“You're certainly turning it into one.”
“I can't believe you! Two fucking years, and you just hand me a contract? Sign here, then let's go sign another piece of paper!? Is this a fucking joke!?” Tate was almost shrieking.
“Calm the fuck down.”
“You calm down! Jesus, Jameson, am I just another business deal to you!? A 'merger'!?” she hissed at him. He glared down the length of his nose at her.
“More like a hostile takeover,” he corrected her.
“You did this because you thought I wouldn't go for it,” she suddenly blurted out.
“Excuse me?”
“You thought up the absolute worst way possible to propose, the most dickheadish way possible, so I'd say no, didn't you!?” she demanded. He laughed.
“You give me too much credit.”
“Get fucked.”
“That's your job.”
“You know what, fuck you. You think you can pull some shit like this!?” Tate started shouting, searching around for the pen he'd offered. She spied it on the floor and scooped it up. “I am gonna sign this stupid thing. I'll sign your fucking contract, complete your fucking merger.”
“Nobody's twisting your fucking arm, Tate. Wouldn't want to put you out,” he said in his scary soft voice.
“Nope. Too late,” she said in a sing song voice as she placed the prenup on a table and leaned over it, signing it with a flourish. “Can't take it back now, asshole. A fucking prenup. Not even a 'good morning'.” She was mostly grumbling to herself as she stomped around the suite.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. She grabbed her sandals, hopped around as she slipped them on.
“Getting ready,” she growled.
“Ready to do what?”
“Shopping.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You want to get mergered? Then one of my contractual stipulations is that I need a fucking expensive white dress,” Tate informed him, struggling to pull on her jacket.
“Tate, just calm down and talk to me, we need to talk about this,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Too late for that! You had all this time to talk to me, but apparently making a fucking deal and drawing up a fucking contract was more important. So when is this magical merger going to take place?” she asked, throwing her purse strap over her head.
“We need to be there at six o'clock,” he told her, glancing at his watch. She gaped at him. He was really serious.
“Eight hours. You gave me a contract and eight hours,” she said softly. He reached for her.
“If you'd just let me finish tell-,” he began to say, but she yanked away.
“And a ring!” she suddenly yelled, heading for the door.
“What the fuck are you talking about now!?” he called out from behind her as she stepped into the hallway.
“I'm going to buy a white fucking dress, and a big goddamn diamond ring, you asshole!” she shrieked at him before slamming the door shut.
A contract. Two years. A contract. A fucking contract. Two fucking years.
Tate stormed down the hall, took a turn, then stopped in front of another door. She knocked on it till the occupant opened up.
“Is everything alright?” Sanders asked, looking startled.
“C'mon, let's go!” she yelled, walking back down the hall.
“Excuse me?” he replied. She heard the door shut, then he was right beside her.
“You knew, didn't you!?” she demanded, hitting the down button once they got to the elevator.
“Knew what? What's happened?” Sanders sounded flabbergasted. The doors slid open and they went inside.
“Knew what he was doing,” she said.
“What was he doing?” Sanders continued, looking bewildered.
“His lawyer! Those stupid contracts he went on about! 'Mergers'! How could you not tell me!?” Tate asked, turning on him as the elevator started its descent. Sanders winced.
“I'm terribly sorry, he asked me not to,” was his answer. She let out a frustrated shriek, making a choking gesture at his throat.
“Are you kidding me!? How many times have I told you, told both of you, that I fucking hate that shit!?” Tate yelled at him.
“You have mentioned, several times, that you -,”
“Shut up. Just shut up. Talk about a bad fucking idea. A contract!? Did he think I'd say no, is that why he did it? Well, fuck that noise, he wants to pull some bullshit like that, I will marry him, just to piss him off,” Tate threatened, striding out into the lobby when the elevator opened up.
“Um, okay,” was Sanders' only response.
Valet brought the car around. Tate sat in the backseat, wanting to keep distance between herself and Sanders. She still had the urge to strangle him. She instructed him to take her to the nearest, nicest, shopping center.
They shopped around for quite a while. Tate didn't buy just one wedding dress – she bought three. She also bought a diamond encrusted necklace and a tiara. A tiara. She forced Sanders to sit in a lingerie shop while she picked out corsets and bustiers and stockings and garters.
“Are you having several weddings?” he asked. She glared at him.
“I wouldn't know, would I? No one asked my opinion,” she snapped back, then spent even more money.
“Where to now?” Sanders sighed, loading her purchases into the trunk of the car.
