“I was just going to wake you,” Sanders said, noticing his approach.

“I'm sure,” Jameson grumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Someone sounds cheery this morning,” Tate teased him. He glared at her.

“Long night.”

“Poor baby.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Ooohhh,” she almost moaned. “You're going to be extra fun today, aren't you?”

“Piss me off more than I already am, Tate, and I'll show you how 'fun' I can be,” he warned her.

She kept her mouth shut, but she smiled to herself as she sipped her coffee.

“If you are ready,” Sanders spoke up, “we could head to the apartment.”

It was an offer of escape, and Jameson took it gladly. It was hard to be around Tate, sometimes too hard. He wanted to slip in to old roles, old habits. She wouldn't let him. It was like ice skating up hill.

After they had grabbed jackets and other necessities, he and Sanders headed off the boat. Not a moment too soon – Tate was stripping off her clothing to reveal a bikini, and Jameson knew he was staring at her like a hungry wolf. He was about to follow her up to the top deck, where he would continue her efforts and help her take off the bikini, preferably with his teeth, but Sanders coughed loudly, dragging his attention away.

“May I ask what happened last night?” Sanders asked, his voice casual as they walked to the Rolls-Royce. Well, casual for Sanders.

“No,” Jameson replied, sliding into the passenger seat while Sanders got behind the wheel.

“She mentioned a threesome,” Sanders continued, pulling the car out of its spot and heading into traffic.

“No threesome, sorry to say.”

“You tried?”

“Jesus christ, Sanders, are you a girl now? What's with the gossip? No, I did not try to orchestrate a threesome. If I wanted one, I would have one. Tate laid out a dare. I called her bluff. I wouldn't have slept with that woman, and I knew Tate would stop it. That's it. No more questions,” Jameson explained.

Sanders made a humming noise, but didn't say anything else.

At the apartment building, Jameson had a chat with the manager. No one was to be allowed into his apartment, or even onto his floor. Only himself, Sanders, and Tatum were the exception. Though with the way things had been going, he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever get a chance to bring her there. The manager apologized profusely for the mistake – they were training an entirely new security team, and Ms. Ivanovic was very convincing. It was generally known that she and Jameson had been involved together. It wouldn't happen again.

Jameson warned him that it had better not.

He wasn't ready to deal with Tate quite yet, so he took Sanders to lunch at an outdoor cafe. It had been a long time since it had been just the two of them. Since well before Tate had entered the picture. It was quiet. Peaceful. Nice. Jameson sighed, feeling a little restored. He sat back in his chair, just people watching, while Sanders finished his salad.

“Sir,” Sanders' voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes?” Jameson asked, folding his arms.

“Things do not seem to be progressing very well.”

“I am well aware of this.”

“She still thinks you're the devil. She thinks you did everything on purpose, planned it from the start.”

“I am aware. I'm working on it.”

“Doesn't look like it.”

Jameson was a little shocked. Tate was a bad influence on Sanders.

“You don't help, you know. You have become a very effective cock blocker,” Jameson snapped. A blush crept up Sanders' neck, but his face remained impassive.

“Winning her heart is one thing. Using her for sex is another. I won't allow it,” he replied.

“Your sentimentality makes me sick, and the thing Tate and I do best is use each other for sex. Just let me do things my own way,” Jameson instructed. He took out his wallet and threw some money on the table before standing up. Sanders followed suit and they walked away from the cafe.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” Sanders asked, for the millionth time. Jameson rolled his eyes.

“Am I ever not sure, Sanders? Just stay out of the way, let me reach her, and the rest of this month will be a cake walk,” Jameson told him. Sanders made a sound like a snort, only more dignified.

“I think you are forgetting yourself. Forgetting the past,” he pointed out.

Ego, down a notch. Sanders: 1

“I have to, Sanders, if I want to function and move forward. I laid out the deal, she took it. It has to be this way,” Jameson replied.

“Is this really about a deal? A game?” Sanders pressed.

“Of course. It's what it's always about between us. Only bigger. With smarter players,” Jameson laughed. He stopped in front of a building, stretched his arms above his head. Yawned.

“I have a question,” Sanders stated, standing at his side.

“Yes?”

“When are you going to realize it's not a game?”

Jameson swallowed thickly. He wasn't a stupid man, he knew his ego wasn't entirely bulletproof. He was very good at hiding how he felt – so good, in fact, that even he didn't know what he was feeling half the time. But sometimes, just sometimes, Sanders could create a crack. Rip right through the layers to reveal a piece of Jameson that he hadn't known was there.

“I need her to think it's a game, but I know it's not a game,” Jameson replied in a soft voice, refusing to meet Sanders' eyes.