She never could’ve seen herself in a position like this. All that time, teaching herself to be self supportive, to use her education and smarts to get somewhere in the world rather than what was between her legs or her natural beauty, but here Jamie was. Having spent the night with Hank, a man she never could’ve seen herself interested in. It wasn’t that he wasn’t handsome, because the man was drop dead gorgeous and had a magnetism that she’d rarely seen. Her ovaries did a little cheer every time she looked at him, after all, as evidenced by the fact that she was pacing in bare feet, grey lacy panties and one of Hank’s shirts right now. But still - it rankled at her the way that he thought money solved everything. That he was so derisive about her dedication to her work and her want to try and make his space their space. The man was some high fucking walls, and Jamie second guessed her attempts to breach them every damn day.
For now though, Hank wasn’t the problem. It was her father, breathing down the line with words she was certain would smell like whiskey, making her press her palm to her forehead at what she was hearing. Raised voices were normal for them, as he accused her of abandoning him, of caring more about herself than him, how much he needed Jamie and how much of a disrespectful daughter she was. “Dad I can’t - I can’t have this conversation with you right now it’s six AM. I can’t talk to you about this.” It’s never the right time for you Jameson. Just another way you show me I’m not a fucking priority to you. Jamie resisted the urge to growl a bit under her throat, fed up with the whole conversation. Her annoyance was only matched by the guilt she still, despite her best efforts felt. “Good bye, Dad.” Throwing her phone on Hank’s couch she scrubbed her hands over her face and chuffed out an unhappy breath. What a start to her day. And she’d left bed for this?
Hank’s voice, cultured and aloof, cut through the brief silence after she’d hung up, startling Jamie a bit. One hand ruffled through her curls from her position sitting on one of his pristine white couches, another point of evidence of his exhorbiant wealth. It didn’t help that Hank chose this moment to bring up his in house chef - she didn’t have anything against them as a person, but it did not compute to her that the man was whole grown and didn’t cook his own damn meals. “She’s your cook, how would I know?” Maybe a little too testy for their first interaction of the day, but Jamie couldn’t help it. She was in a mood.
Hank never thought he’d be the kind of man to pay for company. But as his life would have it, he ended up being the adage people talked about. Money don’t maketh man. His grandfather would have had a field day with Hank’s loneliness, and that thought made his heart ache for his only living family. Family was rough, and what good was his bank account if he didn’t have anyone to spend it on? And maybe that is why he is taken by Jamie. Her independence, and her constant denial to be spoiled intrigues him, and Hank thinks dismantling her inhibitions is a more titillating project than anything he’s been doing for past six years.
He’s tempted to cut her some slack; the way she throws the phone, certain that it will rattle when picked up, he can tell she’s angry. Dad. Father issues? Something the investor would have to look into. “She usually makes sure breakfast is hot and piping, at the table, by six thirty. I don’t hear food being made, so I will ask again. Where is my cook, Jamie?” He doesn’t like her walking into his space and thinking she can change it. He doesn’t need her to be an autonomous presence, he wants her as an accessory, something that responds when spoken to.
“Who was it on the phone?” He was going to feign ignorance, as he walked into his kitchen, stroking the stainless steel surface of his refrigerator as he took out the accouterments for a hearty breakfast. “You can answer whenever you see fit. After all, we have all day, and we are paupers in steel cages.”
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