"Your brother is the one enjoying himself. He arranged this."
"Oh no, Lydia. My brother might be actin' like a man baby, but I can promise ya he's not enjoyin' himself." She grinned. "Which is gona make it all the better."
"Wait, you slapped me for hurting him yesterday, and now you want to help me upset him?"
"He brought this one on himself. He's just gettin' what he deserves in this case. Now wash."
I turned to the sink and did as she said while she slipped out. I was drying my face and smoothing my hair when she knocked again, entering the bathroom with my makeup bag and a new white shirt. "I grabbed this from your bathroom," she said, holding up the makeup bag. "The red-haired girl on the caterin' staff had an extra shirt with her." She tossed it to me.
I looked at it. "The one who looks like she's twelve?"
Eileen grinned. "Yeah. I need ya to go get your laciest bra."
Fifteen minutes later, when my hair and makeup were done and my shirt was as buttoned up as a shirt three sizes too small would get, I looked at myself in the mirror. "I look like a prostitute."
Eileen came up behind me, tilting her head slightly, sizing me up before she gave me a pleased smile. "Aye. A high-class prostitute," she qualified. "One who dates married politicians."
My startled eyes met hers in the mirror, and I burst out laughing, thinking she was just what I had needed. I had needed a friend. And Eileen Ramsay had shown up. Life was full of surprises, and this was one I would never have expected.
CHAPTER TEN
Brogan
I rubbed my jaw as I surveyed my party. My stupid fucking party that had gone to hell in a hand basket. I'd set it up to go down just the way it had, so why did I feel like the devil himself? Watching Lydia run away from the group of bitches I'd invited purposefully to torment her hadn't offered the least bit of satisfaction. On the contrary, it had filled me with anger and made me want to protect her from the situation I had put her in. I'd thought about chasing after her, but I was probably the last person she wanted to see right now. I'd let her lick her wounds in her room and go to her after the party.
Despite all my internal justification, I knew I was acting unreasonably when it came to Lydia. I fucking knew it, I just couldn't figure out why. Or maybe I just didn't want to. "Fucking feck," I muttered, clenching my jaw harder when I saw Fionn and Eileen heading toward me.
"Where's Tiffani with an i?" Eileen asked, taking a sip from the champagne glass in her hand. For a second I had absolutely no idea who she was referring to. Ah, my date. Right.
"Mingling I guess," I said. She might have left for all I knew.
Fionn turned to Eileen. "She got tired of him ignorin' her and not movin' his eyes from that poor servant girl. What was her name again? Ah, Lydia. Poor, trampled Lydia. I hear she deserved it, though. So why then, I must ask," Fionn questioned, putting his finger on his chin as if in thought, "does my dear friend and your dear brother look so miserable about it?" He shot me a taunting smile.
"Fionn . . ." I said, a warning in my tone. Fionn simply laughed.
"It's true. Ya don't look like you're enjoyin' your victory, brother dearest," Eileen said, giving me an innocent smile. I scowled at her.
"I think Brogan has found himself in a be careful what ya wish for scenario," Fionn mock whispered, leaning close to Eileen as if I couldn't hear him. "Either that or he has a brutal case of indigestion. Sour stomach? What else is it referred to? Ah," he held up a finger, "heartburn."
"I'd have to agree, my perceptive friend," Eileen said, letting out a dramatic sigh.
"What I want to know is why exactly this is so damned funny to you two?" I asked through my clenched jaw.
Eileen took another sip of champagne, glancing around as if looking for something specific. Technically, she shouldn't be drinking any alcohol at all since she wasn't twenty-one, but it was a private party, I'd let it slide. "Your misery is of your own makin' this time, Brogan. In exactin' your revenge against the De Havilland family, you've turned yourself into exactly what ya claim to despise. These are ya friends now?"
"All of a sudden you're on her side?" I asked, knowing I sounded like a petulant child and hating myself just a little bit more. Of course the people here weren't my friends.
"I'm on your side. Always. Which is why I'm against this. It's beneath ya. I disliked her for hurtin' ya. Slappin' her yesterday felt mighty good. But I didn't want to ruin her life for it, or watch her suffer the same treatment we once endured by that group of purposeless bitches." She nodded over to Lydia's old high school friends who were still laughing and twittering, most likely reliving every moment of bossing Lydia around like she was their own personal Cinderella.
