“I don't understand,” Tate started slowly, trying to keep her cool. “Singapore is like right next door. You could be there and back in a day. Why not just go to him?”
“Because I don't want to. I like it here.”
“So because you like it here, now Sanders and I have to be here with you. Indefinitely,” Tate clarified. Jameson nodded.
“I feel like we're stating the obvious here.”
“Then how come in Boston, you said -,”
“I don't give a shit what I said in Boston. Plans change, Tate. We're here now, and we're not going anywhere. Deal with it.”
Tate hated it when he talked to her like that; it was one thing to get nasty in bed. It was quite another during the light of day. He wouldn't appreciate it if she talked to him the same way. But she didn't say a word. She had long since learned that snapping back didn't work. A person couldn't fight fire with fire, not with Jameson. Calm was much more effective. She stared at him for a second longer, then sat back in her chair. Didn't say another word till they got to the hotel.
She continued not saying anything as they checked in, and didn't make a sound when they got to the room. A penthouse suite, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, living room, and wrap around balcony. She could tell he was waiting for her to say something, to comment on how nice the place was, but she didn't utter a word. After their luggage was delivered, she followed the concierge out. As she got on the elevator, Jameson stepped into the hallway, but he didn't say anything. Just glared at her as the doors slid shut.
Tatum loved Jameson, she really did, but sometimes she needed her space.
They were staying at the Four Seasons, which was right on the water. Tatum walked around for a little while. There had been heavy cloud cover when they'd landed, but they were starting to dissipate. As she walked along the ocean front, the sun beat down on her.
Tate knew she was kind of being a brat. For God's sake, she was walking on a beach in Hong Kong, when twenty-four hours before she had been in Boston, thinking she'd be spending a quiet weekend at home. She was with the man she planned on spending the rest of her life with, a man who still made her heart race and her panties melt. A lot of people would kill to be in her shoes.
But she still had the urge to fight against authority, and Jameson was about as authoritarian as they came. And it wasn't right, him dragging her off for weeks at a time, no matter what he said. They were in a relationship, they should be equals, but he seemed to forget that from time to time. Would just drag and pull her around, like she was his chihuahua. She didn't want to be a chihuahua. She wanted to be a rottweiler.
So I can bite him on the ass.
It was doubly stupid to be upset because she knew it was just in his nature. Every now and then, Jameson had to bang on his chest and act like the king of the jungle. Act like nothing and no one mattered to him, because he was just a bad ass. Whatever. Normally, she just let it run its course.
Something felt different about this time, though. The secrecy, the going behind her back. It seemed a lot more premeditated. Usually he just acted like an ogre and wouldn't let her leave the house or go to L.A., or something. This was a bit much. Talking to her employees? Flying her around the world? Not cute.
The sun was setting so Tate made her way back to the hotel. But she didn't want to go back to the room, not yet, so she made her way out to the pool area. She discovered a large hammock, strung between two palm trees, so she climbed in it. By the time she was comfortable, the sun had completely set and it was dark out.
Tate didn't know how long she had been laying there when she heard footsteps approaching. She sighed and didn't bother turning her head. She knew who it was; wondered what had taken him so long.
“Am I going to get yelled at if I bother you?” Jameson asked, stepping up next to the hammock.
“Eh. Too comfy to care right now. I'll work up the energy for it later,” she replied.
He gripped onto the netting and Tate braced the hammock while he slid into it opposite of her, parting his legs around her own. They swung a little bit, but didn't tip over, and soon he had her feet resting on his stomach. She settled back down, staring up at the sky.
“I wanted this to be a fun trip,” he finally broke the silence.
“Then maybe you should've included me in it, as opposed to just dragging me along,” Tate suggested.
“Maybe I wanted it to be a surprise,” he countered.
“Maybe I think it's not a very good surprise.”
“I can't read your mind, Tate.”
“No, hence why you should talk to me.”
He swallowed thickly and she could feel him working to control his anger.
“If I ask you to do me a favor, do you think you could suspend your brattiness for a little while and just humor me?” he finally asked. Tate snorted.
“Well, when you ask so sweetly …,”
“Just trust me. Okay? I have never made you do anything you didn't end up liking,” he pointed out.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” Tate laughed. “Remember that time you -,”
“Shut the fuck up, Tate.”
They laid in silence for a while. Jameson was once again massaging her feet, and she sighed, revelling in the feel of it. Two years ago, if someone had told her that Jameson Kane would be rubbing her feet for her, she would have laughed at them.
Just enjoy this trip. Do it for him. He does a lot for you.
“Jameson,” she whispered, after about ten minutes.