by Mia Sheridan
Brogan,
I accept your offer. Please let me know where I should be and when.
Lydia
I paused only momentarily before hitting send. Taking a deep breath, I stood, walking to the bathroom off my bedroom to brush my teeth. As I was finishing, I heard a ding from my computer and returned to see I'd received an email. I walked slowly to the screen and inhaled a sharp breath when I saw who it was from. I'd assumed he'd make me wait. With shaking hands, I opened the email.
Lydia,
I'm pleased. You may start tomorrow at four p.m. Below is my address.
Brogan Ramsay
Oh holy hell. I frowned, chewing on my lip as I noted the address of his home in Greenwich. He lived in Greenwich? How long had he lived there? It had to be only recently that he'd bought the house. Greenwich was a small town—surely I'd have heard? And suddenly it hit me—the man I'd seen at the garden party recently. That man had been Brogan.
"Oh my God," I whispered. I had recognized him. I had just been too discombobulated and shocked since everything had happened this morning to revisit that moment at the garden party. God, I'd known it was him, and I'd talked myself out of it. The smooth way he walked, the controlled way he held his body. The way in which he had always stood just a little farther away from other people. But not me, he had never held himself away from me. Things had apparently changed though. In the most dramatic way possible.
Anxiety assaulted my nerves, and I took several calming breaths. Okay, this was fine. I could do this. And even better that I'd be in a town I was familiar with—where I had friends. Well, sort of. I supposed classifying the girls I'd gone to high school with as friends might be stretching the definition. Quite a bit. I had Daisy. At least I had her. But would I tell her about this? God, the humiliation. How could I? I'd cross that bridge when I came to it because as of now, I really had little idea what I was getting myself into.
Brogan and I would have to discuss terms once I got there. Certainly he didn't intend for me to "work" for him for some interminable timeframe. Surely he'd grow weary of this game, too? Or would he? He couldn't possibly expect me to be some sort of slave labor forever.
All right, I wasn't going to worry about this tonight. I was going to get a good night's sleep and not imagine scenarios that may or may not come to pass. I climbed into bed and shut off the light, laying my head back on the pillow, the vision of pale blue eyes drifting through my mind.
**********
Sleep never came. I crawled out of bed the next morning at seven a.m. after I'd tossed and turned through the night. After a long, hot shower, I blew my hair dry and dressed in a pair of white pants with thin pin stripes and a green blouse. I was going to go into the office for a couple hours to get things settled. I paused as I slipped on my pumps. Was Brogan going to allow me to work at my office during the day—even remotely? I groaned—I supposed, technically, it wasn't even my office anymore. But that was the purpose of this. The purpose of this was that I was going to play by his rules, allow him to exact his revenge, take back his power, whatever he considered it, and then we'd part ways, me in possession of my family company. I would do as he asked me to do, and I'd persuade him to do the right thing. Okay, admittedly, it was a long shot. Perhaps an impossibly long shot. But somewhere deep inside, I had to believe there existed the sensitive boy I'd once known, even if only a shred of him was left. I had to believe as much, and I had to believe having access to Brogan was going to allow me to convince him to give back what was rightfully mine. If I didn't have hope, I basically had nothing.
Another thought made me pause. What if whatever "work" Brogan Ramsay asked me to do was of an illegal nature? I frowned, recalling his place of business. He'd said he was in life insurance and yet, I'd seen nothing that would indicate that was true. There hadn't been as much as a sign on the door or a computer on his desk. And his only employee had been a frisky adolescent. I'd had the impression that whatever his "business" was, it was sketchy at best. Insurance salesman, my ass.
Attempting to turn off my mind, I drove to De Havilland Enterprises and made my way quickly to Stuart's office. Surprisingly, I found him standing in front of the window, looking out at the city beyond. I was surprised to see him there—unless we had a meeting, I usually didn't expect to see him until after ten. I wondered how long it would be until one or both of us were escorted off the premises.
