What. The. Hell? No explanation about why he hadn't bothered to turn up for dinner last night, no information about what I was supposed to do today, no plan for when we'd have a conversation about the terms of this ludicrous agreement, just . . . this? I crumpled the note up and threw it across the room. Picking up my phone, I dialed his number for the second time. Straight to voicemail again. I let out an angry growl and dropped my phone on the counter with a loud clack.
Was his plan to bore me to death? Or maybe I should look at this as a nice little vacation? Perhaps I'd lie out on his deck and soak up some . . . a loud crack of thunder sounded out the window and rain began beating on the glass. I slumped down onto one of the bar stools and put my chin in my hands.
No, I was not going to sit here and do nothing. He'd "hired" me to work off our debt, and that's what I'd do. I got started in his kitchen cabinets, organizing everything by item and then alphabetizing it all. After a quick lunch, I moved on to his room, knocking first and then opening the door slowly, peeking inside as if he might be there, hiding in the shadows. I stepped inside, looking around at the large master. It looked somewhat similar to the room he'd given me only the bed wasn't a canopy and was made up in dark gray linens, and there were no chairs in front of the fireplace, only a large, soft-looking area rug. There were no personal items I could see, and I decided not to open his dresser drawers—for the moment anyway. Instead, I went to his bathroom and organized his medicine cabinet in the same way I'd organized the kitchen. He only had a few items—toothpaste, a toothbrush, floss, deodorant, shaving cream, a comb, a bottle of Tylenol, and nail clippers—so it didn't take long. It felt extremely personal to be going through his bathroom cabinet, but that's what he got for leaving me with no direction. If I had to make it up as I went along because he'd left me to my own devices, then he couldn't complain. Still, there was a tight feeling in my gut as I went through his personal spaces that I couldn't exactly explain to myself. All this time, all the days I'd wondered about the boy, and then the man . . . and now here I was in his bedroom.
I looked over at the bed again, wondering what he looked like when he slept. Did that intense expression he wore smooth out as he traveled to the land of dreams, or did he hold on to that tight control of his even in sleep? And how many women had slept here with him? How many women knew him intimately, as I had . . . once and only once? Shaking off the thought, I went into his closet and began organizing his clothes by type and color. His clothes mostly consisted of dress shirts and pants, a few ties, and several racks of shoes.
When I was done, I left his room, that same strange feeling of sadness lodged in my chest. That had been a bad idea. I would be better off with no reminders that Brogan Ramsay was a flesh and blood man. Though I had thought of him often over the years, with a mixture of sorrow and regret, I'd be better off remembering he hated me and was out to punish me in whatever way brought him satisfaction. Going through his clothes and personal items had not helped my own cause. Still, it might annoy him so at least I had that.
As I stood staring out the window, I caught movement just beyond some trees to the side of the house and leaned closer, straining my eyes. It had stopped raining, but water droplets were still dripping down the glass, which made it difficult to see. I walked quickly to the front door and made my way across the soggy lawn and through the trees, emerging in another driveway in front of what looked like a nice guesthouse, smaller than the main house, but in a similar style. There was a car driving up the driveway and I watched as it turned out of sight. Someone was staying here? I turned and walked back to the house.
I dialed Stuart's number, and he picked up on the second ring.
"Lydia. You okay?"
I gritted my teeth. It sounded like Stuart had been drinking, his voice slurred. What I was doing out here at Brogan's house wasn't going to make a damn bit of difference if Stuart was drinking himself stupid rather than maintaining our business until I could get back. I'd likely return with some kind of plan worked out between Brogan and me, and the company would be completely worthless. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"He hasn't hurt you?"
"No. It seems like he's planning on using me as his housekeeper. I'm supposed to cook him and a guest dinner tonight." I opened the refrigerator and started looking at what I'd bought yesterday that I could make for dinner.
Stuart let out a breath. "Did he tell you how long you'd have to be there?"
"No. I haven't talked to him yet. I'll let you know when I do, okay? Are you all right?"