I looked at Eileen, my guts twisting. "You slapped her yesterday?"
She nodded, and I clenched my eyes shut for a moment. "Well, yeah. She took it like a champ, just like she's doin' today. I have a feelin' she believes she deserves this. Which is part of why she's takin' it. But the girl has some pride, too. Damned if I don't respect her for it."
I didn't even bother to look at Eileen. I knew she was right. I opened my mouth to respond when the door to the house opened, and a girl with a tray walked outside. I almost choked when the tray was lowered. Lydia. Oh shite. She had obviously cleaned up her face and had redone her makeup. The sun was shining on her pale hair, and she looked bright and shiny and so beautiful I hardly wanted to look at her. But when my eyes lowered, a low snarl came out of my throat of its own free will, my muscles clenching tightly. The white button-down shirt was way too small, the buttons barely closing over her full breasts, the lace of her bra clearly visible through the stretched material, even from where I was standing. The top four buttons weren't even closed at all, giving an easy view of full, creamy cleavage. For a moment my vision dimmed the way it sometimes did when I was being overly stimulated in some myriad of ways.
"Did he just growl?" Eileen asked Fionn. My eyes remained on Lydia. This was ridiculous. Why in the hell was she back out here? Hadn't she had enough? And why the ever-loving feck was she dressed that way?
"I think he did," Fionn remarked from somewhere seemingly far away. "How very primitive, like. Or it's the heartburn again. Ya wanna hear me theory?"
"I do wanna hear your theory, as a matter of fact," Eileen said.
"I thought ya might. Me theory is that our friend here still loves the girl, and it's bloody killin' him right now to see her hurtin'."
"Insightful, my wise friend. Fair play. Ya might just be right."
"I think so," Fionn said.
"For fuck's sake, enough is enough," I said hoarsely, heading straight toward Lydia. She seemed to have seen me because she turned in the other direction and made a fast beeline for the exact group of girls who were having so much fun tormenting her. Why? What in the hell was she doing?
She marched right up to the group of coiffed vultures and beamed a smile at them, holding her tray forward. "Dumplings, anyone?" she asked, pushing her cleavage forward. "They're soft and delicious." They turned toward her and for a second I wished I had a camera. Their shocked, clueless expressions were so perfectly priceless. Point to Lydia. Obviously being completely unprepared for her return, the girls simply took a dumpling, their expressions remaining confused, and Lydia turned and marched away. I caught up to her.
"This is enough, Lydia. Go inside. You're excused from this party."
"Excused?" she asked, not stopping, forcing me to follow along behind her like a moronic puppy dog. "Oh no. I wouldn't dream of allowing you to excuse me now, Brogan, not when your revenge hasn't been properly satisfied. Don't deprive yourself of my complete and utter humiliation. I'm sure those girls have something more devious up their sleeves than flinging food. Then again, they're not the brightest bulbs in the bunch—take it from me—so they could be out of ideas. We'll have to wait and see. You must be on the edge of your seat to find out. I know I am."
I almost groaned. "Lydia, please, it's enough. I've had enough. Please g
o inside." Good fucking God, now I was saying please to my . . . archenemy? I suddenly wanted to laugh at the thought of the term Fionn had used once to describe her.
She shook her head, a beatific smile on her face as she headed toward another small group chatting and laughing. "Dumpling?" she asked, smiling around at the group. As the women took the dumplings, I watched as the men used the opportunity to examine Lydia's cleavage at length and in close proximity. Disgusting lechers. Why the hell did I have such disgusting lechers at my house? I hated disgusting lechers. But apparently I had invited a whole horde of them to my home to partake of my food and drink.
"Oh, hello, Brogan," one man finally said. I had no earthly idea who he might be, other than a disgusting lecher. "I haven't had a chance to say hello. Nice party." Then he babbled on about something inane and useless that I supposed I was meant to listen attentively to. Lydia took the opportunity to duck away and head to another group nearby to offer more of her soft, delicious dumplings.
