“Alright. She hasn't mentioned him to me at all. How is he handling all this bullshit?” Ang asked. Sanders sighed and his eyes slid back to the wall.

“Not very well. He is very hurt by her. He thinks she lied to him. I think he is a little afraid of her now,” Sanders explained.

“Those retards. All they've managed to do is scare each other, from each other. How do they function day to day?” Ang grumbled.

“Sometimes, I honestly wonder. Without us, I am pretty sure they wouldn't make it very far.”

Ang actually laughed. Sanders could be funny. Who knew?

“Look, I wanted to talk to you cause I'm worried about her. She's been down there for like three weeks now. She's talking herself into staying. Nick is buzzing in her ear, telling her all that shit she thinks she wants to hear. She's going to do something stupid, like move in with him, or marry him, or something. She'll turn back into a Stepford-wife, and ten years from now, she'll be some pill popping alcoholic, just like her mother. I can't handle that,” Ang stressed. Sanders nodded.

“All of this has occured to me.”

“Well, what are we going to do about it!?” Ang demanded. Sanders' eyes met his again.

“What can we do? It seems to Jameson and I that she has made her decision, and it is not us,” Sanders replied.

“You don't mean that. I don't know you very well, or Satan, but I know you guys wouldn't just give up on her. Sanders, she is going to do it. You know her. How often does she make the right decision?” Ang asked. Sanders pressed his lips together.

“Not very often,” he said in a soft voice.

“Please. Help her. She listens to you. She needs you. She's lost. Find her,” Ang replied, his voice low.

Sanders stood up abruptly, startling Ang. He glanced around the cafe, then down at Ang. Straightened his tie. Cleared his throat. Fiddled with his tie again.

“I will discuss these things with Jameson. I can't make any promises. He is very upset. If he won't go, I would be useless. She needs him to find her,” Sanders said. Ang nodded and stood up as well.

“Yes.”

Sanders didn't say anything, just walked away. Ang figured that was kind of typical behavior. He ran a hand through his hair, then pulled out his phone and glanced at it. The background screen was a picture of him, Tatum, and Ellie. Ellie was staring coolly at the camera, one perfectly sculpted brow lifted. Tate was turned towards him, her smile wide as she bit into his cheek. He was sticking his tongue out to the side, almost touching her with it. He sighed.

“Just come home, Tater tot. Come home.”

Sanders strode through the Kraven Brokerage office building. On his own, he knew he was not an intimidating man. But with the weight of Jameson's name and wealth carrying behind him, people respected Sanders. Made way for him. He knew this, and took advantage of it. He had picked up some tricks from Jameson along the way, and was very good at pretending like he was confident and in charge.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sanders,” a security guard tipped his hat.

“How are you, Mr. Sanders?” the new secretary downstairs breathed, looking up at him with big eyes. He glanced at her. She was very attractive. Blonde. Icy. Tatum's words rang through his head, “... I hate to tell you this, Sanders, but you're kinda hot ...”. He usually brushed her words aside. Maybe it was time to stop. He nodded at the secretary and continued to the elevators. Went straight up to the top floor.

“Mr. Dashkevich,” Jameson's secretary leapt out of her chair. “He wasn't expecting you. He's on a conference call.”

“It's fine,” Sanders said, walking across the outer room. She hurried around her desk.

“But you can't, it's with -,” she started, and Sanders turned towards her. Stared at her.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice frosty. She shook her head.

“N-no, Mr. Dashkevich. Would you like me to bring in any coffee?” she asked. He shook his head.

“No.”

She calls me 'Mr. Dashkevich'. I am going to inform Jameson that she needs a raise.

He walked into the main office. Jameson was sitting at his desk, two computer screens set up in front of him. He raised his eyes at Sanders' entrance, but he didn't say anything to him. He was talking in German, running over some long term investment plans for a client. Sanders marched up to the desk.

“I need to speak to you,” he said. Jameson's eyebrows went up, but he shook his head. “Jetzt. Es ist wichtig,” Sanders continued in German. Jameson shook his head again, glaring now. Sanders sighed and switched tactics. “Soy muy serio.”

Spanish was actually Jameson's first language – he hadn't started speaking English till he was five. Sanders wasn't quite fluent in it, but sometimes when he had something very important he wanted to say to Jameson, he used Spanish. German for business. English for everything else.

“Estoy trabajando en este momento, esto tiene que esperar,” Jameson whispered, covering the computer mic with his hand. He was working. Sanders had to wait. Once again, Tatum's voice drifted through Sanders' head.

“... Fuck this ...”

“Ahora,” Sanders said loudly. Now. Jameson's glare got worse.

“Me estas avergonzando en mi lugar de trabajo. Salte ya,” he hissed. Oh, so Sanders was embarrassing him; Sanders needed to leave? Somewere, in his mind, Tatum was laughing.