"Yeah." He sounded sullen like he was having a pity party. "I've been fired. My replacement showed up today and the new management watched as I cleaned out my office. Not surprising . . . but . . ." His voice drifted away.
I froze for a second, hearing how upset Stuart sounded. And so it begins. Would he fire me, too? "Oh," I breathed, leaning against the counter. "Stuart, I'm sorry. I was worried that would happen, but I hoped . . . Well, this will turn out all right. Will you be okay?"
"Once Brogan Ramsay is dead in the ground," he murmured.
"I don't think we need to get that drastic. Hold tight. This will work out. I'll call you as soon as I can, okay?"
"Okay, whatever you say. Let me know if you need anything." I heard liquid sloshing as if he'd just taken a drink out of a bottle. Yeah, I need for you to grow up and start being a responsible man, Stuart. Start thinking of someone other than yourself. I held my tongue. He'd just been escorted out of our family company. Maybe it wasn't the right time for a verbal lashing. And maybe he wasn't the only one who needed a drink.
"I will. Stuart, I . . . I love you, okay?"
"Yeah, I love you, too. Bye."
"Bye."
I stood in Brogan's kitchen for several minutes, trying to get hold of my emotions. I was resentful of Brogan for the situation we were currently in, but I was angry with Stuart, too. Here I was serving at my master's mercy and he was . . . drunk? I could barely afford groceries and he was still drinking? Where exactly was he getting the money for that expensive vice? And after he'd gambled away our company? I let out a shaky breath. God, my life was in tatters. And now I might have to figure out a way to make my car payment. Or maybe it was time to get rid of it entirely—I had prepaid the garage fee in the city for the year, but it was coming up for renewal in the next few months and I probably wouldn't have the funds to pay it. Truthfully, I no longer lived a lifestyle where maintaining a car in New York City was reasonable. Maybe I should start preparing my résumé, but what employable skills did I actually possess?
I headed to my bedroom where I took out my laptop and logged in to my email account, my muscles tense as I waited to see whether I was locked out or not. I wasn't. So Brogan had had his new management team fire Stuart, but not me? My heart rate decreased slightly. I had to believe that was a good sign, that at least Brogan was considering working with me on this. The next department head team meeting wasn't for another couple weeks, so hopefully all would be resolved by then.
I spent the next few hours catching up on emails and a few work items I could do from my computer, thankful that although I wasn't in the office, I could keep my finger on the pulse of the company so to speak. Then I went to a recipe website and looked up a few ideas, emailing the one to myself that I finally chose.
Returning to the kitchen, I pulled the recipe up on my phone and got the ingredients out of the refrigerator. Again, I poured myself a glass of wine while I cooked. So far, I had to say, this portion of the revenge plot Brogan had going on was pretty weak.
At five forty-five, I heard a car pull up in the driveway and checked the fish I had just put in the oven. It still needed about fifteen minutes, so I hoped Brogan wasn't expecting dinner early. I heard the front door being opened and left the kitchen to stand in the foyer. Brogan came in first, a smile on his face and I almost startled at the unexpectedness of it. But then I saw why he was smiling. He was talking to a woman who was entering the house behind him as he gestured her into the fo
yer. He caught sight of me and his smile wilted. "Lydia," he said, nodding his head. The woman stepped fully into the foyer, a smile on her face. She was gorgeous with long, red hair and legs that went on for days. She looked at me questioningly, but Brogan didn't introduce us.
"Um, dinner's not quite ready," I said to Brogan. He took the woman's light wrap, and I couldn't help but to notice that her figure was perfect in every way as the entirety of her dark purple dress was revealed, deeply cut at the chest, showing an ample amount of cleavage.
Brogan moved his eyes from her to me, as if with difficulty. Something tightened in my chest. "That's okay. We'll have cocktails in the living room. What would you like, Anna?"
"I'd love a glass of white wine," she said. "Do you have a chardonnay?"
I looked at Brogan and he looked at me, raising his brows when I didn't answer. "Oh, uh, yes," I finally said. So I'd be, what, serving them tonight? I pressed my lips together. "Let me get that for you." I plastered a fake smile on my face. "What would you like to drink, Brogan?"