Stuart turned when he heard me enter, and I caught sight of the flask in his hand, and his bloodshot eyes. Ah. Now I understood why he was here so early. He'd never gone to bed. Well at least if I was losing sleep, he was, too.
"Would you like some coffee with that?" I asked sarcastically. "To at least pretend it's morning."
He turned, his expression tight. "No." He took another swig.
I dropped my purse onto a chair. "How is this helping anything? I'm the one who has to go live with a virtual stranger who is looking to make our whole family pay for something that happened seven years ago. The least you could do is present a semblance of strength for me today." I loathed that my voice sounded overly high-pitched. I took a deep breath and removed some files from my briefcase. "I need you to take care of something for me later this afternoon. I'm leaving early and this needs to get done. You're the only one who can do it besides me. Do you think you can manage it?"
"Stop the condescending bullshit, Lydia. Just tell me what you need done and it'll get done." Stuart was back to staring out the window and didn't turn around. I gritted my teeth. As usual, Stuart had gone from livid anger to sulky self-pity. I wasn't surprised, but I also didn't need to contend with it. Not today.
"Okay, thanks," I said, feigning nonchalance. "I'll text you when I know more."
I picked up my briefcase and my purse and went to leave his office when Stuart said, "Did you know our father planned to give him a job here? Said he was some kind of math genius, and we'd be lucky to have his talent at De Havilland Enterprises." I turned, one hand on the doorknob. Stuart laughed softly, no humor in the sound. "Ironic, no?" He took another long draw on his flask.
I regarded my brother, a small frown tipping my lips down. He continued to stare out the window, his shoulders bent, looking broken. I hadn't realized—he'd been jealous of Brogan Ramsay. All those years ago, he'd been green with envy because our father had recognized something in Brogan that had impressed him. My father with the incredibly strong work ethic and business savvy had never been impressed with his lackadaisical son. My father was a good man, but when it came to my brother, he'd noticed every weakness, every difference, and more often than not, looked at him with disapproval. "Take care of your brother, Lydie," my mother had said right before she'd died. "I know he's older, but he's not strong like you." Stuart had only been fifteen at the time and she'd known. I couldn't help the small spark of sympathy that ignited in my chest. There were many things I didn't appreciate about Stuart, but he was still my brother. In actuality, he was the only family I had. And my mother had asked me to look out for him.
He turned toward me. "Take care of yourself. Be . . . safe."
I nodded, offering him a small smile. "I will. I promise. Things will be fine." I walked out and closed his office door softly behind me.
I spent the rest of the day wrapping up loose ends, telling my secretary I was taking at least a few vacation days. In actuality, I had no idea what was going to happen, or whether Brogan was going to allow Stuart and me to have jobs here in any capacity. If I was here next week, all the better. I could continue on, trying my best to pull the company out of the mess it was currently in, just as my plan had been the day before.
By two p.m. I was leaving the office. I refused to say goodbye to anyone as if I wouldn't be returning. To do so would be to abandon hope. Plus, as far as I could tell, none of the staff had any idea anything was different than it'd been yesterday, so I'd have to wait for Brogan to clue me in on exactly how that was going to be handled. Of course, I could only hope he could be taken at his word as far as
ensuring the rest of the staff stayed on, whether that was true of Stuart and me or not.
A large part of my job was managing the department heads, and they were all competent in their roles. They would do just fine without me there. Reminding myself of this as I left De Havilland Enterprises put my mind at ease.
I returned home quickly and pinned my hair up and took another quick shower. I then packed a bag with a week's worth of clothes. Surely it wouldn't take me longer than that to convince Brogan to come up with some terms we could work with. I hesitated over what exactly to take. Hmm . . . what did a girl pack before submitting herself to her slave master? Good grief. How had my life ended up here?