"Are you okay, Mr. Ramsay?" the man in front of me asked, a concerned frown on his face. "Bit of heartburn, is it?"
"Em, yeah, excuse me," I muttered.
By the time I caught up with Lydia, she was filling a tray with champagne from the bar. "Lydia, put the tray down and go inside," I said. "I insist."
She turned away from the bar. "I can't just yet, Brogan. The crowd standing by the band is parched. If I don't get this champagne over to them immediately, there's likely to be any number of dry throats. Trust me when I say you don't want it to be known that you let your guests suffer dry throats at your first party. There could be negative gossip and as anyone who—"
"I couldn't care less about negative gossip," I growled.
"You should, Brogan. I'm just a lowly server now, but as you may or may not remember, I used to run in different circles and among the rich and shallow, negative gossip can ruin someone more quickly than carrying," she leaned toward me and whispered loudly, "a knock-off Hermès purse." She pretended to shudder and I stopped, feeling my lips tip up in the barest hint of a smile, mixed with a small measure of surprise.
Lydia. God, how did I forget how you once made me laugh?
She passed out the champagne and then rushed off. I stood staring after her, not knowing what to feel, the same way I'd felt after we'd joked a bit on text. I had felt a strange, confused happiness then, just as I felt now. Before I could even spend a moment more thinking about it, Lindsey and her group surrounded me. They'd been too busy running Lydia all around to bother me before, but they had me cornered now. I sighed internally. Lindsey had attempted to hang off me at every event I'd seen her at since I'd been looking at real estate in Greenwich. Her obvious flirting and obnoxious conversation, mixed with the way she repeatedly touched me, was barely tolerable. In truth, I hated it. I hated her scent. I hated the feel of her talon-like fingernails, even through the material of my shirt.
"Brogan," she sing-songed, leaning in and kissing my cheek. Her heavy perfume, mixed with some sort of competing hair product, overwhelmed me, causing my head to swim for a moment. "I haven't had a chance to compliment you on a wonderful party! I was just telling my girls it's my favorite of the year so far." She batted her eyelashes, her eyes wandering down to my crotch.
A moment from a summer's day seven years ago filled my mind. Lydia and her girlfriends had been splashing and laughing at her pool. I'd walked by pushing a wheelbarrow filled with soil, and I'd heard Lindsey say, "God, if it wouldn't cause my father to have a conniption, I'd be all over that hot gardener boy. He makes slumming it look irresistible." I'd cringed, feeling hot shame move up my neck as the rest of the girls had started laughing. But when I'd looked at Lydia, she wasn't laughing. Instead, I watched as she stuck her foot out and tripped Lindsey who was too caught up in a giggling fit to notice. Lindsey had screamed as she went flying into the pool, flailing and belly flopping into the water on a loud smack. Lydia had winked at me and cocked one of her sexy hips as she'd feigned shocked concern for Lindsey. I'd turned my head to hide my laughter. Yes, Lindsey had always been a malicious bitch. Nothing had changed. So why didn't I harbor any ill feelings toward her? Why didn't her past mistreatment bother me? In fact, I barely remembered it.
There is such a thin veil between love and hate.
Lydia had never been malicious, not like them.
Not until that day. Maybe that's why it had hurt so bloody much. But standing here, watching her now, I remembered the way she'd appeared nervous, unsure. It had inspired tenderness in me then, and witnessing her discomfort today aroused the same instinctive protectiveness. And it burned. Heartburn, then, yes.
God, Lydia.
I cleared my throat just as Lydia came up to us, holding her tray out. "Cream puffs anyone? They're sweet and luscious." She smiled sweetly, her eyes challenging me not to look at her cream puffs, the ones threatening to spill out of her shirt at any second. I coughed into my hand, just barely managing not to choke, turning away slightly as Lindsey glared daggers at her. "No? Well, your loss. You'll never enjoy cream puffs like these ones. One hundred percent all natural ingredients. Nothing phony." She looked pointedly at Lindsey's cream puffs, obviously overinflated with phony ingredients. Lindsey gasped, placing her hand on her throat and widening her eyes as if she couldn't fathom the bold, impudent behavior of the girl serving her food.