Brogan put his hand possessively on Anna's lower back and led her toward the living room, turning his head slightly and saying, "Just water."
I gritted my teeth and turned back to the kitchen. This was fine. I was going to serve Brogan and his date. He could have assigned me worse tasks than this, I supposed.
I checked on the fish and then the items on the stove. I'd made pecan-crusted halibut with couscous and roasted asparagus.
When I walked into the living room with their drinks, they were both sitting on the sofa with their knees touching as Brogan laughed at something Anna had just said. Laughed! I'd rarely even seen him laugh when he was a teenager. He'd just gotten this warm look in his eyes and they'd crinkle slightly at the corners in this endearing way . . .
Without making eye contact, I put the drinks down on two coasters on the coffee table. When I looked up, I saw that Brogan was watching me, his tongue running over his front teeth. His eyes moved away and I glanced at Anna whose eyes were moving between Brogan and me. I cleared my throat. "Dinner should be ready in ten minutes."
I turned to leave when Anna put her hand on Brogan's thigh, giving me a cool smile, and said, "I don't think I caught your name. I'm Anna."
I turned fully toward her, shooting a quick glance at Brogan. His eyes were shuttered as he took a drink from his water. "I'm Lydia. It's nice to meet you." I gave her a small smile and then turned and left the room as quickly as possible. I could hear her asking Brogan in a whispered voice who I was, but I didn't try to listen for his answer.
As I set two places at the table in the formal dining room right off the kitchen, I wondered if Brogan was having me serve him and his date to inspire some kind of jealousy? Why would he do that? Or was he simply trying to cause me embarrassment with the fact that I was now so lowly I was reduced to serving him and his girlfriend? Or one of his girlfriends at least. I did note that she was a different woman than the one I'd first seen him with at the garden party. Apparently he wasn't lacking for dates. What was the actual point of this? Because the truth was, I did feel a smidge of jealousy and I didn't like it at all. I didn't want to watch Brogan with the beautiful woman in the other room. I could certainly accept that he was with another woman—all these years, I'd figured he was. When I'd thought of him, I'd assumed he was probably with plenty of women, perhaps even married, perhaps even with children . . . A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed it down. But assuming something and having to be a party to it were two very different things. And the truth was, I could admit to myself that I had never fully let go of my feelings for Brogan Ramsay. I wasn't even sure exactly how I felt about him—especially now in my current predicament—but what I did know was that I'd rather be lots of other places than where I was now. Suck it up, Lydia. You agreed to this.
I squared my shoulders and returned to the living room where Anna was leaned in to Brogan whispering something in his ear. Her hand was between his thighs, resting just above his knee. His gaze met mine above her turned head, and my eyes widened at the direct eye contact. "Dinner's ready," I muttered, pivoting back toward the kitchen. God, I hated this. And I hated him. I hated that this was bothering me. I hated that he was doing this to me just because he could. He was doing this to prove that he held all the control. Like a spoiled toddler, he was going to show me who was in possession of all the toys. And yet, he knew nothing about me now. He knew nothing of the things I'd experienced since that day seven years ago. He didn't know that I'd suffered, too. He didn't know because he hadn't attempted to find out. He probably hadn’t cared and really, I guess I couldn't blame him, and yet it hurt all the same. And so this was who Brogan Ramsay had become: a man who took pleasure from exacting any petty revenge he could on a person he knew nothing of anymore.
I took another sip of wine, feeling anger move through me. I held on to the emotion tightly—it felt so much better than the jealousy, the hurt. Perhaps I deserved all three, but it didn't mean I had to like it.
The fact remained, though: I did have to endure it. I'd agreed to as much.
Brogan and Anna came into the dining room. Anna shot me an annoyed look. Clearly, she'd rather be alone with Brogan. Who could blame her, really? I'd be uncomfortable if I were her, too. I'd serve dinner and make myself scarce.
