Reception (The Kane Series Book 5) Read online

  “What's up? You're home early,” she panted, glancing at her watch.

  “I know. How many miles?” he asked, sliding his jacket off as he walked towards her.

  “Almost three. Only a quarter mile to go, then I'll be done,” she assured him.

  “Only three? Pussy.”

  “Hey, Mr. Five Miles, not all of us want to experience shin splints,” she point out.

  “I eat five miles before breakfast every day, and I've never had shin splints,” he replied.

  “If you only came home to make fun of my work out routine, then you can just go right back to work,” she suggested.

  “I didn't,” he assured her, standing next to her machine.

  “Then why are you here? Go be useful, or productive. Stop staring at me,” she laughed, waving her hand at him, trying to shoo him away.

  “I like staring at you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes you uncomfortable.”

  She crossed her eyes at him.

  “No it doesn't.”

  Jameson let his eyes wander over her face. She wasn't wearing any makeup, but she didn't really need to – her eyes were very sharp and dark on their own, her skin smooth and clear. She had on a sports bra and a pair of skin tight leggings. Disappearing under the fabric of the bra was a large, fading bruise, low on her right breast. There were light red marks around the base of her neck, and he knew without looking that there were scratch marks down her back.

  It had been a fun welcome home party, just between the two of them.

  She is so perfect.

  “Liebe,” he started, and she looked back at him. “We're going to have a party this weekend.”

  She stumbled on the belt, almost losing her footing.

  “I'm sorry, what did you just say?”

  “Party. This weekend.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes. A barbecue.”

  She nearly flew backwards off the treadmill and had to grab the arms to hold herself up. Jameson reached over and pulled the emergency stop chord while she braced her feet on either side of the belt.

  “I'm sorry, a … what?” she tried to catch her breath.

  “Barbecue.”

  “I didn't even know you knew that word.”

  “Shut up,” he chuckled, pulling on her ponytail. She got down off the machine and grabbed a towel, blotting at the sheen of sweat that was all over her.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why not? It's been a beautiful summer, and our backyard was designed for entertaining,” he suggested.

  “Which you never do. The only time you throw a party is when you want to prove a point. Or piss someone off,” she reminded him.

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh god. Who are we trying to piss off and prove a point to?” she groaned, pushing past him and walking out of the gym.

  “Baby girl, would you please just be thankful that for one afternoon, we'll get to do something you actually like to do?” he asked, following her upstairs.

  “This is true, we do usually only do your stuff,” she agreed.

  “Yes, but that's because my stuff is better.”

  “That's a matter of opinion.”

  “I feel like I'm experiencing deja vu, only this is much, much stupider …” he sighed. She threw the towel in his face.

  “Remind me why I bother talking to you?” she asked, disappearing into their closet.

  “Because I pay for everything,” he stated.

  “Everything, ha! You never bought me a pony!” her voice called out. He chuckled and rubbed his hand down his face.

  “Tate. You haven't ridden since you were seventeen – why the fuck would you want a pony?” he asked. There was a pause, then she leaned out the doorway.

  “Alright then – you never got me a miniature donkey.”

  “A miniature … what?”

  “Jack ass.”

  “I'm regretting coming home,” he sighed. She laughed and finally walked over to him, coiling her arms around his neck.

  “A party sounds fun, I don't even care who you're trying to piss off. Want me to organize it?” she asked, scratching her fingernails against the back of his neck.

  “No, Sanders is taking care of everything.”

  “That's nice. How long is he staying for this time?”

  “Only through the weekend – and don't ask, I already tried to get him to stay longer.”

  “He's no fun in his old age.”

  “Tatum, he's only twenty-three.”

  “Okay,” she pulled back. “So what exact day are we having this?”

  “Sunday.”

  “That's good, gives us today and Saturday to prep. What time?”

  “Late, around five.”

  “Weird time for a barbecue,” she told him.

  “Dinner time, sunset, people won't stay too long,” he listed off his reasons.

  “Gotcha. Dinner time barbecue. Who all is invited?” she kept on with the questions.

  “Anyone you want. Some friends, partners, from New York. The junior staff over at Kraven,” he spoke while he walked away from her.

  “Okay, so Rusty will be there, and I – wait, did you say the junior staff?” her voice was full of surprise as she followed behind him. He didn't bother looking up as he fiddled with his watch strap.

  “Yes. Being a junior broker is hard, most of them put in eighty hour work weeks, and for little return. Sunday is the only day they have free, and I'm gonna pay everyone to take Monday morning off,” he explained.

  “My god, Jameson Kane being thoughtful and generous. Be still my beating heart!”

  “Shut up.”

  “You can try to hide it all you want, Mr. Kane,” Tate teased as she stood on her toes behind him and kissed his earlobe. “But you're a good man.”

  “And you, Mrs. Kane, are a very stupid woman if you really believe that.”

  3

  Tate wasn't a stupid woman, though. She could even be smart when she put her mind to it, and she knew Jameson Kane better than anyone else on the planet. And while it was true that he was actually very thoughtful and quite generous, she knew that neither of those personality traits had anything to do with the little “party” he was planning.

