Gold – Neon Hitch ft. Tyga
The Kane Trilogy
DEGRADATION
Available Now
If you haven't met Jameson Kane yet, read below for a sneak peek …
~Prologue~
She had come over to their apartment just to drop off some boxes of stuff for her sister, Eloise - Ellie. Tatum had just turned eighteen and was moving to her own apartment in downtown Boston. She had been in a dorm room for her first semester at Harvard, but her parents didn't “approve” of her roommate, so her father had rented her an apartment off campus. When Tate's father said jump, all she was ever allowed to say was “how high?”, so, she was moving.
Her sister Ellie was four years older, and they had never gotten along very well. About two years ago, Ellie had started dating Jameson Kane – Kane, as just about everyone called him. The relationship was strange to Tate; Ellie and Jameson seemed more like acquaintances than people who slept with each other, but who was she to judge? She didn't even really like her own boyfriend.
Tate didn't really know what to make of Jameson. He was so good looking, it was probably illegal. She worried if she looked at him too long, she'd go blind. He was also very smart – he had graduated early from Yale with an MBA, and was taking some time off to review his job prospects. He came from old money, his father was some sort of big wig on Wall Street, and the talk was that Jameson would follow in his footsteps.
In the two years he had been dating her sister, Jameson hadn't seemed to take much notice of Tate. He ignored her, treated her with indifference. When he had to deal with her, it was almost like an after thought, like he had forgotten she existed. He was tall, and handsome, and experienced, and smart. Tate was a brainy, naive, clueless girl, fresh out of high school, no real experience with the world or worldly people. He intimidated her.
It felt weird, showing up at Ellie's apartment without her being there. Jameson had let Tate in, and then pretty much ignored her. Such a gentleman. Tate had to haul several heavy boxes from the parking lot to the building, and then down a long hall to their apartment, all by herself. When she got to the last box, she dropped it by their bed, huffing and puffing.
“Did you want me to help?” Jameson asked, appearing in the doorway. Tate whirled around, startled.
“No, that was the last box,” she replied, straightening out her cardigan. He always made her feel nervous. His eyes wandered over her face.
“You look really red. Want something to drink?” he asked. She felt herself turn even redder than she apparently already was; she was never prepared for his blunt manners.
“If you have any tea, that would be great,” she replied, then followed him to the kitchen. She thought he was going to pour it for her, but he just gestured to the fridge.
“I don't know what Ellie has in there, lots of health food shit. Dig around,” he offered. She made a face at his back.
“Water is fine,” she told him, then just filled a glass from the tap.
“So. New apartment, all alone in a big city. You ready?” he asked. She nodded and turned to face him. His piercing blue eyes were wandering over her face and she resisted the urge to wipe at her skin. Was she dribbling water down her chin?
“As I'll ever be, I guess. I'm pretty self-reliant, so I think I'm ready,” she replied, taking delicate sips of her drink. He chuckled.
“C'mon, you look like you're dying. Let's sit down, you can chug it,” he offered, leading her to a table. He even shocked her by pulling out a chair for her.
“Thanks,” Tate said, before following his instructions and downing the water in a few gulps. Without asking, he pulled the glass from her hands and refilled it before sitting down across from her.
“Don't you have like a boyfriend, or something? Is he in Boston?” Jameson asked, sliding her glass back across the table. She shook her head.
“No, Drew stayed in state,” she replied.
“You guys have been going out for a while – how is it, being in a long distance relationship?” he asked. She was surprised at the question. Jameson never cared about anything she did.
“We've been together three years, but I don't know how long it's gonna last. He didn't want me to go to Harvard, wanted me to just follow him to Penn State. We argued about it a lot. He wants to try to work it out, but I think it's just time to get over it. Move on. We're in college now, I don't have time for that kind of crap,” she let it all spill out. Jameson raised an eyebrow.
“Wow, very mature approach. How old are you again?” he asked. Tate rolled her eyes.
