“It's already bad enough that I had to live it, I don't need you making me feel worse about it.”
“I wasn't going to make you feel bad about it,” he told her. Tate laughed and finally glanced up at him.
“You love to make me feel bad,” she replied. He took a step closer, so he was almost touching her. Flames almost burning her.
“And you used to love it when I made you feel bad, but this isn't one of those times.”
Tate couldn't handle it. Just couldn't take it anymore. She choked on a sob and turned around, walking away from him. He didn't follow, but that didn't surprise her. Jameson Kane never did anything he didn't want to do.
It took her a couple hours of milling around, but eventually Tate calmed down. She sat in a little cafe, wondering what she should do with herself. She felt kind of silly. It was pretty hard to run away, when all a person had was the shirt on her back. Sanders had taken all of her stuff onto the boat, including her purse. Her wallet, passport, cash, everything, was on Jameson's goddamn yacht. All she had was the little bit of money in her pocket, which wasn't much, after the coffee and sandwich she had bought herself.
But even if she'd had her stuff, it wasn't like Tate could just fly home. He was very clever, Mr. Kane. This wasn't like his party, she couldn't just drive off in a drunken rage. She was stuck in another country. Her Spanish wasn't very good, and even if she could make it to the airport, she was pretty positive she couldn't afford a last minute, one-way ticket to Boston.
Sanders had to have known how she would react, so it was safe to assume he wouldn't just buy her a plane ticket at the first sign of tears. No, he had probably prepared himself for this little episode. It was also probably the reason why no one had come looking for her. Tate had stormed away from the boat around eleven that morning. It was after five o'clock at night, the sun was beginning to go down.
She was exhausted. She didn't want to fight with anyone. She didn't want to feel so upset anymore, so emotionally charged all the time. In a way, the whole situation reminded her of the time Jameson tricked her into visiting her parents. Tate had hated it at the time, had hated him. But in the end, it had been a huge act of closure for her. Maybe that's what this trip could be, closure. She'd been a bundle of nerves, wondering and worrying about Jameson. Now that problem was solved.
She could move on; she could get on with her life.
By the time she found her way back to the marina, the sun had almost completely set. There was just a burnt orange line on the horizon, surrounded by a heavy blue. It suited her mood. She wandered down a couple docks before she found the right one, and then made her way towards his boat.
Tate had to admit, she was very impressed. It wasn't the largest boat in the harbor, but it was one of the sleeker looking ones. The exterior of the boat was white – of course – with black lining and piping. The boat on the other side of the sleeve was a sharp looking speed boat, obviously a mate to the larger yacht, as it was done in the same style and colors.
She was just standing there, staring up at his boat, when she heard a whistle. Tate turned in a circle, looking for the source, when it came again. She finally spotted it. A man, leaning over the rail of a ridiculously huge yacht, was whistling at her. She slowly made her way down to him. She could hear that some sort of huge party was going on inside the boat.
“Are you lost?” the man asked in a heavy British accent. Tate shook her head.
“No, I just found it,” she assured him, gesturing back to Jameson's boat. The guy whistled again.
“A guest of Mr. Kane's! Outstanding. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him personally, yet. Would you care to come on board for a drink? We're having a pre-pre-pre-New Year's party,” he laughed.
Tate laughed as well, and was about to decline, when she stopped herself. Why couldn't she say yes? It wasn't like she really wanted to be on Jameson's boat. And she hadn't been to a party, a real party, in forever.
It's not like there's somewhere else I'd rather be.
“Why not? Sounds like fun.”
Sanders was practically going out of his mind with worry. He wasn't saying anything, but Jameson could tell. The younger man would fidget. Adjust his tie, adjust a vase, adjust a chair. Adjust, adjust, adjust. Pace from one end of the boat to the other. Adjust some more stuff. When Jameson couldn't take it anymore, he went to go get her.
I have never chased after a woman in my life, and now it feels like I spend most of my time chasing after Tatum O'Shea …
But she was worth it. Jameson could admit that, now.
The last time he had seen her, Tate had been in the hospital, looking damaged and broken. Something he had smashed on the ground under his foot. So sad. Seeing her walking down the dock, smiling, laughing, looking almost like her old self, had been wonderful. He wasn't prone to sentimentality or romanticism, but she was like sunshine. And Jameson's life was very dark.
Of course, the sunshine hadn't lasted long. Tate had been very upset when she realized he was behind everything. He had expected that, of course. She had run away, and he had expected that, too. But without any money or her passport, he hadn't expected her to be gone for so long. It was after nine o'clock at night. It was dark out. Where in the hell could she have gone? What could she be doing?
Jameson stood between his two boats for a few moments, contemplating where she would go. Once upon a time, she had been a very smooth operator. She was looking much more like a Stepford-wife now, but Tate might just still have it in her to talk her way into a free hotel room.