~1~
“Something is wrong.”
“I am aware of this.”
“She's acting weird.”
“I am aware of this, as well,” Jameson sipped at his coffee, his eyes scanning the newspaper he was holding.
“Something happened, in Paris,” Ang continued pestering him.
“Yes, I think it might have something to do with you showing up with her sister in tow,” Jameson commented, flipping a page.
“Well ..., yeah, but not just that. Something else. Something is wrong,” Ang stressed.
“I am aware of all of this. I'm the one who goes home with her at night, you know,” Jameson reminded him. Ang grumbled, but didn't say anything.
He's becoming immune to me. Hmmm, I'll have to try harder.
“I may have fucked things up in Paris, but you fucked things up in her brain,” Ang finally retaliated. Jameson chuckled, turned another newspaper page.
“She seems to have gotten over that. In fact, she doesn't seem to be angry at me at all, anymore. So really, I'm not sure why I'm here. I've been benefiting from your little mistake every day since I got home,” Jameson said. Ang leaned over the table.
“You've been benefiting from me ever since you two started having sex – I'm the one who got to sleep with her for five years, you know,” Ang said in a mocking voice. Jameson finally glanced at him.
“Angier, it's hard to call dibs on her sexual prowess when I was there first,” he reminded him.
“Get fucked, Satan.”
“I have been – every day.”
“I hope you enjoy all the hard work I put into her, I -,”
“Can we please stop talking about her as if she is a car that both of you like to have sex with, thank you,” Sanders finally interrupted. Both men looked over at him.
Ang had called Sanders, asked to meet with him, to talk about Tate. Of course, Sanders had told Jameson. Jameson was not about to let either of them have any conversations about her without him, so he had invited himself to their little lunch meeting. Ang hadn't been too happy, but Jameson had to give it to him. Tate was Ang's main concern, so for her, he would tolerate being in the devil's presence.
“What is it, exactly, you would like me to do?” Jameson asked, sighing heavily. Ang leaned back in his chair.
“She doesn't listen to me anymore,” he started.
“You two go out, all the time,” Jameson pointed out. It was a fact that did not make him happy.
“Yeah, but she doesn't really talk anymore. We used to talk about everything. Now, it's all ..., fluff,” Ang tried to explain.
“What is fluff?” Sanders asked. Ang shrugged.
“You know, shit. Stuff. Nothing serious. She's fun, and she flirts, and she always wants to be doing something, and it's driving me nuts. I tried to talk to her about that day, in our hotel room, and she just acted like I hadn't even said anything. I get the feeling if I brought up her hospital stay, the same thing would happen,” he told them.
“So, what? You want me to ask her to relive some of the most emotionally painful moments in her life?” Jameson clarified. Ang snorted.
“Fuck off. I just want her to not be a robot anymore.”
Jameson blinked. It was a good description. A sexy robot, preprogrammed to say all the things she thought everyone wanted to hear. He glanced at Sanders, who was staring into his salad. Of the three of them, Sanders was probably the closest to her, emotionally. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be him.
“Sanders,” Jameson started. “Do you know what is going on with her?”
“No. I mean, she'll talk about those things with me. She doesn't act like a robot, at least not around me. But yes, she has been a little odd, ever since we got back. It's like she is trying to forget everything,” Sanders agreed.
“Do we want her to remember? I thought our goal was to get her to move one,” Jameson pointed out.
“That's not my goal,” Ang said. Jameson snorted.
“I don't give a shit what your goals are.”
“I -,”
“We want her to feel, sir. I think she is numbing herself, but that is just my opinion.”
“Well then. I guess it's up to me to make her feel something. If she wants to pretend like there's no history, then I'll remind her. Gentlemen,” Jameson dismissed himself, standing up abruptly. He threw some money on the table and walked away.
Always making me work, baby girl.
Paris had not ended well, for any of them. Sometime between storming out of Ang's hotel room and Jameson holding her, Tate had changed. A slight shift to the left. Or backwards. He couldn't quite tell. Either direction, it had been enough to throw him completely off guard, and he still felt like he hadn't gotten back on his feet yet.
She was mad at Ang. She felt betrayed by Ang. She was hurt that he had kept his relationship with Ellie a secret, and she was pissed that he had a relationship with her sister, period. Ellie and Tate had never exactly been friends. Ang was sleeping with a sworn enemy of sorts. It didn't matter that Ellie and Tate had made peace – it still wasn't okay, in Tate's eyes.
She didn't want to stay in Paris. Jameson wasn't surprised. She didn't want to stay in Europe at all. That surprised him – he had figured they would at least head back to Marbella, but she wanted to go home, back to Boston. He reminded her that he still had two weeks left in their little game. Two weeks to convince her to stay with him. She had informed him that it wasn't necessary. She wanted him to come home with her.