  She also knew that Richard Klimas was a junior broker. That's what the party was about – Jameson apparently still felt the need to prove he had the biggest dick of them all. It was ridiculous, but Tate did love to party, so if he wanted to show off his fancy house and his expensive toys and his new hot wife, she would oblige him.

  “Have you ever been to a barbecue, Sandy?” Tate asked, hanging around the kitchen the next day while Sanders wrote down plans for the party.

  “No,” was his response. He didn't bother looking up from his notebook.

  “Then how do you know what to get? I've been to lots of barbecues,” she informed him.

  “I am not surprised, but I assure you, I have this under control.”

  “Well, can I at least see what all you've got planned?” she whined. She loved to tease him, and since she so rarely got the chance anymore, she made the most of it whenever he was around.

  “You don't trust me?” he asked, finally glancing at her. His eyes, more gray than blue, were always impassive at first glance. But Tate knew how to read their stormy depths – she spoke fluent Sanders. She smiled softly at him.

  “I trust you in all things,” she replied. “I'm just trying to be a pest.”

  “Well, you are succeeding wonderfully at it.”

  But he was smiling, as well, and he slid his notebook down the counter till it was in front of her.

  He'd hired an event coordinator for a simple backyard barbecue! He'd also gotten a caterer who specialized in traditional Texan style barbecue. Her mouth watered as she looked over the menu he'd approved. Ribs and burgers and fish, oh my. There would be a fantastic selection of appetizers, followed by a casual stand-up meal that would come fresh from an enormous grill the company would
bring with them. And of course, as always, an open bar.

  “This is really impressive,” she finally said, handing his notes back to him.

  “Thank you. I always thought I hated doing things of this nature, but you know, I've actually been enjoying it. It feels … nostalgic,” he told her.

  “Awwww, Sandy. You know, you could do stuff like this all the time if you just moved back in with us,” she suggested. He cleared his throat.

  “I'm sure I could, but I'm afraid I've grown accustomed to living in my own place.”

  She snorted.

  “Well, I haven't. Why won't you stay longer than the weekend? Stay a week, we'll go up to New York, just like old times,” she tried to tempt him. He adjusted his tie and just like that, she knew her attempts were futile.

  “I would enjoy that, and we will be sure to go during another trip in the future, but I want to go home on Monday,” he insisted. She sighed and propped her chin in her hands.

  “You're no fun now,” she said. The corner of his lips twitched and he looked at her again.

  “I'm not entirely sure I was ever fun, but if you'd accept a compromise, we can bake some brownies if you'd like.”

  Sanders took off his jacket and tucked his tie into his dress shirt, then laughed a little as Tate tied a frilly apron on him. She put on a sensible one and they made desserts together. She did the mixing and he did the washing. As he scrubbed the mixing bowl, she made him turn pink when she managed to get the entire brownie-batter-covered-mixing spoon into her mouth. When the goodies were finally done and cool enough to eat, they took a plate out to the conservatory and sat amongst the flowers.

  “The roses look well,” he commented, leaning forward and rubbing a velvety petal between his fingertips. She watched his dress shirt stretch and strain across his broad shoulders. Amazing, Sanders with broad shoulders.

  Talk about a late bloomer.

  “Yeah,” she finally answered. “Jameson hired a guy, he comes once a week and checks everything.”

  “Good. It makes me happy knowing my flowers are well taken care of,” he sighed, sitting back in his seat. Tate had her feet propped up on the table in front of them and he copied her pose, crossing his legs at the ankle.

  “I thought it would. Jameson talked about tearing down the conservatory, turning the space into a huge outdoor living room type area. I told him it would crush you if he did,” she said.

  “Tear down the conservatory? He's gone insane,” Sanders muttered. She laughed and covered his feet with her own.

  “It's possible. Has he explained this party to you?” she asked, tearing off a piece of brownie and offering it to him.

  “Yes, he said he wants a barbecue, and that's he's inviting some of the junior staff from -”

  “Sandy, don't repeat things we both already know – you know I hate that. This is about that Rich guy,” she stated. Sanders cleared his throat and stared straight ahead, not even looking as he took the piece of brownie.

  “If it is, Jameson did not mention anything of it to me,” he said before eating the dessert.

  “Really?” she asked, not believing him one bit. The blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

  “He never specifically said Mr. Klimas' name to me in regards to the reason for this party.”

  “Ah.”

  “He did, however, make sure to double and triple check that Mr. Klimas had received an invitation, and that he'd RSVPed that he'd be in attendance.”

  “See!” Tate clapped her hands together. “It is about that – you don't think Jameson is actually upset about the other day, do you? I told the truth, the dude just showed up.”

  Sanders relaxed and patted her affectionately on the knee.

  “Of course he's not upset at you. He is mad at Mr. Klimas.”

  “But … it's just stupid. Why? It's not like I'm gonna run away with the guy. I don't even like him. He's not a threat, so why does Jameson care?”

  “Because the man is offensive, and Jameson doesn't care for anything that offends. Mr. Klimas has apparently made inappropriate comments at work, in regards to yours and Jameson's relationship.”

