“DON'T EVER FUCKING DO THAT!” she yelled.

“I'm sorry. I assumed you heard me come in, my apologies. What are you doing?” he asked, glancing between her and the screen.

“Looking up pictures,” she replied, leaning back in the chair, still trying to breathe.

“Last time you did that, things did not end so well. He hasn't seen her, since he's been there,” Sanders assured her. She nodded.

“I believe you. I was looking up pictures of us, together. I don't have any. Look! Here's one of me and you!” she pointed out, making the picture larger. Sanders squinted at it.

Jameson was in the foreground of the photo, talking on his phone. They were in the background, Sanders standing very straight, with Tate leaning on him, her arms around his shoulders, smiling up at him as she held her face close to his own. Probably teasing him about something. Tate looked at the title of the article and burst out laughing.

“What?” Sanders asked. She pulled up the webpage, pointed out the headline.

Trouble In Paradise: Is Jameson Kane's Current Play-Thing Cheating With His Guy-Friday?

“We're an item, Sandy,” she told him. He snorted.

“This is why I don't look these things up. They are full of lies and a waste of time.”

“At least you got a sorta-title. I'm just a 'play thing',” she pointed out.

“Please, turn it off,” he asked. She obliged, closing the windows. She held up the two photos she had printed out.

“I just wanted these, I wasn't trying to dig up dirt,” she promised him. Sanders took the photos and examined them under the desk lamp.

“They're nice. May I take them?” he asked. She raised her eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, sure, I guess,” she replied, a little caught off guard.

“I will find them frames,” he explained.

“Good. I thought maybe they were for your secret shrine,” she teased.

“No. I only use solo pictures of you for that.”

She laughed until he cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry, yes?” she gasped for air.

“Jameson would like to speak to you, that's why I'm up here,” he told her. She jumped out of the chair.

“God, has he been on hold this whole time?” she asked, hurrying down the hall. Sanders nodded.

“Yes.”

When Tate picked up the phone in the library, she could hear the sound of Jameson drumming his fingers against whatever kind of desk it was he was sitting behind.

“Sorry,” she breathed. “I didn't know you were on the phone.”

“Sanders failed to mention it?” he asked.

“He was ..., distracted,” she explained.

“How are you?” Jameson asked.

“Good. We've been having fun,” she told him.

“Mmm hmmm. And how much do you miss me?” he pressed.

“On a scale of one to ten? Maybe a two,” she mocked him.

“Liar.”

“How is your trip?” she asked.

“Tiring. Frustrating. I could very much use some of your relaxation methods,” he told her. She laughed and glanced at Sanders, who was sitting in Jameson's wing back chair.

“Might be kind of awkward, Sandy is sitting in front of me. Or kinda hot. I think I may be an exhibitionist,” Tate wondered out loud.

“I know you're one. But no, it's probably not a good idea. I was just checking to make sure you weren't doing anything you shouldn't be doing,” he told her.

“Oh? Like what?” she asked.

“Running away.”

“I'm not going to do that,” she replied in a soft voice.

“Yet.”

Ooohhh, he's in a mood.

“Tell you what,” she started, leaning back in his chair and putting her feet on his desk. “I promise not to run away until you fuck things up again.”

“Fucking bitch.”

“Feel better?” she asked, smiling. He chuckled.

“Yes, yes I do. I'll be home soon.”

“I know.”

“Be ready.”

“I will.”

Then the line went dead.

Falling in love with him had been easy, much easier than she would've thought. That first time, when she had been a silly, stupid, eighteen year old girl, she had fallen a little in love with him. And then last fall, he had walked away with most of her heart.

Jameson Kane wasn't scared of much, but apparently feelings terrified him. Saying she loved him, saying it out loud, had been so much scarier because of that; but knowing that it scared him, and now knowing that he wasn't running away, made it all that much better.

“Sanders,” she said softly, staring off into space.

“Yes?” he asked, turning towards her.

“I need you to get something out of the safe for me.”

When Jameson got home Friday night, he felt like shit. A shitty trip, shitty plane ride, and shitty traffic. Shit. He was cranky. He wanted to walk in the door, have a drink, and then sleep for the next three days. Possibly four. He walked into his home and dropped his suitcase on the floor, the thud echoing through the dark house. Not a single light was on in any of the rooms.

“Hello?” he barked out. No answer. Sanders had walked back to the guest house, after parking the car. But he had said Tatum was at home.

Jameson went upstairs, but she wasn't in the bedroom. He left his suitcase at the foot of the bed, then went back downstairs. She wasn't in the bathroom, or the kitchen. On his way back through the hall, he finally heard something. A crackling noise. There was a fire going in the library. He pushed open the door, walked into the stifling hot room.