The Kane Series Boxset

by Stylo Fantome

  “So he's still sexy, huh? Gonna hit that?” Ang asked, rolling right behind her. She laughed.

  “Um, no. Don't think so. I think one time was plenty, thank you. The things he said to me ...” she let her voice trail off as they sashayed to the left.

  “Get you so hot, you're probably soaking wet right now,” Ang finished for her, and she burst out laughing. The woman behind them huffed, but didn't say anything.

  “You're so disgusting,” Tate snorted at him, brushing sweaty hair away from her forehead. Stupid as she felt, Zumba was one hell of a workout.

  “I'm not the one getting off in the middle of a gym full of middle-aged women. Oh my god, you really are, aren't you? I can tell, come here,” Ang said, and broke out of the line to grab at her. She burst out laughing, slapping his hands away. They stumbled to the left, Ang digging his fingers into her waist and hips. She laughed uncontrollably, trying to skip away from him.

  “Excuse me! We are in the middle of a lesson!” the instructor barked out over the microphone. Ang rolled his eyes.

  “C'mon, we can do this at home with techno music and vodka, let's blow this place,” he said in a loud voice, swinging an arm around Tate's shoulders and dragging her away from the floor.

  “We probably won't be allowed back, you realize,” she pointed out.

  “Who cares? There's a ton of other places. Shower?” he asked, stopping in front of the locker rooms.

  “Yeah, I feel disgusting. Meet you in fifteen,” she said, but he started bustling after her through the women's door. She laughed and put a hand against his chest.

  “What? If you're all randy from Mr. Angry-Fucker, I think I should get to benefit,” Ang said with a serious face. She snorted.

  “I am not randy, and I don't think so,” she laughed, pushing at him.

  “Oh c'mon, sweetie, it'll be quick. You always love it,” he begged, pouting out his bottom lip. She put both hands on his chest.

  “I'll take a rain check.”

  He let up when a disgruntled looking soccer-mom shoved her way out past them. Tate crossed her eyes at him and then danced off into the locker room. Gathering her shower stuff together, she headed under the spray.

  She had met Angier at a frat party, five years ago. Her rebellious phase had been in full swing. Streaks of color in her hair, way too much eye makeup – she might have even had her eyebrow pierced. It was the first night Tate had ever tried coke, and she had felt like a live wire, running around the building. She wanted to talk to everyone, meet everyone. Ang had cornered her. A lanky six-foot-four topped with light brown hair and striking gray eyes, he was very good looking. She had thought he was going to hit on her, but he had something else in mind.

  He had asked her if she would be interested in doing a porno with him.

  Tate had thought it was a joke at first, but he had been very serious. She had a great body, he told her. Perfect smile, good teeth. Great for porn. She politely declined. He had shrugged it off, but then invited her to come to a taping, get a “feel” for it, maybe. It was one of the most surreal moments she'd ever had with another person.

  They had been best friends ever since.

  Tate never got into porn, but Ang swore by it. He did gay, straight, “selfie” porn – he would do pretty much anything. He explained that although he was straight, for the right price he could be just about anything someone wanted him to be; she knew that feeling, having been desperate for money in those days. Since she wouldn't do porn, he taught her the ways of coupon clipping.

  After a drunken night at a wine tasting – free, of course – they slept together for the first time. Ang came the closest, of anyone she had ever been with, to making her feel the way Jameson had made her feel. And best of all, he didn't have any expectations of her. Sex was just sex to Ang. Almost like exercising. Something that had to be done to stay healthy, and it felt super good – bonus! But it didn't really mean anything to him beyond that, which made it easy to be with him. He was also a total freak, so she never felt bad about her own preferences, the way she sometimes did with other men. Ang was like a security blanket. A sexy, naughty, deviant, security blanket.

  “What's taking you so long?” Ang's voice boomed through the locker room while Tate held her head under a hand dryer. A couple ladies shrieked, but Tate just laughed. She righted herself, ran her fingers through her black locks, then grabbed her stuff, hurrying out to meet him.

