bruised. Wasn't even scratched. Wasn't even touched.
Of course it isn't. He's Jameson Kane, the goddamn devil. What did you expect?
Tate sat at a bar just off the lobby of the hotel. It was a little after midnight. Sneaking out of the room had been difficult – Jameson was suspicious by nature, and had watched her carefully after her little break down in the bathroom. But after she had calmed down, she had found a way to distract him.
Sex always was my favorite weapon. Time to wield it with a vengeance.
She sipped at her drink, then went back to the what she had been doing – she had a cocktail napkin in front of her, and she was writing tiny notes on it. She chewed on the end of her pen, trying to figure out what else she wanted to add, when someone next to her cleared their throat.
“Excuse me,” a voice with a heavy French accent asked, and Tate turned on her stool to see a handsome, older gentleman standing beside her. “Is this seat taken?”
“No, go ahead,” she offered, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. The man smiled and sat down.
“It is very late to be having a drink. Are you here alone?” he asked, and she laughed. An evil sound. Almost as evil sounding as Jameson's.
“Alone enough,” she replied, letting her eyes slowly trail over his body. She hadn't exercised her slutty-flirting muscles in a while, but they seemed to be working just fine – the man sat up straighter, adjusted the tie he was wearing.
“Interesting answer. May I ask what you are working on?” he questioned, leaning towards her napkin. Tate laughed again.
“I am working on a revenge plan,” she answered coyly. He raised his eyebrows.
“And why are you seeking revenge?” he asked. She sighed.
“Because, people I trusted did something bad to me. Continually. I think it's time for payback,” she replied. It was almost surreal, the conversation she was having. Of course, her life was surreal. Tate was pretty sure her brain had gone on vacation, possibly permanently.
“Ah, oui, of course,” the man chuckled, and it was clear he thought she was joking. “So what is your plan, ma chère?”
“Well, to give them a taste of their own medicine, of course! I'm going to do to them what they did to me,” she told him, laughing again.
“And what, exactly, did these people do?” he asked for clarification.
“One of them lied to me, a lot. Then slept with my sister, a lot. This person has already slept with me,” she explained, picking up her drink, playing with the straw with her tongue. His eyes followed the movement.
Still got it.
“Oh, that's horrible, ma chère. And the other people?” he asked. Tate cleared her throat.
“Obviously, my sister needs to pay.”
“And then there's Satan,” she added.
“I'm sorry. Did you say 'Satan'?” he repeated her. She laughed.
“Oh yes. I'm involved in a very interesting relationship with the devil. You see, he won't leave me alone. He likes to play these games, where he tells me one thing, gets me to believe he's a good person, then he pulls the rug out from underneath me. He's the worst,” she finished.