Reception (The Kane Series Book 5) Read online

  Reception

  STYLO FANTÔME

  Published by BattleAxe Productions

  Copyright © 2017

  Stylo Fantôme

  Cover Design:

  BattleAxe Productions

  Copyright © 2017

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  It is the copyrighted property of the author,

  and may not be reproduced, copied, re-sold, or re-distributed.

  If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it,

  or it was not purchased for your use only,

  then this copy must be destroyed.

  Please purchase a copy for yourself from a licensed seller.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To a friend of a friend who simply asked -

  “is there going to be a Jameson summer barbecue story?”

  It took me a couple years to actually think about it, but here you go.

  Reception

  The Kane Series

  1

  Jameson Kane rolled his head to one side, then sharply jerked it in the opposite direction.

  Crack!

  “Ah, thank god. I've been trying to do that since yesterday,” he grumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

  “I told you I could book you a massage. Several times,” Sanders pointed out.

  “Why pay money for something Tate will do for free? I swear, first thing when I get home, I'm going to lay down, then have her walk up and down my spine in a pair of five inch heels,” Jameson stated.

  “Sounds painful.”

  “Sounds delightful.”

  The car they were waiting for pulled up and he slid into the back seat, quickly followed by his sometimes-assistant. Jameson didn't think he would ever get used to it, sharing a back seat with Sanders. The young man had been driving him around for so many years, it was bizarre to suddenly shift.

  Sanders had resisted at first, when they met up in Switzerland for a business meeting and Jameson insisted on renting a car and a driver. The assistant could either sit in the back, or walk.

  After four days of walking, Sanders gave up and got in the backseat.

  “Why didn't Tatum meet us at the airport?” he asked, smoothing his tie as the car pulled away from the curb.

  “Because Tatum doesn't know we're here,” Jameson replied.

  “Pardon me?”

  “We're three days early. I wanted to surprise her.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but she hates surprises.”

  “I know.”

  “So why do you do this? It will just make everyone miserable.”

  “That's part of the fun,” Jameson grinned.

  It was a lengthy drive. Sanders made an attempt to work on his phone, but Jameson took it away, knowing the other man well enough to figure he'd try to warn Tate.

  “I can only stay for a week,” Sanders reminded him when they finally pulled onto the pebble lined driveway.

  “Yes, yes, you keep reminding me,” Jameson said.

  “Well, whenever you two want me to visit, it always turns into more. Hong Kong was only a year ago and it turned into a huge fiasco. I was gone for almost three weeks in the end,” Sanders reminded him.

  “Never gonna shut up about that, are you?”

  “Most likely not.”

  “Just enjoy the vacation,” Jameson snapped.

  The car came to a stop and the men climbed out. Sanders tipped the driver while Jameson went ahead and unloaded their bags. They had done so much traveling that they were now excellent packers – one suitcase a piece was more than enough for short business trips.

  “I don't see any cars, are you sure she's here?” Sanders asked, looking around as they climbed the steps to the house.

  “I'm sure. We sold the Bentley.”

  Sanders stopped moving.

  “You sold my car?”

  Jameson smiled.

  “Your car? Funny, I'm pretty sure I bought it. Besides, it's not like you're ever around to drive it anymore,” he pointed out, taking out his keys to unlock the front door.

  “But … but … that car …” Sanders stammered.

  “I'm joking. It's getting detailed, they'll deliver your precious baby later today.”

  “Forgive me for saying, sir, but you are not funny.”

  The house was quiet, which surprised Jameson. Usually when he got home from work, if Tate was already home, there was some sort of noise filling the house. The woman simply couldn't keep quiet. A TV blaring, music blasting, or even her just talking to herself while she attempted to cook.

  “Tate?” he called out, jogging up the stairs. Their bedroom was empty, as were the two guest rooms that flanked it. The bathroom was vacant, as well. Downstairs he found the gym, kitchen, and library in the same state.

  “In the back,” Sanders stated, meeting up with him in the living room. Jameson nodded and led the way. A door at the back of the room gave way to the conservatory, beyond which lay the backyard and, of course, the swimming pool.

  When he walked outside, the first thing he saw was Tate. She was at the other end of the pool, walking in his direction, her head bent down as she looked at a magazine. Closer to the house sat a lounge chair, and fair skinned girl with carrot colored hair was stretched on it. Jameson's grin turned wolfish.

  He loved it whenever Tate invited Rusty over. He liked Rusty a lot, and it wasn't because he harbored any sexual feelings towards the girl – it was because he made her nervous. Scared. He loved that, and always made it a point to really live up to his satanic nickname in front of her.

  But before he could say anything, another person entered the picture. Jameson stood completely still as he watched a man walk across the lawn. The younger guy was wearing board shorts and flip flops, no shirt. He shouted something to Tate, and Jameson recognized his voice.

  “Do you know him, sir?” Sanders asked in a steely voice. Normally, Sanders getting all protective would've made Jameson laugh, but at that moment, he was too busy thinking of the different places on his property where he could hide a body.

