Free Completion by Stylo Fantome Page B

possible. So I hope you two are very happy together, wallowing in your filthy relationship,” Mathias coughed out.
    Enough is enough.
    “I am going to bury you. Do you hear me? Kiss everything you own goodbye. This time tomorrow, I will own every business, every share, every holding you possess. You'll be goddamn lucky if I let you keep your fucking house. And if I hear you say anything disparaging about Tate, ever again, I'll take that, too. You never have to worry about her again, she is no longer your family. She's my family now, and you aren't worthy of knowing her.”
    Jameson didn't wait for a response, just walked away. He could hear Mathias sputtering, could hear Mrs. O'Shea trying to calm her husband down. He ignored it all and took out his cell phone, calling Sanders to tell him to bring the car around.
    He found Tate just around the corner. She was leaning back against a wall, staring off down the street. Jameson moved to stand in front of her, but she didn't look up at him.
    “Are you mad at me?” she asked. He barked out a laugh.
    “Why on earth would I be mad at you, Tate? For speaking your mind? I love it when you're a bitch,” he reminded her. She started to laugh as well, but then he saw the tears.
    “I just don't get it,” she squeaked out. “What did I ever do to him? I never did anything. I used to do everything they wanted. How can you hate someone you don't even know?”
    “Because he's miserable, baby girl, so he wants everyone around him to be miserable,” Jameson explained. She sniffled and wiped at her face.
    “Well, he does a damn good job of it, cause I feel pretty fucking miserable,” her voice finally cracked at the end, and the tears couldn't be stopped. Jameson pulled her into a hug.
    “Don't say that. You have me. You don't need him. I'm sorry I did this,” he whispered, rubbing his hands up and down her back.
    “It's not your fault. I just …, hate him , Jameson. I really, really hate him, and I don't want to. I don't even want to know him. I don't want to be related to him,” she cried, locking her arms around his waist.
    “It's done. You said what you wanted to say. You never have to see him again.”
    “I swear to god,” she groaned, finally catching her breath, “I'm changing my name when we get home. I don't even want to be an O'Shea anymore. I don't want that name. I don't want that connection.”
    Jameson took a deep breath. Pressed his face into her hair.
    “ Sounds good to me. ”
     
    *
     
    Tate woke up in the middle of the night to discover she was alone. She thought about getting up and looking for Jameson, but she was too exhausted. Meeting with her family had been draining. Jameson had all but carried her up to the room, undressed her, then tucked them both into bed. She fell asleep with him wrapped around her, warm and comfortable.
    Figuring she was better off not knowing what nefarious deeds he was up to, Tate went back to sleep.
    In the morning, she woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. She'd never actually had an outburst like that with her father. Sure, she'd snapped at him, that one time Jameson had taken her home. But to actually say how she felt, say everything she'd ever sort of wanted to say; it felt good. She felt like she had finally closed a chapter. So when she got out of bed, she almost skipped into the living room.
    “I thought you were going to sleep the day away,” Jameson commented as he munched on toast at the breakfast table.
    “Thought about it,” she replied, kissing him on the cheek before sitting down across from him.
    “How are you feeling?” he asked, not looking away from his newspaper. Tate shrugged and plucked some bacon off of his plate.
    “Surprisingly good,” she told him, stuffing the food into her mouth. “I mean, last night I kind of wanted to puke. But now, it's like …, gone. You know?”
    “Good. I'm glad.”
    “Where were you last night? I woke up and you were gone,” Tate said, then reached over and stole