  “I'm a girl, I take longer to look presentable,” she pointed out.

  “What, exactly, looks presentable about you?” he asked, and she elbowed him in the stomach.

  “Shut up.”

  “So,” he began as they pushed their way outside. “Seriously. Are you going to see him again?”

  “No. I mean, why would I? Unless he needs a waiter at his firm, I don't think I'll be hearing from him,” Tate replied, bouncing her gym bag off her knees.

  “So. You could call him, you know where he works,” Ang pointed out. She scrunched up her nose.

  “Why on earth would I want to call him?”

  “Because you still think about him,” Ang replied, and she barked out a laugh.

  “I do not. I told you, I didn't even recognize him at first,” she reminded him. Ang shook his head.

  “But you compare every guy you're with to him. I've pulled some of my best moves on you – remember the swing!? – and I still don't stack up,” he said. She stopped laughing.

  “I do not. You're amazing, you know that.”

  “Well, duh, but I can tell. I'm good at these things – have to be, in my line of work. I'm pretty good, I can tell I'm one of your faves, but I'm not him,” he finished. She frowned. She didn't like this subject. She did not compare every guy to Jameson Kane.

  Did she?

  How could she? She'd only slept with him once. Surely he hadn't left that big of an impression on her.

  She had to change the channel.

  “If you're so good at sizing sex up, how do I stack up against all the people you've slept with? It's not really fair, I have to compete with both sexes – twice the competition,” Tate joked.

  “Bitch, please. If I could find a woman who fucks like you, and would let me actually film it and sell it for money, I would marry her,” Ang said with a straight face. She laughed.

  “That's what I like to hear.”

  He walked her up to her apartment and stayed for a little while, making flirty comments at Rusty. It wasn't right, Rus had a huge crush on him. Tate had tried to explain to her that Ang didn't really date, wasn't looking for a relationship, but it didn't stop Rus from hoping. Tate was beginning to think she'd have to share some of her and Ang's dirtier stories, in hopes of scaring her roommate off from him. Rus was a sweetheart – sex swings and ball gags probably weren't her thing.

  “Oh! I forgot, you left your cell phone here – it rang a whole bunch,” Rus said, after Ang had danced out the door. Tate grabbed the phone off the table, squinting at the screen. It was the temp agency she worked for – a new job? Score. She called them back.

  “Hi, Tatum, how are you?” the temp agency manager, Carla, breathed down the phone line.

  “Super dooper. You called me, like eight times? What's up?” Tate asked, rifling through a bowl of of mixed nuts and goodies.

  “I've got a job for you, if you're interested!” Carla breathed.

  “Sure. What is it?” Tate said around a mouthful of food.

  “A law firm downtown is having a conference. Their regular assistant is sick and they have an important meeting with a client tomorrow afternoon. You won't have to perform her normal duties, just show up for the meeting and serve water, muffins, that kind of stuff. Quick and easy,” Carla's voice got even breathier.

  How does she talk like that? Did she take lessons?

  “Sounds like my kind of job. What should I wear?” Tate asked.

  “Business attire. If you have a dress that works, that would be great, but a skirt, or trousers, and button down blouse wou
ld be fine. Be there at one o'clock sharp, okay?” Breathy McBreather breathed.

  “Sure, sure. Where is it at?”

  “Um ...” Carla prattled off the address, her voice barely a whisper. “And make sure you're on time. They made a big deal out of that. They requested you especially, you know.”

  Tate choked on an almond.

  “Me!? Why me?” she managed to cough out.

  “I don't know. Said they'd seen your work. I guess you did a really great job! One o'clock, remember!” Carla's breathy voice almost sang.

  “Remembered.”

  Tate stared down at her phone after she'd ended the call. She could kinda remember temping for a lawyer, but it wasn't like she'd done anything amazing. At least she didn't think so. She wasn't even sure if it was for the same law firm, but maybe it was; maybe her filing skills were super impressive. Legendary. Maybe she'd blown the guy. Who knows.