“You've known me for two years, Jameson, and you can't even remember my age?” she responded with a question. He shrugged.
“I don't think I even know Ellie's age. How old?” he pressed.
“I just turned eighteen, two weeks ago. How could you not know Ellie's age? You've been together for so long,” Tate pointed out. He shrugged again.
“I don't pay attention to things like that. So what are you going to school for?” he asked. Tate had to stop herself from pointing out, again, that he should already know these things – it had been discussed, many times, in front of him. She had never realized it before, but he was kind of self centered. Arrogant.
“Political science,” she said.
“We'll see how long that lasts. Go into economics, more money,” he told her. She narrowed her eyes.
“I'm not doing it for money,” she replied.
“Then you're stupid.”
“You're kind of a dick,” she blurted out, shocking herself. She wasn't prone to foul language most of the time, or being rude. She had just done both. He didn't seem bothered, though; he burst out laughing.
“You're just now realizing that?”
Tate smiled. He had a nice laugh, and a sexy smile. She could feel herself blushing. She could remember the first time Ellie had brought him home. Tate had developed a crush on him the instant she'd seen him – tall, dark hair, bright blue eyes, killer smile; what girl wouldn't fall head over heels in love with him at first sight? But it had never gone beyond that, she knew Jameson was so far out of her league, she wasn't even visible to him. She didn't waste too much time fantasizing about him.
But now, sitting across the table from him, she felt herself getting hot under her sweater.
“Well, yeah, you never talk to me,” she pointed out.
“I talk to you.”
“When?”
“Excuse me?”
“When do you talk to me? When was the last time you talked to me?” Tate asked. He thought for a second, looking up at the ceiling.
“I asked if you were okay, after your dog died,” he replied, smiling at her.
“That was last year,” she told him. Jameson started laughing again.
“Hey, at least I remembered,” he pointed out. She found herself laughing as well.
“I guess that's something. Doesn't matter anyway, I'll be gone – no more awkward, silent family dinners to go to, thank god. You and Ellie will be on your own,” she warned him.
“Well, you'll have to come back sometimes.”
“No,” she shook her head, “I won't. I've decided, I'm not coming back till I'm done with school, if then. I'm trying to get through a masters program in four years, or less.”
“Wow. Hell of a challenge, baby girl. You think you're up for that?” he asked. She shivered at his use of “baby girl”, he had never called her that before – never called her anything. She cleared her throat.
“I think I'm up for anything I set my mind to,” she responded. He smiled.
“Good answer. Would you like a drink? Ellie should be home any minute, we could crack something open and have it ready for her,” he suddenly asked, getting out of his chair. Tate held up her glass.
“I have water right here,” she pointed out. He laughed as he pulled a bottle out of a cupboard.
“I meant a real drink, Tate. Seeing as how I've apparently 'never' talked to you, I guess now is a good time to give you some congratulation
s. I'm assuming I never did that, right?” he asked, holding a bottle of champagne in his hand. She laughed.
“No, you weren't even at my graduation. And maybe just one glass,” she replied, pushing the water she'd been drinking out of the way.
Having been too busy with school and all her extra classes, Tate had never been a party girl. No crazy parties and almost no experience with alcohol. Some champagne at Christmas with Granny O'Shea at the O'Shea farm in the Hamptons was about it. But she didn't want Jameson to know that – she wanted to seem mature, like a girl who had champagne all the time. It was silly, but she couldn't help it.
They polished off the first bottle, discussing politics and the current economic situation in the country. He disagreed vehemently with most of her views, but he never got heated or upset. He managed to get under her skin, though, and she found herself arguing just to get a rise out of him, but he was impossible to rile up. The champagne loosened her up a little, and she was a lot bolder with her opinions; or at least, more so than usual.
“No more after this, baby girl needs to be presentable for her family tomorrow,” Jameson said, taking out a second bottle. She made a face at him.
