“Sounds good to me. We could -,” he started, but he was interrupted. The library door swung open. Tate didn't have to look to know it was Sanders. It was strange - he walked in and out of rooms without knocking, all the time, but he never seemed intrusive. She hardly even noticed him. She kept staring at Jameson, who gripped her neck even tighter. She took shallow breaths through her nose.
“Tokyo, sir. The eight o'clock meetings,” Sanders' even voice carried over the room. Jameson sighed and finally looked her in the eye. She smiled at him.
“Gotta go, baby girl. No rest for the wicked,” he told her, before letting her go. He leaned in quick and kissed her throat before getting to his feet.
“Gonna be a while?” she asked. He nodded.
“Probably. You know where the kitchen is, or you can go up to my room. If you need anything, just ask Sanders,” Jameson instructed, looking back and forth between the two of them. Tate gave him the biggest smile she could manage. Sanders stared at the wall.
“Got it. Go make my money,” she told Jameson. He snorted.
“That's not even funny.”
He strode out of the room and Tate stayed as she was for a moment, looking after him. Then she sighed and sat all the way up. Sanders was still standing in the room, still staring at a wall. She looked him over.
“Got a hot date tonight, Sandy?” she asked. She loved to tease him. She would crack him some day.
“No, Ms. O'Shea,” was all he said.
“You look awfully nice tonight. New suit?” she pressed. He cleared his throat.
“No, Ms. O'Shea.”
“Are you ever going to call me Tate, like I asked you to?”
“Probably not, Ms. O'Shea.”
She had an idea. She got the impression that Sanders and Jameson virtually never left the house, unless it was to go to Jameson's office. Not right. Jameson hadn't ever asked to go back to her place, or taken her anywhere fancy. Tate loved every second she spent alone with him, but she didn't want to be someone's dirty laundry, either.
“Do you have any newspapers, Sandy?” she asked, climbing to her feet.
“Several. Which would you prefer, New York Times? LA Times?” he listed them off.
“Just Boston papers, any you got. And any weekly periodicals you have,” she added, running her hands over her legs to shake off any carpet dust. She was standing in front of Sanders only wearing knee high socks, boy-briefs style underwear, and a tight white tank top. She should probably feel bad, she didn't like to make people feel uncomfortable – but if Sanders was uncomfortable, he didn't show it. If anything, he looked bored.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“Just that. Hurry back, it gets lonely in here,” she teased him. He rolled his eyes and headed out of the library. She laughed and then went over to the fireplace, determined to figure out how to turn it down.
*
Jameson strode back in to his library just over two hours later, and was in for a little shock. The fire was much smaller, and the over head lights were turned on – he almost never used them, himself. Tate was sitting cross legged in the middle of his floor, surrounded by newspapers and clippings. She was cutting something out of one of the papers, the tip of her tongue visible at the corner of her mouth.
Almost cute.
“What are you doing?” he asked, striding through the mess of papers.
She looked up at him and broke in to a big smile. He had to steel himself against it. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get too comfortable with her, and Jameson tried to make it a habit to never get too comfortable.
“Coupon clipping!” Tate responded in an excited voice.
“Excuse me?”
“When I first met Ang,” she started. He had never met the man, but Jameson already kind of hated her best friend. “I was really desperate for money. My jobs sucked, I was a shitty waitress. Scraping the bottom of the barrel. Ang showed me how far coupons can get you. He goes on Groupon all the time, too. We get in to places free, get all kinds of free food, and free swag. It's pretty awesome.”
“'Awesome.' Why are you doing that here, now?” Jameson pressed. She smiled up at him again, only this time it was a devilish smile. That was the smile he liked, the one he wanted to slap off her face.
“Because I'm taking you out on the city, mister. You and Sanders. We're gonna go out, and you're gonna live like a real urban-ite for a day,” she informed him. He laughed.
“There is no fucking way I am ever fucking doing that, so get that out of your fucking mind, right fucking now,” he suggested. She shook her head.
“Oh, you're going to do it, and afterwards we're going to a dinner party. I had already agreed to go to dinner at a friend's house. You can come with me,” she told him. He scowled.
“And if I don't go?” he asked. Tate shrugged.
“Not that big of a deal. We can just officially declare you the king of all pussies. And not in the good way. You don't have to go, I can go as Ang's date,” she assured him.
“I guess I'm going to a fucking dinner on the bad side of Boston. You get two hours, no more,” he told her. She laughed.
“You hear that Sandy, you're getting out of here!” she called out. Jameson hadn't even realized the other man was in the room – he was in for another shock. Sanders was behind the desk, snipping and cutting away at a newspaper, as well.
“Sounds exhilarating. If no one requires my services anymore, I'm going to get back to work,” Sanders said, getting up from his seat. Jameson nodded.