Ramsay(4)

"Get down on your knees and beg me for your father's job, and I'll let  your family stay," Stuart said, his eyes filled with something that  looked like barely contained excitement. He'd never liked me, had  resented me for some reason I didn't understand. He was finding some  sick glee in this. Silence reverberated around the room. I would not do  this for my own father. I would not do this thing for him. But for  Eileen . . . for her, I would beg.

I went slowly to my knees, not breaking eye contact with Stuart. "Please  don't fire me father. I will not touch your sister again. Not as long  as I live." I heard Lydia's quiet cries but vowed not to meet her eyes.  Refused to.

"Kiss my feet and the answer is yes."

I gritted my jaw so hard I bit my tongue. The metallic flavor of blood  filled my mouth. Eileen . . . Eileen . . . I chanted in my head,  picturing her sweet, innocent face, the freckles that dusted her nose  and cheeks. I leaned forward, my body vibrating with rage and shattered  pride. Before I'd even made it halfway to Stuart's feet, his leg jerked  out and his boot caught me square in the jaw. I flew back, letting out a  startled moan as I landed on my arse on the floor, hot pain radiating  up my face.

"Changed my mind. Get your flea-bitten family out of here . . . by morning."

I jumped to my feet, dizzy with the conflicting emotions pommeling my  heart. I could barely see through the fog of humiliation. I went to step  toward Stuart, but Myles, who I'd all but forgotten about, took a step  toward me, putting his hand on my chest. I swiped it away. "I think it's  best if you just leave, Brogan," he said quietly, pity emanating off  him. I hesitated, still breathing harshly.

"Good boy," Stuart said, reaching in his pocket and throwing something  on the ground at my feet. I looked down. It was a one-hundred-dollar  bill. "You got paid yesterday. That should cover today." Shame and  self-hatred was a raw ache in my gut. I could feel heat burning under  the skin of my neck, but I bent slowly anyway and picked up the bill. We  needed it. Now more than ever. I stepped around Myles, exiting the room  and not looking back.

As I strode across the lawn, the sky a dusky blue, the sprinklers came  on. The cool water felt good against my overheated skin and I didn't  change my course, simply walked through them. Out of the corner of my  eye I saw who I thought might be Lydia racing toward her house. I  refused to turn my head. Stuart De Havilland had told us to be gone by  morning. We wouldn't wait that long. We'd be gone tonight. We'd leave  right that very moment. And as God as my witness, I would never beg  anyone for anythin' again. Not ever again.                       
       
           



       





CHAPTER ONE




Lydia  –  Seven Years Later



"Earth to Lydia, hello," Daisy said, waving a hand in front of my face.

I laughed softly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it before letting it  go. "Sorry, was I drifting off again? I've got way too much on my mind.  Start over and I swear you'll have my full attention." I took a sip of  champagne and focused on my friend.

Daisy waved her hand in the air, taking a sip of her own champagne. "No,  I don't blame you for ignoring me. I was only complaining about my new  eyebrow lady and how the arches she creates are completely sub-par."

I laughed, training my gaze on her perfectly-as always-sculpted brows.  "I do see what you mean. You've been ruined. I can't believe you'd  subject the public to the disturbing vision that is your eyebrows." I  pretended to shudder.

"Oh shut up! Seriously though . . ." Shut up, Lydia . . . That phrase . .  . why does it always cause a cold chill to move down my spine? I knew  why of course-my brother had yelled it repeatedly that day-but I  wondered if those particular words would ever cease to unnerve me. Shut  up, Lydia. ". . . so I'm counting down the days until Mariposa's  maternity leave is over. The nerve of her."

I laughed, Daisy's banal chatter lightening my mood. "The nerve of her to reproduce?"

"Exactly. So tell me what has you so distracted today."

"Oh the usual. The business, Stuart, finances . . . all very boring."

Daisy gave me a sympathetic look. "I thought things were looking better with the business."

I sighed. "I thought so, too. It seems like every time we get a break,  something else happens to set us back again. And of course, Stuart  doesn't help." My spendthrift brother who still lived as if we could  afford to be extravagant. Ever since my father died and Stuart had taken  over the company, things had gone from bad to worse. Upon my father's  death we'd discovered the company was in more debt than my father ever  let on. Possibly because it was still a situation that could have been  managed had the person taking over had a semblance of fiscal restraint  or management skills-neither of which my brother possessed. I sighed to  myself. I did love him, but I also frequently wanted to kill him. I also  missed my father terribly. His kindness, his intelligence, his love.  Despite the irony, I wished he were alive to have as a sounding board  about how to get us back into the black.

Daisy patted my hand. "It'll be fine. You know what you need? Some good  sex. When was the last time you had some? There's nothing like a good  thorough fucking to lift the spirits."

I choked on a sip of champagne and Daisy grinned. "If only I had a  candidate," I said, laughing. I did love Daisy-she came across all  polish and style, but she was liable to say the most outrageous things  just when you needed it. But Daisy was a trust fund baby who had never  had to worry about money a day in her life. She didn't really know what  it felt like. Up until recently, I hadn't either. Life had happened, and  now I'd learned lessons I'd never expected to learn. And not just about  money. I took another sip of champagne. "Things will be fine. Of  course."

She nodded. "Did you know the family that bought your estate put it up for sale a couple months ago?"

I stared at her for a moment. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I heard rumors about a big job offer overseas, but I  didn't know them. They've already moved. I think it's still on the  market."

My heart clenched. God, if only I had a way to purchase it back. I  sighed, letting that thought float away. I didn't, and there was no use  wishing for something that was an impossible dream.

"How's Gregory?" I finally asked to change the subject.

Daisy's eyes shifted away. "Oh, busy as always. But I guess I knew what I  was signing up for when I married him. If he didn't look so hot in a  suit, I'd have given up on him long ago."

I gave her a small smirk. "Is he working today?"

"Yup-closing a big deal." I thought something like doubt moved through  her eyes, but before I could question it, she smiled brightly, pointing  out some girls we knew who'd just arrived and launching into a story  about one of them.

I nodded, drifting off again, as my eyes moved over the people at the  garden party, laughing, talking, and enjoying appetizers and cocktails.  All so carefree. Why did I feel so . . . trapped? Trapped, standing here  in the middle of the wide-open lawn, the summer sun shining down on me.  Trapped and restless. It didn't feel like it was only the financial  issues my family was facing. But I couldn't put my finger on it exactly.  There had to be more though, didn't there? More to look forward to once  we were able to get the business back on solid ground? More than the  world I'd been raised in, the world of endless social events, shopping,  and surface chitchat that, these days, went in one ear and out the  other. I couldn't help it. I'd thought working as the vice president at  our family company would fill something in me that felt empty, but it  hadn't. It was challenging-Stuart ensured that-and it was interesting  and fulfilling in its way, and rather than simply being the figurehead I  could have been, I chose to be very involved with the business, getting  my hands dirty, so to speak, along with the rest of the staff. But it  still didn't offer that . . . something I'd been hoping it would  provide. Oh, shut up, Lydia, you don't even know what you want. How can  anything fulfill you when you're so clueless as to what you're missing?  Shut up, Lydia . . .                       
       
           



       

Shut up, Lydia . . .

"Lydia," my stepmother said, seemingly coming out of nowhere, air  kissing my cheek, the heady fragrance of her perfume-the Chanel N°5  she'd worn ever since I'd known her-lingering in the air around me even  after she'd leaned away to air kiss Daisy. I barely held back the sneeze  that threatened."Daisy darling," she said, and Daisy greeted her with a  small smile.