  Oh well. A job was a job. She wandered into her room and spent the next hour digging through her closet, seeing if she had anything that fit the bill.

  ~3~

  Jameson Kane stood in front of his desk, staring down at a file folder. Tatum O'Shea's file from the temp agency stared back up at him. It had taken him forever to find which temp agency she even worked for – and then he had paid a hefty price for a copy of her file.

  Over the years, he'd thought about her occasionally, but not enough to ask about her to anyone. The sex had been mind blowing. A young, twenty-three year old at the time, he had just been discovering the kind of man he was; he'd been dating Ellie for two years, and hadn't quite yet had the chance to fully explore his sexual appetites.

  He had slept with other people, multiple times, but he never cheated – Ellie always knew, beforehand and afterwards. He had tried to break up with her, several times, but then the screaming would start. The crying. The begging. Then threatening. The Kanes and the O'Sheas were close friends. Did he really want to jeopardize that?

  After two years together, Jameson had finally begun to realize he didn't care if he jeopardized anything. He was going to end things with Eloise O'Shea. Move away from Harrisburg, go back to school, something. Head to Manhattan. Just get away from everything. He was bored with everything, bored with his life. He needed something different. He just had to figure out what it was, and how to go about getting it.

  Then Tatum had walked into his apartment. He had developed a sort of hard on for Tate. Eloise's younger sister had always been a sex bomb waiting to happen. Leggy and tone, with chocolate eyes and a sexy body, he'd had more than a couple fantasies about her. But she was off limits. Too young, and too naive; not to mention the whole dating-her-sister thing.

  Yet in the end, none of that had stopped him.

  She'd come apart under his hands. Like clay. He had felt like he could mold her. Do anything he wanted to her. Say anything he wanted to her. Every word that crossed his lips, no matter what she'd said in response, she'd just gotten hotter. Needier. Pretty incredible. If Ellie hadn't come home when she had, he was pretty sure Tate never would've made it out the door. Ellie would've walked in on them in action.

  Sometimes Jameson wondered how different things would have turned out, if that had happened.

  He moved away almost immediately after the break up, didn't bother to keep in contact with the O'Sheas. His father died not long after, and Jameson pretty much filled his role in the world. Stocks and bonds. Acquisitions. Silent partnerships in a lot of businesses. On top of that, he inherited the family fortune. Jameson had more money than he knew what to do with – but that didn't mean he slacked off. He went above and beyond his father, was bolder, made more money, more connections. Garnered worldwide attention for his knack for making a profit.

  He owned homes in Manhattan, Copenhagen, Rio – and now Boston. He dated supermodels and went to red carpet premieres. He had women falling at his feet. Life was pretty damn near perfect.

  But then he had seen Tatum in that kitchen, and time had shifted. In the flash of an instant, he was back in his old apartment, talking so mean to her. Watching her cry. Watching her moan. He had to admit it, she had been a pretty powerful moment in his life. Profound.

  She looked so different. Her curves had filled out a little more, but she still had the same tone frame he remembered. He would kill to see what her ass looked like now. Her dark hair had been pulled up into a messy ponytail, making him think of sex. Her eye makeup had been dark and smudged, making him think of more sex. Her sarcastic smile and smart mouth were a complete one-eighty from the girl he had known before; this woman was a new creature. And he wanted to find out exactly what kind.

  ~4~

  Tatum plucked at her shirt in a nervous manner. She had tucked it into a tight pencil skirt and even put on a pair of sling back stilettos. If someone had personally requested her, she wanted to make an effort to look nice. She had blown out her hair and put curls in the ends, and toned down her make up. Even she had to admit it, she looked presentable.

  For once.

  Men in expensive business suits began to file into the conference room and she stood still, giving a polite smile to everyone who entered. A team of lawyers was meeting with their client. Six chairs were lined up on one side of a long table, with just a single chair on the other side.