  “Yes.”

  The man was a junior broker, Richard Klimas, and he had started at Kraven Brokerage the previous fall. He and Tate had met at the company Christmas party, and it had been obvious from the start that Rich liked her. They were close in age and were both energetic. Add to the mix that Tate pretty much embodied sexuality in general, and boom. The man was in love.

  Or rather, the man was in lust.

  “Why are you reading!? It's gorgeous out, you're by a pool, you're in a bikini! You should be swimming!” Rich was laughing loudly. Tate laughed as well.

  “Eh, today is more of a sun tan day,” she replied, nothing bother to look up as she spoke.

  “Oh, I think it's a swimming day,” he teased. She shook her head.

  “Not for me, but you can totally feel free to -”

  As Jameson watched through narrowed eyes, the younger man suddenly rushed at Tate. She barely had time to look up from her magazine before Rich ran into her, wrapping his arms around her waist while throwing them both into the pool. Tate managed one good shriek before they hit the water.

  “I am going to hope that he is a friend of yours,” Sanders added, and his voice almost sounded angry.

  Well, angry for him.

  “No, he's not,” Jameson answered.

  When the pair finally broke the surface, Jameson was pleased to note that Tate was well away from the other man.

  “Not funny!” she told Rich, her voice full of annoyance as she threw her now soaking wet magazine to the side of the pool.

  “Oh, c'mon, it
was fun!” he yelled back.

  Tate rolled her eyes and continued to swim away from him, and it was then she finally looked over and noticed the new arrivals. Jameson managed a curt smile, though he could see out the corner of his eye that Sanders wasn't smiling at all. In fact, he was standing completely still and stiff, not even blinking. Tate hesitated for a second, then began taking long strokes to reach them.

  “I swear, this is not what it looks like,” she grumbled as she got close. Jameson squatted down.

  “Isn't that what everyone says when their husband comes home to find them with another man?” he questioned.

  “Please. If I was going to cheat on you, I'd make it spectacular. You'd find us having sex while hanging from the chandelier in the entry way. Help me out,” she snapped. He grabbed her by her upper arms and hauled her out of the water, standing her in front of him.

  “Then what the fuck is going on?” he demanded. She noticed Sanders and smiled while she began wringing out her hair.

  “Sandy! You came back with him? I didn't know that was the plan! And weren't you coming home in a couple days?” Tate asked, looking back at Jameson.

  “No, I'm home now. Tatum. Explain.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Rich was waving and saying hello. Rusty was looking uncomfortable in her lounge chair, pulling a towel over her bikini clad body. Tate turned back around and gestured for her two guys to follow her into the conservatory.

  “He just showed up!” she hissed, glancing out the windows. “Scared the shit out of me! I was cleaning shit out of the garage when he popped up. Said he was 'in the neighborhood', and figured he'd 'see how I was doing'. Then I couldn't get rid of him! So I called Rusty and made her come over, thought I could pawn him off on her.”

  “Great friend,” Jameson snorted. She glared at him.

  “Shut up. You'd rather I was here alone with him?” she pointed out.

  “No, I'd rather he wasn't here at all. Just tell him to get the fuck out.”

  “Not all of us can be as rude as you, Jameson.”

  “I once heard you tell a man to go 'suck his mother's dick' just for smacking your ass. I think you can tell Rich Klimas to get out of your house.”

  “That's different, that was a stranger. This guy works for you! I didn't know if you knew he lived out here, or if you had told him he could stop by whenever, or if you'd come back and be pissed off that I'd offended a colleague or whatever. I figured I would just suffer through him for a couple hours, then shoo him away and hide inside for the next couple days,” she explained.

  “Weak, Tate,” Jameson called her out.

  “I have no problem informing him that it is time for him to go, and that in the future, calling before dropping by is a prerequisite,” Sanders interrupted. Tate beamed at him.

  “Thank you, Sandy. At least someone is nice and understanding,” she turned to glare at Jameson.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Sanders replied before heading outside. Tate turned to watch him go.

  “I swear, he gets bigger every time I see him. Do you think he-” she started, but was cut off when Jameson roughly grabbed her upper arm and began dragging her out of the conservatory. She knew him well enough to keep her mouth shut till they were in the library and the door had been slammed shut.

  “I wanted to surprise you by coming home early,” he stated, tossing his jacket onto the couch.

  “I hate surprises. See what happens when you try to surprise somebody?” she told him, walking over to a cabinet which held towels. After enough times of Tate wandering into the library after a dip in the pool, Jameson had started keeping towels and robes for her in the room.

  “Apparently what happens is I find another man in my home,” he replied. She rolled eyes and wrapped her hair up in one towel before wrapping another one around her waist.

  “Oh good lord, you know nothing was happening. Don't be mad at me, be mad at him,” she instructed.

  “How do I know this hasn't been going on the entire time I've been gone?” he snapped, yanking his tie loose and throwing it onto his desk.

  “Is that a joke?” she laughed. He marched up to her, backing her into some shelves.

  “Am I fucking laughing?”