They drank and chatted some more. Ellie texted him that she would be late. She was a paralegal, and her hours were all over the place. Tate was fine with that, she never felt comfortable around her sister. Ellie was tall and beautiful, with dark blonde hair that was always done up in just the perfect style. She was always wearing the most stylish clothing.
Tate was average height, with dark hair, almost black, and she had never paid attention to what was stylish, just wore what her mother bought for her. She was intimidated by Ellie, plain and simple. That's why she was going into an accelerated program at Harvard – to beat Ellie. Ellie was the golden child, the favorite child. Tate had always had to work ten times harder, just to always fall slightly behind.
She wound up blabbering all that to Jameson. Then went onto tell him all about her boyfriend Drew, whom he couldn't remember ever having met, even though he had – several times. How boring Drew was, how he always wanted to tell her what to do, but he never wanted to do anything. Jameson nodded and listened to her prattle, sliding the champagne out of her reach.
“You're pretty funny, Tate. I never knew,” he chuckled. She rolled her eyes, shrugging out of her cardigan.
“Shocking. No one ever notices me, not when Ellie's around,” she snorted, pulling her hair into a ponytail. He raised an eyebrow.
“I wouldn't say that, Ellie's not as great as you make her out to be,” he told her.
“Pffft. She looks like what would happen if Cindy Crawford and Christy Turlington had a baby,” Tate pointed out.
“You're pretty, too.”
“You have to say that, you're her boyfriend. You have to be nice to me.”
“No I don't. I'm hardly ever nice, and I almost never lie. You're an attractive girl, you just have bad self esteem, and worse taste in men,” he informed her. She shrugged.
“Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that Ellie is still better in most peoples eyes,” she replied, fiddling with the stem of her champagne glass. Jameson leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
“I wouldn't say that. From a technical stand point, if we're being completely honest, I would have to say that you're much sexier than your sister,” he told her.
She didn't breathe for a moment. Did Jameson Kane really just say that to her? Or was it the champagne? She glanced at him, and he was staring right back at her, a small smile playing on his lips. She shook her head and shook off her nerves. No. He was just being nice. That had to be it – what kind of a guy would tell his girlfriend's sister that she was the sexier of the two? Not a very good guy, that's for sure.
“Whatever. It'll all be behind me in a couple weeks. It'll be like a new Tate, that's what I'm going for; Ellie can suck it,” Tate proclaimed, then abruptly hiccuped. Jameson burst out laughing.
“See, now that's funny. Your sister sucking something – would never happen,” he joked. Tate could feel her cheeks turning bright red.
“Gross,” she blurted out.
“Too much? I guess we're not that good of buddies yet,” he sighed.
“You shouldn't talk that way about your girlfriend, it's not very nice,” Tate told him. He shrugged.
“Sometimes she's not a very nice girlfriend,” he replied. Tate's eyes got wide as she had a realization.
“Are you going to dump my sister?”
“Now, why would you ask that?” Jameson responded, his smile gone as his eyes stared into her own.
“I don't know. Your voice, your attitude. Are you?” she pressed. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I shouldn't have given you champagne. I didn't know you'd turn into Nancy Drew,” he commented.
“Oh my god. You're gonna dump Ellie. You've been together for two years. She thinks you're gonna propose. She's gonna die,” Tate gushed, pressing a hand to her chest. His eyes narrowed.
“We haven't even talked about marriage, why would she think that? And I don't know what's going to happen with Ellie and I, we've got a lot to talk about; do not talk to her about this,” Jameson commanded, pointing a finger at Tate. She raised her hands.
“I go out of my way to not talk to her, I won't breathe a word. But can I ask why?” she pressed, reaching out for the champagne. Jameson didn't even notice, he was so lost in thought, so she poured herself another glass.
“I don't know. It's ... boring. Not exciting. Like you were saying about Drew. She wants this pre-programmed life, has everything decided for us. She knows what she's having for dinner next Tuesday, where we're going for the fourth of July, what we'll name our first child. She goes to bed at ten, gets up at six – I'm not allowed to touch her between those hours, I'm not even joking. I don't like being told what to do,” his voice got quiet towards the end. Tate nodded, taking a large swig of her champagne.