  “So big deal, just fire the guy.”

  “And deny himself the pleasure, the fun, of showing Mr. Klimas just what he is up against?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It seems as though Mr. Klimas has gotten the idea that he might be better suited for you. I think this party is Jameson's way of proving him wrong,” Sanders explained.

  Tate laughed, long and loud.

  “That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” she gasped for air.

  “Yes,” Sanders agreed, rubbing her back until she caught her breath.

  “But it's also kind of sweet,” she admitted, and then she leaned back before he could move away, trapping his arm between her and her chair. She smiled and scooted over, snuggling into his side. He didn't hesitate to move his trapped arm and wrap it around her shoulders, hugging her close.

  Sometimes it's like a different person. Sanders 2.0. Stronger. Faster. Cuddlier.

  “He has an odd way of showing his love,” he stated. “But it is still love.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.”

  They stayed like that until the sun set and they heard Jameson get home. Then Sanders put his shoes back on and stood up, all with Tate still clinging to him. When he made his way back through the house, he had to lumber because he was practically dragging her form along behind him.

  “Finally,” Jameson sighed as he glanced at them when they came into the kitchen. “Someone else gets to deal with her antics.”

  “You looooove my antics,” she teased.

  He snorted.

  “Everything is arranged for tomorrow. I have done my duty as party planner and baby-sitter,” Sanders started, pulling at her wrists while he spoke. “I would like to return to the guest house and make some phone calls.”

  “No! You leave so soon, and we'll all be busy tomorrow, you can't leave me now!” Tate pleaded, locking her arms around him even tighter.

  “Sir, if you'd please,” he sighed.

  While he pulled and yanked at her arms, Jameson simply walked around behind them and picked her up. She was forced to let go and she laughed while Sanders walked briskly out of the room, straightening his clothing as he went.

  “Why do you like torturing him?” Jameson asked, dropping her to the floor before turning away.

  “Because he tolerates it so much better than you,” she replied, following him upstairs.

  They moved into their bedroom and while Jameson went out into the sun room he'd had converted into an office, she walked into their closet. As she combed through hangers to find a suitable barbecue outfit, a phone rang from the next room. Jameson chattered away for a long time. She picked out multiple pieces of clothing, discarded most of them, then picked out some more all while he talked.

  She finally got her day time outfit down – shorts and a plaid button down, keeping it authentic. But she wanted to change after sunset, and she couldn't decide whether or not to go silly or go sexy. She leaned against the dressing table, waiting for his phone call to end. When she realized over half an hour had passed, though, she decided enough was enough. She grabbed several hangers full of clothing and walked out of the closet.

  “Jameson,” she hissed his name. He glanced at her as he slowly paced in front of their bed, but he didn't respond.

  “No, no,” he was talking into the phone. “I'm talking court side. You'll be able to bullshit with the guys on the bench.”

  Tate rolled her eyes. The Celtics, of course. Jameson gave exactly zero fucks about basketball, but he had friends and clients who enjoyed the sport, so he had season tickets, the best seats, everything.

  “Just really quick, help me,” she whispered. That time, he didn't even bother glancing at her. Just completely ignored her as he kept pacing. There was a bowl of popcorn at the foot of the be
d and every time he passed it, he took out a couple kernels and nibbled at them.

  “We can do that ... maybe make a weekend of it ... I'll see what Tate's got planned.”

  “Tate could tell you right now, if you'd give her a second,” she offered. He continued ignoring her and flicked a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

  “No … no … I'll book the restaurant, your taste is shit … remember that last dinner?”

  “Jameson,” she whispered again, pacing alongside him and holding up her armful of clothing. “Just two seconds – which is better?” Nothing. It was like she wasn't in the room. “Jameson, I forgot to tell you – I signed up to be in Ang's new porn, I need a plane ticket to L.A.” Normally any mention of Ang got a reaction, but not that night. “Oh my god, Jameson! Aliens! On the back lawn! And they're stomping through the rhododendrons!”

  She'd gasped and pointed for that one, but still got zero reaction. She glared at him. Fine, he thought he could ignore her? She'd pull out the big guns. He finally paused in the conversation and shoved some more popcorn into his mouth. Tate seized the moment.

  “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I'm pregnant.”

  She had expected a reaction. Maybe a glare, or a snarky comment. What she got, though, was much more dramatic. Jameson sucked in so hard he inhaled popcorn. He dropped his cell phone as he hacked and coughed. He finally had to bend over and lean a hand against the mattress. While he pounded at his chest with his free hand, the bowl of popcorn fell to the floor, scattering kernels everywhere.

  “Jesus, are you alright? Should I get Sanders to give you the Heimlich?” Tate asked, tossing her clothing onto the bed.

  “No,” he wheezed hoarsely. “What the fuck did you just say!?”

  “I'm doing porn with Ang and there's aliens in the back yard.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, and I'm pregnant.”

  If she'd ever thought about it, Tate would've figured that watching Jameson go pale would've been funny. Actually seeing it happen, though, was a different story. She almost felt bad.

  “You're pregnant?” he demanded, staring hard at her.