I got in my car and pulled the address up on my GPS that Brogan had emailed. I turned on an audio book for the forty-five minute drive and attempted to focus on the story as I drove. Worrying was useless, and I had no idea what I was walking into. Imagining the possibilities would only serve to work me into a nervous wreck. All the same, by the time I pulled off my exit, I knew I hadn't absorbed a single word of the novel.
I navigated my way to Brogan's address in Old Greenwich and drove down the long driveway to pull up in front of a gorgeous pale-gray Nantucket-style shore colonial right on the waterfront. Wow. The boy who had once been a gardener's son sure had done mighty well for himself. Clearly there was money to be made in the probably shady insurance business. This home had to be upward of six million dollars, if not more.
There were no other cars in the driveway, but Brogan could very well have parked in the three-car garage in front of me. I got out of my car and grabbed my bag from the backseat, surveying the house in its entirety. Was this part of the reason Brogan had chosen to have me come here? So I would see just how affluent he was now? To highlight how far we'd fallen, and how far he'd risen? Well, if so, he'd already been successful. That fact was clear. As clear as I could imagine the view was to the Long Island Sound from every room in this elegant home.
I walked around to the front of the house and used my hand to shield my eyes as I looked out over the water just beyond a wide expanse of grass, mowed in diamond shapes. Interesting. Brogan did his own yard work? Either that, or he'd found a gardener to adopt his style. I doubted it, though. I thought back to seven years ago. I hadn't only noticed Brogan physically back then. I used to watch with fascination how detailed he was in everything he did. Intent. Focused. The precision of the work in front of me spoke of Brogan Ramsay and Brogan Ramsay alone.
There was a spacious wrap-around porch flanked by endless summer hydrangeas already in full bloom, the decadent, round, blue flowers a favorite of mine.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked once on the door and then waited. It was several moments before I heard footsteps approaching. The door swung open, and Brogan was standing there in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt. I pulled myself up as straight as possible. "Hello," I managed. Brogan nodded and stepped back, allowing me room to enter. I did, looking up and around at the two-story foyer. "You have a lovely home."
Brogan thinned his lips and nodded, pushing the door so it swung shut with a small click. "Follow me, I'll show you to your room." Well, this was uncomfortable.
"Room or cage?"
Brogan shot me a scowl. "I left you a choice in this matter, Lydia. Feel free to leave now if you've reconsidered."
I followed him up a flight of stairs, my eyes caught by the stunning view out the window of the upper floor. I was right—all the way to the Long Island Sound. "No, I haven't reconsidered. But I'd like to discuss terms. We didn't—"
Brogan turned into a room and I followed him, the words I'd been saying dying on my lips as I took in the luxurious accommodations. I was pulled immediately to the French doors that led to a widow's walk providing a beautiful, clear view of the water. I could imagine standing here with a cup of coffee in the mornings, watching the sun rise. Temporarily, of course.
I turned and looked at the bed, a large canopy with plush, white bedding. The far wall featured a fireplace flanked by two tufted, velvet chairs, and a door that must lead to the bathroom. The only other furniture was a chest of drawers and a nightstand.
I turned suddenly back to Brogan and he startled slightly at my abrupt movement. I thought I caught a fleeting expression of nervous anticipation, but when I blinked, his face held only neutral boredom. "This is . . . this is beautiful," I said anyway, biting my lip. "Can we talk now?"
Brogan cleared his throat. "Actually, no, I have a business call I need to make. I'll see you later at dinner."
"Oh, okay. Um, dinner? Do you cook, or should I . . . I mean, will that be part of my . . . duties?"
Brogan seemed to consider that. "Actually, yes, that will be part of your duties. You'll probably want to go shopping for some food, though. I haven't had the chance to get to the grocery store for a while."
The sudden picture in my mind of this aloof, powerful man strolling through the frozen food section glaring at the potpies and sending searing glances at the English muffins made me want to giggle. I stifled it. "All right then." I'd plan to discuss the terms of this arrangement over dinner. I eyed him. "And on what schedule does my begging begin?"
