It was fun to be around the team again. It felt nice to be wanted, nice to be liked, for something other than her skills in bed. She could make the pitcher laugh, talked the alcoholic outfielder out of having a drink, and helped the mother of the umpire to the restroom. She felt pretty good about herself.
That you ever thought you could be a 'bad girl', is hilarious. You're Mother fuckin' Teresa.
There was an auction at the end of the night, put on by Sotheby's. All the proceeds were going to a charity for a specific type of lung cancer. The amount of money being thrown around blew her away a little, which really said something, considering the kind of money Jameson had, and spent, on a day to day basis. Nick bid on, and won, a perfect condition 1958 Karmann Ghia. Only $60,000, that's all. The highest bid made was on a Ferrari, which went to some older gentleman in the crowd. There were also several anonymous buyers, bidding via phone calls. A delicate China tea set went to one, a vintage Cartier necklace to another, and a bronze dog sculpture to the last one – she didn't understand that piece, but apparently it was worth $8,000 to someone.
“You people are insane with your money,” Tate laughed while Nick helped her into her jacket.
“What, you're telling me Mr. Kane doesn't buy lavish things?” he chuckled, walking her out the doors.
“Oh, he does, just not quite so publicly. He'd be more likely to buy everything in one go, then sort out the shit he doesn't want, just to save time,” she joked.
“Jesus, wish I had that kind of money.”
“Don't we all?”
“You don't get to talk, he spends it on you.”
They climbed into a cab after that, and she was quiet for a while. She wasn't sure what to make of his statement. Jameson didn't really spend that much money on her, comparatively speaking. But that he spent any at all on her, was amazing in it's own way. She had worried people saw her as a slut for the baseball team. She also worried that people saw her as a whore for Jameson. Not okay.
When they got to her building, Nick surprised her by walking her inside. She had told him at the beginning of the week that Jameson “wasn't comfortable” with Nick being in the condo. She had put it politely. He had respected that, didn't even question it, so she was fine with him coming into the lobby. She was a little surprised, however, when he got into the elevator with her.
“I had a really good time,” she assured him, a little nervous.
“Good. I'm glad. Tate, I go home the day after tomorrow, and I just wanted to tell you -,” he started. She winced.
“God, please don't say something that'll make this awkward,” she begged, and he laughed.
“I wanted to tell you, that my offer still stands,” he said. She raised her eyebrows.
“Huh?”
“What I told you, when you were in Paris. You like him, or you think you like him, or he might like you, or whatever. I'm still here,” he stressed.
“Nick, I don't get what you -,”
He practically dove into her, kissing her hard. She gasped, completely stunned into immobility, and he wrapped one arm around her waist. Cupped the back of her head with his other hand. He was trying to tell her something, something she obviously didn't want to hear. But she was getting it, loud and clear now. Every part of him screamed with want for her, from his fingertips in her hair, to his lips against her own, to his chest against hers, to the rock solid erection pressed against her. The elevator doors dinged open, and she finally broke away. Of course, Sanders was standing in the open doorway.
Of fucking course he is. Cause nothing ever happens easily with me.
“I'll be there for you, if anything happens. I'll wait,” Nick stressed. She struggled to get out of his arms, glancing at Sanders.
“Don't do that, not for me,” she urged him through clenched teeth.
“You're worth it.”
She finally shoved him, hard enough to push him off of her. She pulled at the material on her dress as she huffed off of the elevator. She turned back, praying that he wasn't following her. He hadn't. He was staring at her with sad, puppy dog eyes, ripping her heart in half.
“I'm not, Nick. I'm really not. Don't wait for me, I won't be coming,” she warned him. He managed a smile.
“All the same, if you ever need me,” he replied, and then the doors slid shut.
“I think it would be in your best interest to call -,” Sanders started in a immediately. She let out a small shriek, stomping through the front door.
“He's not God, Sandy! He doesn't need to know about everything, the minute it happens!” she yelled at him. He blinked at her, clearly surprised, then followed her inside, closing the door.
“I don't think he's God, but I do think he will be upset when he learns that -,” he began again.
“Sandy, right now, right this moment, he is fucking that playboy-secretary, which means a lot more than kissing her. I know he'll be pissed, but I didn't do that. I didn't know Nick was gonna do that, I have been very honest with him. You heard me, you heard what I said,” she pointed out, kicking off her heels as she walked back to the bedroom. Sanders picked them up behind her.
“I know. I appreciated it. Does that mean you have thought about the situation with Jameson?” he asked, standing near her as she let her jacket fall to the floor.
“No. Yes. God, why is everything so difficult?” she whined, lifting her hair off of her neck and turning her back to him. He immediately stepped forward and pulled the zipper down on her dress.