  Tate had been positioned at the back of the room, next to a sideboard filled with goodies and coffee and water. She fussed about, straightening napkins and setting up the glasses. When all six chairs were filled on the one side, she stared at their backs, wondering who the big shot was that got to stare them all down. The person who would be facing her. A door at the back of the room swung open and her breath caught in her threat.

  Holy. Shit.

  Jameson Kane strode into the room, only offering a curt smile to his lawyers. His eyes flashed to her for just a second, then he looked back. His smile became genuine and he tipped his head towards her, almost like a bow.

  She gaped back at him, positive that her mouth was hanging open. What was he doing there!? Had he known she would be there? Had he been the one to request her? Impossible, he didn't know what temp agency she worked for – but what would be the chances? She hadn't seen him in seven years, and now twice in two days.

  Tate felt like swallowing her tongue.

  “Gentlemen,” Jameson began, seating himself across from the lawyers. “Thanks for meeting with me today. Would anyone care for any coffee? Water? The lovely Ms. O'Shea will be helping us today.” He gestured towards Tate, but no one turned around. Several people asked for coffee. Jameson asked for water, his smile still in place. It was almost a smirk. Like he knew something she didn't.

  She began to grind her teeth.

  She delivered everyone's drinks, then carried around a tray of snacks. No one took anything. She moved to the back of the room, refilled the water pitcher. Tidied up. Felt Jameson staring at her.

  This is ridiculous. You're Tatum O'Shea. You eat boys for breakfast.

  But thinking that made her remember when he had said something very similar to her, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks.

  She was pretty much ignored the whole time. They all argued back and forth about what business decisions Jameson should, or shouldn't, make. He was very keen on dismantling struggling companies and selling them off. They tried to curb his desires. His tax lawyer explained how his tax shelter in Hong Kong was doing. Another lawyer gave him a run down on property law in Switzerland. Tate tried to hide her yawns.

  They took a five minute break after an hour had passed. Tate had her back to the room, rearranging some muffins on a tray, when she felt the hair on the back of her neck start to stand up. She turned around in slow motion, taking in Jameson as he walked up to her.

  “Surprised?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “Very. Did you ask for me?” she questioned. He nodded.

  “Yes. You ran away so quickly the other night. I wanted to get reacquainted,” he explained. She laughed.

  “Maybe I didn'
t,” she responded. He shrugged.

  “That doesn't really matter to me. What are you doing tonight?” he asked. She was a little caught off guard.

  “Are you asking me out, Kane?” she blurted out. He threw back his head and laughed.

  “Oh god, still a little girl. No. I don't ask people out. I was asking what you were doing tonight,” Jameson replied.

  She willed away the blush she felt coming on. He still had the ability to make her feel so stupid. She had been through so much since him, come so far with her esteem and her life. It wasn't fair that he could still make her feel so small. She wanted to return the favor. She cleared her throat.

  “I'm working.”

  “Where?”

  “At a bar.”

  “What bar?”

  “A bar you don't know.”

  “And tomorrow night?”

  “Busy.”

  “And the night after that?”

  “Every night after that,” Tate informed him, crossing her arms. He narrowed his eyes, but continued smiling.

  “Surely you can find some time to meet up with an old friend,” he said. She shook her head.

  “We were never friends, Kane,” she pointed out. He laughed.

  “Then what is it? Are you scared of me? Scared I'll eat you alive?” he asked. She stepped closer to him, refusing to be intimidated.

  “I think you're the one who should be scared. You don't know me, Kane. You never did. And you never will,” she whispered. Jameson leaned down so his lips were almost against her ear.

  “I know what you feel like from the inside. That's good enough for me,” he whispered back. Tate stepped away. She felt like she couldn't breathe. He did something to her insides.

  “You, and a lot of other people. You're not as big a deal as you think,” she taunted. It was a complete lie, but she had to get the upper hand back. He smirked at her.

  “That sounds like a challenge to me. I have to defend my honor,” he warned her. She snorted.