“I can't believe you! Two fucking years, and you just hand me a contract? Sign here, then let's go sign another piece of paper!? Is this a fucking joke!?” Tate was almost shrieking.
“Calm the fuck down.”
“You calm down! Jesus, Jameson, am I just another business deal to you!? A 'merger'!?” she hissed at him. He glared down the length of his nose at her.
“More like a hostile takeover,” he corrected her.
“You did this because you thought I wouldn't go for it,” she suddenly blurted out.
“Excuse me?”
“You thought up the absolute worst way possible to propose, the most dickheadish way possible, so I'd say no, didn't you!?” she demanded. He laughed.
“You give me too much credit.”
“Get fucked.”
“That's your job.”
“You know what, fuck you. You think you can pull some shit like this!?” Tate started shouting, searching around for the pen he'd offered. She spied it on the floor and scooped it up. “I am gonna sign this stupid thing. I'll sign your fucking contract, complete your fucking merger.”
“Nobody's twisting your fucking arm, Tate. Wouldn't want to put you out,” he said in his scary soft voice.
“Nope. Too late,” she said in a sing song voice as she placed the prenup on a table and leaned over it, signing it with a flourish. “Can't take it back now, asshole. A fucking prenup. Not even a 'good morning'.” She was mostly grumbling to herself as she stomped around the suite.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. She grabbed her sandals, hopped around as she slipped them on.
“Getting ready,” she growled.
“Ready to do what?”
“Shopping.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You want to get mergered? Then one of my contractual stipulations is that I need a fucking expensive white dress,” Tate informed him, struggling to pull on her jacket.
“Tate, just calm down and talk to me, we need to talk about this,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Too late for that! You had all this time to talk to me, but apparently making a fucking deal and drawing up a fucking contract was more important. So when is this magical merger going to take place?” she asked, throwing her purse strap over her head.
“We need to be there at six o'clock,” he told her, glancing at his watch. She gaped at him. He was really serious.
“Eight hours. You gave me a contract and eight hours,” she said softly. He reached for her.
“If you'd just let me finish tell-,” he began to say, but she yanked away.
“And a ring!” she suddenly yelled, heading for the door.
“What the fuck are you talking about now!?” he called out from behind her as she stepped into the hallway.
“I'm going to buy a white fucking dress, and a big goddamn diamond ring, you asshole!” she shrieked at him before slamming the door shut.
A contract. Two years. A contract. A fucking contract. Two fucking years.
Tate stormed down the hall, took a turn, then stopped in front of another door. She knocked on it till the occupant opened up.
“Is everything alright?” Sanders asked, looking startled.
“C'mon, let's go!” she yelled, walking back down the hall.
“Excuse me?” he replied. She heard the door shut, then he was right beside her.
“You knew, didn't you!?” she demanded, hitting the down button once they got to the elevator.
“Knew what? What's happened?” Sanders sounded flabbergasted. The doors slid open and they went inside.
“Knew what he was doing,” she said.
“What was he doing?” Sanders continued, looking bewildered.
“His lawyer! Those stupid contracts he went on about! 'Mergers'! How could you not tell me!?” Tate asked, turning on him as the elevator started its descent. Sanders winced.
“I'm terribly sorry, he asked me not to,” was his answer. She let out a frustrated shriek, making a choking gesture at his throat.
“Are you kidding me!? How many times have I told you, told both of you, that I fucking hate that shit!?” Tate yelled at him.
“You have mentioned, several times, that you -,”
“Shut up. Just shut up. Talk about a bad fucking idea. A contract!? Did he think I'd say no, is that why he did it? Well, fuck that noise, he wants to pull some bullshit like that, I will marry him, just to piss him off,” Tate threatened, striding out into the lobby when the elevator opened up.
“Um, okay,” was Sanders' only response.
Valet brought the car around. Tate sat in the backseat, wanting to keep distance between herself and Sanders. She still had the urge to strangle him. She instructed him to take her to the nearest, nicest, shopping center.
They shopped around for quite a while. Tate didn't buy just one wedding dress – she bought three. She also bought a diamond encrusted necklace and a tiara. A tiara. She forced Sanders to sit in a lingerie shop while she picked out corsets and bustiers and stockings and garters.
“Are you having several weddings?” he asked. She glared at him.
“I wouldn't know, would I? No one asked my opinion,” she snapped back, then spent even more money.
“Where to now?” Sanders sighed, loading her purchases into the trunk of the car.
