Rescind （v.） – Jameson
RESCIND (V.):
TO CANCEL A CONTRACT, PUTTING THE PARTIES BACK TO THE POSITION AS IF THE CONTRACT HAD NOT EXISTED.
JAMESON
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Iscroll through years’ worth of headlines as the town car driver coasts through The Hamptons.
Even though I know every word in these articles like the back of my hand, I can’t help reopening the wound.
Well, that, and I’m trying to distract myself from the ever-weaving web of Lucas’s cases. For every thread I seal, a new one unfurls with trickier (and guiltier) spirals than the one before.
It also pushes me farther away from Scarlett...
“Mr. Tate?” The driver’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“We’ve arrived, sir,” he says. “Would you like me to drop you off at the guest residence or the party entrance?”
“The party entrance,” I say.
“Very well, sir.” He pulls into the far right lane. “A bellman will retrieve your belongings from the trunk and place them in whatever guest room you were assigned by Mrs. Hunter.”
“Thank you.” I pull a few twenties from my wallet and hand them to him once he stops. “I’ll see myself out.”
I step out amidst a small crowd of guests dressed in pastels. There’s no doubt in my mind that most of these people have never worked a day in their lives, and the hardest part about being “them,” is deciding between hot yoga and Pilates for the afternoon.
If it weren’t for Lucas inviting me, I would’ve never come to a party like this.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Walking up the steps, I step into a grand estate that’s drenched in white. Tuxedoed waiters weave through guests with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, while a singer in a bright blue suit croons Frank Sinatra with a piano across the room.
“So glad you made it here for the weekend, Mr. Tate.” “Me, too. It’s an honor seeing you.” Scarlett’s two oldest brothers approach me.
It always takes me a minute to determine which one is Ryan and which one is Antonio since they look like twins and they both annoy me in the same exact way.
“There are tons of hot women here and a lot more coming,” Antonio—I think, says. “I bet you could have any woman you wanted at tomorrow’s yacht send off.”
“I’ll probably be leaving tonight,” I say. “But I’ll be sure to tell your father I appreciate the invite.”
“Oh, come on!” Ryan pats my shoulder. “It’s practically free pussy, Mr. Tate. Surely you could use some after all the work we’re making you do. I know I’ll be taking advantage.”
“Aren’t both of you married?” I ask.
“Not during this weekend,” they say in unison, laughing.
I don’t laugh with them.
I see why she pretends like you don’t exist…
“We’ll get you to change your mind later, I’m sure,” Antonio says. Then he lowers his voice. “Do you think the feds are watching us at this party?”
“I know they are.” I glance around the room. “I would lay low until the indictment if I were you.”
“So, you think we’re really getting charged?” His face pales. “Dad said it’s a maybe.”
“If it was a ‘maybe’ I wouldn’t be doing ‘all the work’ you literally just mentioned…”
“Right, right.” He nods. “So, you think some of them are undercover right now at this party? Can you tell me who you think they might be?”
My town car driver and half the waitstaff…
“Don’t worry about it this weekend,” I say. “Just don’t do anything crazy.”
He looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language, and Ryan steps closer.
“Off the record, do you think we’d survive in a federal prison?”
Hell no. “You’re not going to prison.” I take a glass off a waiter’s tray. “Focus on something and try to enjoy your weekend.”
I walk away in search of their father so I can show my face and leave.
After crossing through four more colossal rooms and a kitchen large enough for a staff of eighty, I spot Lucas chatting with three businessmen I’ve worked with before.
Unlike him, though, their companies operate above board, and they’re actually terrified about breaking the law.
He looks over mid-laugh and lifts his glass.
Good enough. I lift mine and set a timer on my phone.
Twenty minutes.
I down my drink and grab a passing shot of whiskey next.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice says from my left. “If it isn’t Jameson Tate, Defender of the Guilty, Savior of the Soulless.”
I don’t need to turn to see who it is.
He’ll re-introduce himself like we haven’t met hundreds of times before, so I knock back my liquor.
“I’m Damien Carter from Hamilton & Associates,” he says. “It’s always nice seeing a fellow esteemed lawyer out and about.”
“Is it?” I look at him. “Because I’m pretty sure you just go from event to event trying to poach them to work at your firm.”
“I try to poach the best lawyers.” He smiles. “You’re still undefeated, so I can make you one hell of an offer.”
“Your firm doesn’t represent the type of clients I like.”
“You mean the good ones?”
“There’s no such thing. There’s only—” I stop talking when I see Scarlett walking across the room in a light lavender dress.
With her hair pulled up high in a bun and matching sunglasses, she’s making every guy in her radius do a not-so-subtle double take.
“There’s only what, Jameson?” Damien asks.