I brought the dished-up plates to the table and refilled their drinks. "If you don't need anything else—"
"We might. Stay nearby," Brogan instructed. I felt my nostrils flare, but I simply nodded and left the room. In the kitchen I poured myself a second glass of wine and sat at the island flipping, unseeing, through a magazine of neighborhood coupons that was sitting with the other junk mail.
Anna's feminine laughter drifted from the dining room. I heard Brogan call my name and froze, getting up slowly and walking back into the dining room where I saw Anna had pulled her chair closer to Brogan.
"What can I get for you?" I asked, clasping my hands in front of me and smiling placidly.
Without turning to me, Brogan said, "I dropped my napkin. Will you bring me a new one please?"
Or you could simply bend down and pick it back up, you arrogant asshole. "Of course." I retrieved another napkin from his linen drawer and took it into him.
"Thanks," he said, not looking at me. I held the napkin out to him, but when it became clear he wasn't going to take it, I set it down on the table, my knuckles rapping against the wood. The noise caused him to glance up at me, those blue, blue eyes meeting mine. My heart squeezed.
"God," Anna moaned, putting a forkful of halibut into her mouth, "this is so good." She licked her bottom lip slowly and giggled, putting her fork down and sliding her hand across the table where she used her index finger to run along the top of Brogan's hand. "My compliments, Lydia. This food is almost better than sex." She looked pointedly at Brogan. "Almost." She turned her eyes toward me, clear hostility there now. And why? I'd done nothing to her.
"Well," I said, shooting her what I hoped was a fake looking smile, "I really wouldn't know. I've only been with one man, and it was an extremely unfulfilling experience."
Brogan's body went rigid and Anna's eyes narrowed. "That's a shame, Lydia. Maybe you should get out more." Like right now, was written on her face.
"That's a good idea, Anna. If there'll be nothing more, I'll leave you two to enjoy your date." I didn't give Brogan the chance to reply before rushing from the room. I grabbed my phone off the counter and headed up the stairs. I'd come down later—after they were gone wherever it was they'd end up going—and clean the kitchen then. Was she going to spend the night here? I ran my fingers over my forehead. So this was his plan. How stupid I was to even consider that he'd brought me to his home to use me as some modern-day sex slave. He was going to keep me here to show me how very wanted he was by other women. How very little he wanted me. Why? Because he'd thought all those years ago my tricking him meant that I hadn't cared for him at all. And yet, if he cared enough to go to such extreme lengths to prove
something to me, didn't it also prove that he’d cared and cared deeply? Had cared? Did care? I sighed. Oh, Brogan. What is this you're doing?
And now he knew he was the only man I'd ever been with because I'd blurted it out in a moment of anger. I cringed. I hadn't thought that out. I hardly wanted him to know that.
I undressed and took a long, hot shower and then put on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top I slept in. I hoped Brogan wouldn't try to call me downstairs to serve dessert. Oops, I hadn't made dessert. Well, Anna would appreciate that—she wouldn't have to wait to get Brogan upstairs and into bed. I put in a pair of ear buds and turned on Spotify on my phone, lying back on the bed.
Something woke me. I blinked, trying to grasp where I was for a moment, moaning aloud when I finally did. I felt like I'd been sleeping for hours. My eyes adjusted to the low light and I turned over, bringing my knees up and wrapping my arms around them, loneliness assaulting me in the darkness of this strange bedroom.
"Were you lying?"
I startled, letting out a small yelp and jerking upright. Brogan had turned one of the chairs flanking the fireplace and was sitting on it, leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs as he watched me.
I allowed my heart rate to slow for a few moments, removing the now-silent ear buds. My playlist had ended. "It's not okay to come into my room without permission."
"You went into mine."
Ah, so he'd noticed. "Not while you were in there," I defended.
"That makes it better?"
"I . . . what do you want? I didn't think midnight visits to my bedroom were part of our deal, not that we've defined the terms of our deal since you stood me up last night." I scooted to the side of the bed, running my hand through my hair, trying to work out some of the tangles.
"Were you lying about having only been with me?"
I stared at him in the dim light, his features softened, the color of his eyes subdued. "No, I wasn't lying."
"Why?" he hissed.
I jerked back slightly. "Why what?"