“How about I just don't want to.”

“Liar.”

“You're like this super sexy, tycoon, wolf, man, person, thing – you can sleep with any girl you want. What's the big deal about me?” Tate asked, picking a paperweight up off his desk and tossing it between her hands.

“Most girls want something from me. A commitment, a connection, a trophy. Mostly I just want sex. Maybe someone I can treat badly from time to time,” he said. “I think you're looking for similar things. I think we could help each other.”

That caught her off guard. Despite their history, they didn't actually know each other very well; yet he had her all figured out. His words were like poetry to her, and at first, all she could think about was saying yes. Yes, to anything he wanted. And his words paired with the smoldering look on his face made him all that harder to resist. It was a look that said he knew exactly what she wanted, and he knew exactly how to give it to her. She took a deep breath and steeled her nerves.

“You know what,” Tate began, standing up and sitting the paperweight down. “I think we're done here. You wanted to talk to me, you did. You wanted to hear how I've been doing, I told you. You asked if I would sleep with you, I declined. Are we finished?”

He stared up at her, a smile spreading across his lips. Even though he looked at her like he was picturing her naked, he still managed to have a slight look of disdain about him. Like he knew something she didn't, and was gloating about it. Holding it over her head, out of her reach. She hated that feeling.

“Yes, I suppose so. When your curiosity gets the better of you, come back and see me,” Jameson told her. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse.

“Goodbye, Kane,” she said before walking out of the room at a brisk pace.

Tatum hadn't gotten to the point she was in life by lying to herself. He was right – she was curious. She did want to sleep with him, wanted to see if it would be the same. If it would be better. There really wasn't any reason why they couldn't, or shouldn't, other than that she didn't want to let him win. If withholding sex was the only weapon she had, then she would wield it with a vengeance.

Maybe ...,

When she got outside, she dug her phone out of her purse and called Ang. She was walking so fast, her hair was bouncing all over the place, but she couldn't slow down. If she hadn't been worried about looking completely crazy, she would've started running. She felt like she had been infused with energy, with electricity. Ang didn't pick up the first time and she swore at his voicemail, and then called him again. He picked up after the second ring.

“What's up, chica?” he sounded a little breathless.

“Are you busy right now!?” Tate burst out, weaving through the afternoon lunch crowd.

“Yes. What's up? You sound like you're jogging,” he told her.

“I almost am, I'm walking through downtown. How busy? Can I come over?” she asked.

“Not a good idea, sweetie. Is it an emergency?” Ang asked. She finally stopped walking and dragged herself out of the flow of people, over to a building. She leaned against the wall.

“Kind of.”

“What type of emergency is a 'kind of' emergency?” he asked.

“I met with Jameson today. He wanted to have a 'talk' with me, at his office. I just left,” she spoke softly in to the phone. Ang started laughing.

“Ooohhh, it's that kind of emergency. I can't fuck you right now, kitten. Normally I jump at the opportunity to fulfill your needs, but I'm prepping for filming right now,” he laughed. Tate rolled her eyes.

“It's not like that, I pretty much argued with him the whole time,” she snapped at Ang. He snorted.

“And you love to fight. Exactly how wet are you right now? On a scale – like, pleasantly aware? Or need to lose your underwear?” he asked. She chewed on her lip and looked down at herself.

Definitely the latter.

“Could your film use an extra today?” she managed to laugh in a quiet voice.

“Oh, babe, you've really got it bad. What's the big deal? You want him, go get him. I've never seen you hold back from any guy. Why this guy?” Ang asked. She shrugged.

“Because, he's Jameson Kane. He's like my worst nightmare and my biggest dream, all rolled in to one. Because if he wants me, and I don't want him, I win – but if he wants me, and I sleep with him, he wins,” she babbled.

“Baby, the only thing you're losing out on is good sex. Why does it have to be a competition? Play together, then everybody wins,” Ang suggested.

Tate stared out in to the street. She had been thinking of it as a competition – Jameson had used her once, and she wanted to get back at him. But Ang was right, once she wanted a man, she didn't hold back. And she really wanted Jameson. She had to reconcile that in her mind, or make the two opposing thoughts work together some how.

“Maybe you have a point,” she mumbled.

“I'm almost always right, babe. Think of it as closure. Or make-up sex. Or oh! An anger-bang, getting back at him for making you feel bad! You do love angry sex,” Ang reminded her. She rolled her eyes.

“God. What if I sleep with him, though, and it's horrible? Or weird? Or he, like, falls in love with me?” Tate asked, chewing on her lip.

“Jesus, when did you turn in to such a girl? The way you describe him, the man sounds incapable of having bad sex – or falling in love, for that matter. Just make sure you don't lose your heart. Big, bad, demons don't marry little girls,” Ang warned her. She laughed.