“We’ll need a raincheck on this conversation.” I follow Scarlett with my eyes, watching her settle into a corner with wine. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”
“That’s fine.” He holds out the same business card he’s given me before. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
You’ll be waiting… I walk away from him and head for Scarlett.
“Hello, Scarlett.” I step in front of her.
“Hello, Mr. Tate.” Her voice is flat. “Are you enjoying the party?”
“Not really.” I set my glass on the window ledge. “I’ve never been the partying type.”
“I don’t believe that, sir.” She looks away from me. “I’m sure you have plenty of stories to tell about your drunken college days.”
“You’d be surprised…” I say. “There’s no need to be formal with me, Scarlett.”
“I don’t see why not, Mr. Tate.” She’s still looking elsewhere. “We hardly ever speak to each other.”
“My dick was deep inside you three weeks ago.”
Her cheeks flush red and she finally turns back to me.
“I thought so.” I ignore the urge to move closer to her. “I sent notes for your family to read over in case any reporters happen to sneak into this party.”
“I saw them already. They look like scripts.”
“That’s the point.” It takes everything in me not to push the stray strands of hair off her forehead. “Speaking of scripts, how are your auditions going?”
“Like you care…” She presses her glass to her lips, taking a long gulp. “I’m sure my father appreciates you stopping by, so you can walk away from me now.”
“I’m genuinely curious, Scarlett,” I say. “I want to know.”
“Walk away from me, Jameson.” Her voice cracks. “Go torture someone else with your fake small talk. I don’t want that from you.”
“What the hell do you want me to say to you, Scarlett?” I narrow my eyes at her. “Honestly.”
“You could start with ‘I miss you.’”
“And if I don’t?”
“You can say that, too,” she says. “I deserve to know either way.”
I look over at where every red flag in the universe is waving in my direction, where her father and half of my senior team are now taking a photo together.
Then I look back at her.
“I’ve fucking missed you,” I say. “And I’ve thought about you every day since we last spoke…Happy?”
“No.” A small smile crosses her lips. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“If that’s even halfway true,” I say, pausing. “Why haven’t you called or texted me?”
“Because I wasn’t the one who asked for space.”
Fair point. I step closer, wanting to see her eyes.
“The sun isn’t out and we’re indoors,” I say, gently lifting her shades. “You don’t need to wear these, so…”
My sentence stalls at the full view of her face.
Small cuts border her left eye and her right one features a tell-tale grey mark from a brutal hit. She’s tried to cover the flaws with makeup, but the swelling is too hard to erase.
“Give me those back.” She snatches the shades from me, sliding them back into place.
“Have you tried anything from the dessert tower?” She tries her hand at small talk. “My parents flew in every pastry from Italy.”
“What the hell happened to your face?” I refuse to play along with her.
“It’s pretty hard to make a perfect cannoli, but somehow that chef nails it every time.”
“Scarlett…” I can feel my blood boiling. “Who the fuck hit you?”
“No one,” she says. “I ran into a door.”
“And you hit both eyes at the same time?”
“I’m fine, Jameson.” Her voice gives away another lie. “Please just drop it.”
“I won’t.” I close the gap between us. “Who did this to you?”
“It’s been really nice seeing you again.” She attempts to step away from me, but I grab her wrist. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“If you think I won’t cause a fucking scene because this is your father’s party, you’re sadly mistaken...” I lower my voice. “Tell me who hurt you. Now.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She jerks her hand away. “You would’ve never known if you didn’t come talk to me anyway. You didn’t even know I was going to be here…”
“You have one more second to answer my question.”
“It was my mother, okay?” Her bottom lip quivers. “Is that good enough?”
As if she knows it’s not, she lets out a soft sigh and continues.
“She found me in New York last week—right after an audition—and then we got into a one-sided argument. She won with her hands. The end.”
“So, she finally knows about your double life?”
“Part of it,” she says. “She’s not going to tell my dad, so there’s a silver lining...I shouldn’t have said what I said, so the bruises are all my fault.”
“No, the assault is one hundred percent her fault.” Remorse for not calling her sooner hits my chest all at once. “Does this happen often with her?”
She shrugs. “Do you want me to press charges or something?”
I’m tempted to… “I want you to feel better.”
“Then leave,” she says. “It hurts like hell to see you, and I was just fine before you got here.”
“You’re usually a lot more convincing when you lie to me.” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Are you staying here this weekend or going back to New York?”
“I don’t know anymore.” Her bottom lip quivers. “I meant what I said about the cannolis, though. They’re really good.”
“I’m staying in suite seven,” I glance up at where it sits, right behind the grand staircase. “Meet me there in ten minutes.”
“And if I don’t want to be around you for another second?”
“You would’ve walked away right after I said hello.”