Brogan had turned toward the door but now halted and pivoted toward me. I shrunk back as he took two long strides before he was right in front of me. "When would you like to start?"
I raised my chin. "Does it matter what I want? I thought I was at your command. Isn't that the whole point of this?"
Brogan stared at me for several heartbeats but didn't say a word before turning and leaving my room, closing the door behind him.
I released a breath, walking to my bed and sinking down on it, lying back, and staring up at the canopy above me. Okay, well, here I was. And at least going to the grocery store would give me something to do with my nervous energy.
**********
An hour later I was back at Brogan's house with an armload of groceries. I wasn't the greatest cook, but I could manage. I'd been living on my own since I returned from college, and I'd learned to make do for myself, especially since I was on a budget and went out to eat as little as possible. Of course, if this whole business with Brogan didn't work out in my favor, I'd be on an even tighter budget. Jobless. Or maybe I'd be better off. As it was, I was putting practically every dime of my own paycheck back into the company. I had to hope it would be worth it, but in the meantime, I was shopping the bargain racks and clipping coupons. Not that I would ever let Brogan know that—it would probably please him, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He knew we were bad off—he didn't need to know the particulars of my personal finances. Or, that when I’d first thought to shop for this year's swimsuit at Target—which surprisingly enough, had really cute swimsuits—I didn’t get to shop at all. There was no extra money for this year’s anything really. My new reality. At least I was prepared for what might be to come. And at least I now knew Target was great for swimsuits. And clothes. And purses. And home décor. Target was awesome. Anyway.
I unpacked the groceries, opening cabinets to determine where the dry goods went. The kitchen was a large open area with custom white cabinets and white subway tile. There was a large island in the center and a breakfast nook off to the side with a pretty garden view. Brogan's home was luxurious, but it also managed to be very homey and comfortable, too. Despite growing up very close to here, in a luxurious home as well, it had never had the relaxed feel of this home. I looked around. Perhaps it was the décor—Ginny had always decorated using showpieces rather than anything you could actually use with any practicality. And even my mother, though she'd been warm and kind, had leaned toward formal furnishings. Brogan's home was decorated in just the opposite way—it seemed as if all the pieces, though beautiful, had been chosen specifically for comfort. But there was also a decidedly female influence—I wondered if he'd hired a decorator. Or perhaps he'd been married . . . I didn't really want to ponder on why that thought sat heavy in my belly.
I headed toward the stairs to drop
my purse in my room and noticed that the door to what I'd seen was Brogan's office was open and Brogan was gone. I called out his name softly and then waited, but there was no response. He must have gone out.
After leaving my purse in my room, I returned to the kitchen and moved the kettle off the stove—a kettle! What man owned a kettle these days? I prepared a baked chicken, roasted Parmesan potatoes and green beans for our dinner, and then poured myself a glass of wine as I waited for Brogan to return.
An hour later, I'd drunk two glasses of wine, my stomach was growling and there was no sign of him. Should I call him? I went and retrieved his business card from my purse and dialed his number. It went straight to voicemail. Sighing, I dished up my own plate and ate alone, sitting in the breakfast nook, staring out at the garden, colorful with summer flowers.
I cleaned the kitchen and wrapped the plate I'd made for Brogan and left it on the counter.
What in the world was going on here? Anger assaulted me as I climbed the stairs and put my pajamas on and climbed into bed. Didn't I even deserve some common courtesy? Apparently not. Despite my anger and although it was early, my lids began to close as soon as my head hit the pillow. I'd barely slept at all the night before and the two glasses of wine had done me in. I was asleep in mere moments.
CHAPTER SIX
Lydia
I woke early and showered and dressed before heading downstairs. Although I had slept hard and hadn't heard Brogan come in the night before, it was obvious that he'd been home. The food I'd left out was gone, there was some junk mail on the counter that hadn't been there yesterday, and a chair had been left pulled out from the table. I saw a note on the island and picked it up.
Lydia,
I'll be home at six with a guest. Please have dinner prepared for two.