With that, Lydia whirled away, to offer her cream puffs elsewhere. I pressed my lips together, not knowing whether to laugh uproariously or kill someone—possibly myself. Jaysus, help me.
Lindsey heaved out a disgusted breath. "God, Brogan, you've got to consider hiring classier help. Being from the working class yourself, surely you understand what's acceptable and what's not. You'd be completely within your rights to fire her on the spot. You're showing remarkable restraint." She clasped my arm, rubbing her phony ingredients against me. "It's very generous of you," she sighed, "but as you know, your staff reflects directly on you . . ."
I shook her off. "So do your friends." I looked around at Lindsey's followers, the women who were standing there idiotically waiting for their next instructions from the leader of their den of stupidity. "You'd all be wise to remember that." I enjoyed Lindsey's outraged intake of breath as I walked away.
The rest of the party went by far too slowly for me as my guests took their time drinking my liquor, eating my food, and making themselves at home on my property. I made the rounds once or twice but couldn't stomach more than that. Lindsey and her brainless bunch had apparently left early, but the mindless self-centered chatter of the other overinflated egos in attendance was more than I could handle today. Especially when I constantly had one eye focused on Lydia as she moved through the crowd as if she herself were the hostess of this mess of a party even though she wore the uniform and role of a servant.
I might have even been able to see the humor in it if my emotions weren't all twisted in a tangle of frustration, anger . . . and guilt. I felt like the biggest bastard who had ever lived.
Finally, finally, the guests started leaving, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Fionn and Eileen had evidently had a grand time witnessing my misery, standing off to the side and cheering each other and placing bets of some kind or another. Miserable Benedict Arnolds that they were. They finally came up and said their goodbyes, not seeming to mind in the least that I focused my most evil glare upon them and told them I was happy to see them go. They walked off laughing.
Those dwindling stayed another hour and then I made my way inside and tipped the staff that was packing up. Lydia was helping to clean the kitchen and when the catering staff began leaving, Therese gave Lydia a big hug and winked at her. Lydia had apparently won her over, too. Therese barely gave me a glance as she picked up the last of her things and headed for the door. And I was the one who had given her an overly generous tip.
Checking outside that everything was cleared away and all staff gone, I returned inside feeling relief that the party was over.
"Lydia?" We needed t
o talk. The kitchen was clean and empty, so I went upstairs, but both her bedroom and bathroom door were open. Frowning, I returned back downstairs. My heart picked up in speed. She wouldn't have left, would she? Why shouldn't she? I was a fecking arsehole to the nth degree. What reason did she have to stay? If it were me, I would leave after today, too. I should be happy to be rid of her. This had all gone arseways, just as Fionn had predicted.
So why did I feel a desperate misery descending over me?
I turned when I heard a small sound come from the living room, my heart hammering as I rushed in. Lydia was collapsed in a chair, her feet sitting on the coffee table, her high heels on the floor beside her. Relief swept through me. She hadn't left. But then my eyes moved to her feet. Oh feck. Her feet looked awful—swollen, with angry red welts in several places where her shoe straps must have been. I entered the room and sat down on the coffee table in front of her, taking her feet into my lap. Her tired eyes cracked open half-mast. God, she was exhausted. Another wave of guilt crashed over me. It must have taken everything she had in her to perform the way she did today. And yet she hadn't cracked, not once. And she hadn't let on about the state of her injured feet either. I felt . . . proud of her, yet also fearful and confused.
"Unhand me you spiteful villain," she slurred, but then she let out a deep moan of pleasure when my thumb pressed into her arch. I prayed she didn't feel what that sound did to the place right above where her foot was now resting.
"I have turned myself into a villain, haven't I?"
She cocked one eye open. "A conscienceless devil," she agreed. "Balor himself."
I let out a startled chuckle. "You remember that story?"
Her lips moved very slightly into what I thought might be the attempt at a smile. "Hmm-hmm. Balor can kill someone just by staring at them with his evil eye. I remember every story about Irish gods and devils and banshees and will-o-the-wisps you ever told me. I remember what you said about clovers, how they're lucky because the three leaves signify yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Each time I see one, I think of you. I remember it all, Brogan."