“Sounds like Ellie. Did you know, one time when she was mad at me, to get back at me, she got into my room and organized my closet? That was her idea of revenge,” she told him.
He burst out laughing, and that set Tate off. They both bent over, unable to breathe for how much they were laughing. It was hilarious, and it was totally true. Ellie was like OCD Barbie. Very pretty, and a little crazy.
“Oh my god, that sounds like her,” he chuckled. Tate nodded.
“I know! I've got a hundred more, she -,” Tate started, but she was gesturing with her glass, and champagne sloshed all over her front.
“Oh god, I knew this was going to happen,” Jameson shook his head, but he was laughing. Tate snorted, holding her wet shirt away from her chest.
“Then you shouldn't have given it to me,” she replied. He stood up.
“I tried to take it away. C'mon, I'm sure Ellie has something you can wear,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him. She got out of her chair.
“Oh no, she'll kill me, I'm not allowed to wear her stuff,” Tate told him, following him across the living room and back into the bedroom.
“Who cares? She owns so much shit, she'll never know. Just grab something, her stuff is in there,” he explained, pointing to a section of the wardrobe before walking back out of the room.
Tate stared into the wardrobe for a while, letting her eyes wander over the clothes. Everything Ellie owned was expensive; from a designer. From a young age, Tate had been taught not to touch. Jameson had just given her free reign. She snorted and dove in, yanking back the hangers. She laughed and pulled down a silk blouse – it looked ridiculously expensive.
Perfect.
She spun around and threw the shirt on the bed, stumbling as she did so. She didn't think she was drunk, but she was feeling a little light. Spinny. She laughed to herself, curling her fingers around the hem of her shirt and pulling the wet material up. She went to yank it over her head, but something happened. The shirt's tag got caught in a string of pearls she was wearing, w
hich then got tangled in her hair, and she was stuck with her arms in the air, struggling to pull the shirt one way or the other.
“Oh my god,” Tate laughed at herself, stepping back and forth.
She lost her footing and stumbled clear across the room. She rammed into something, a dresser, and moved so her butt was against it. She was really laughing now, struggling not to hyperventilate with the shirt covering her mouth. Her elbows were pinned above her head and she tried to reach the base of her neck with her fingers, arching her back. Her fingernails were just brushing the top of her spine when she heard something.
“What are you doing?”
She went stock still, her laughter dying. Jameson was in the room, and pretty close to her, judging by the sound of his voice. With her shirt up over her head, she was standing there in just her bra and khaki skirt.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
“Um, I got stuck,” Tate offered in a small voice. He chuckled, and he was even closer than before – right in front of her.
“Obviously. Help?” he asked. She managed to shake her head.
“No, I think I -,” she started, but then felt his fingers at the neck of the shirt. He pushed it up, exposing her mouth and nose, but then left it there. She took deep breaths.
“Are you drunk, Tate?” he asked, talking slowly. She shook her head again.
“No. I mean, I don't think so. I'm just stuck,” she replied. He gave a small chuckle and she felt him pulling at the neck of the shirt again. A couple tugs, and the strand of pearls broke. She could feel them running down her body, some catching in her bra while the rest clattered to the floor. The shirt came free from her head and Jameson pulled it away, holding it in his right hand. He was staring down at her. She struggled to control her breathing.
“You're very different from Ellie,” he told her in a quiet voice. She rubbed her lips together and nodded.
“I know,” she replied.
Tate knew she should move, should grab her shirt, do something to cover herself. Run for the bathroom. She should not be standing in front of her sister's boyfriend, only wearing a black lace bra. He dropped her shirt as his eyes wandered down her body, and she found that she was frozen to the spot, unable to move a single muscle.
My Time in the Affair Page 27