  “I certainly am.”

  His hand went around her throat.

  “I am not amused, Tatum. I don't like people in our house, period, and especially not random single men, and particularly not when I'm not at home,” he hissed. She glared up at him.

  “Well, neither do I. I'm sorry if I handled the situation badly, but you're being a fucking baby about it. Do you honestly think I would do something? Do you honestly think I would fuck somebody else while you're gone?” she demanded, yanking at his wrist. He laughed, a low sound in the back of his throat, and he let her go, moving his palm to press down on top of her chest.

  “No, baby girl. But that doesn't mean he wouldn't try to make something happen, and that's what pisses me off,” he explained.

  “So go be pissed off at him.”

  “It's more fun to be pissed off at you.”

  “Ahhhh,” she laughed, letting go of his wrist. “That's what this is really about – you're mad because you came home and your favorite chew toy was indisposed.”

  “Now you're understanding your role.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up.”

  “You shut up!”

  Before things could go any further, they heard voices in the entry way. They listened as Rich said goodbye to Rusty and Sanders. Sanders said nothing in return, and soon enough they heard the heavy door slam shut. Then footsteps, lightly padding up the stairs. Rusty, heading to her room.

  “Is she staying with us?” Jameson asked, his eyes on the ceiling. Tate nodded.

  “I invited her to say for the whole weekend, till you got back. Or rather, when you were supposed to get back.”

  “Delightful,” Jameson chuckled, then pulled the towel away from her body before starting on her bikini bottoms. “I'm in a bad mood, baby girl, so make sure to be extra loud for me.”

  2

  Jameson was heading out of the elevator, his head down as he read over the front page of the New York Times. He was only a couple yards from his office when he heard the sound of someone jumping out of a chair, then feet running after him.

  “Mr. Kane!”

  He groaned inwardly and kept walking, though he did look up when that someone caught up to his side.

  “What is it?” he snapped, glaring down at the young man next to him.

  Glaring at Rich Klimas.

  “I just wanted to apologize,” Rich started. “If I overstepped any boundaries over the weekend. It's just that I live so close to you, and Tate is close to my age, and I don't know many people here yet. She's a really fun girl.”

  Jameson narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes. She is.”

  “Have you two been together long?” Rich asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You got married recently, I heard,” he questioned.

  “Yes.”

  “So really, not that long.”

  Enough.

  “I'm sorry,” Jameson stopped walking and turned towards the other guy. “Is this an inquisition? I charge for private interviews.”

  “I'm sorry,” Rich laughed. That laugh was beginning to make Jameson think of blunt force trauma and wonder how difficult it would be to get away with manslaughter. “I don't mean to pry. I just really admire you. You're sort of an idol of mine, it's been my dream to work for you. I tried, at your New York offices, but then you relocated here. And I really like Tate, you have quite a special wife.”

  “I know. Look, I'm a very busy person, and if you want to keep working for your 'idol', then I suggest you stop interrupting me,” Jameson informed him.

  “Of course! Of course, just trying to be helpful. I just felt bad for Tate, being all alone in that big house while you're at work every day,” Rich sighed.

  What's this?


  “Tate loves that 'big house', and I can assure you, it's a welcome break. She owns a thriving business and is in the process of opening a second one. This break is her choice, and she doesn't need you to entertain her,” Jameson stated.

  “Well, she doesn't need me, of course I just thought it would be fun, you know, for her to have someone her own age to talk to.”

  Jameson should've been boiling mad. He'd been insulted, several times over. He should've fired the other man, right on the spot. Should've ended his future career, that afternoon. A couple phone calls, and Jameson could make it so Richard Klimas would be working in fast food for the rest of his life.

  But where was the fun in that?

  “Yes, she does deserve some 'fun', doesn't she?” Jameson asked in a soft voice, eyeing Rich up and down.

  “Yes …” the younger man replied slowly, looking nervous for the first time.

  “Tell you what. I'll organize a party this weekend. Just for her, tell her it was your idea. We'll invite the other junior brokers, have a pool party. A barbecue,” Jameson prattled off.

  “I … wait, a party? At your house?” Rich sounded flabbergasted.

  “Yes. They don't happen very often, so I recommend you accept the invitation.”

  “Of course, I -”

  “See you this weekend!” Jameson called out, continuing into the anteroom before his office. He slammed the door behind him, startling his secretary.

  “Is everything alright, Mr. Kane?” she asked, standing up.

  “No. Call Sanders, patch it through to my office,” he snapped, moving into his private office.

  “Is Mr. Dashkevich in the country?” she called out behind him.

  “Yes, call my house phone. And whatever you do, don't talk to Tate.”

  “But what if Mrs. Kane -”

  “Just get a hold of Sanders!”

  *

  Jameson went home early that day. He walked in the door and immediately heard a familiar thumping noise. He followed it towards the back of the house, where there was a small gym. Tate was running away on a treadmill, pumping her arms in time. She nodded her head at his entrance and turned down the volume on the music she had playing, but she didn't stop running.