Ramsay(7)

Looking at the dealer, I asked, "Is there someone here who will record this bet?"

"Absolutely, sir." The dealer signaled to a man by the door who came  over with a book and wrote down the terms while the man across the table  downed the rest of his drink, his knee bouncing uncontrollably. I  assumed a bored expression as we both signed our names.

He laid down his hand, three jacks. Just as I'd thought.

"Let's see what you've got," the man said shakily. Nerves seemed to have  sobered him a bit. But his face was flushed, the subtle glee in his  eyes telling me this was the thing that kept him coming back: this  moment right before it was revealed whether he would win or lose. That  addictive, excited hopefulness that had taken down so many men before  him.

I paused.

Savor, enjoy.

And then I turned my hand over, revealing my four kings. For a moment he  simply stared, as if the math wasn't adding up. His face flushed bright  red, and he looked like he was going to throw up.

"I believe I just became your boss," I said nonchalantly, allowing my  accent to slip through. I tilted my head, removing my glasses.  "Actually, now that I consider it, I believe we have met before. Stuart  De Havilland, am I right?" I stuck my hand out, a wild satisfaction  moving through my blood. "Brogan Ramsay." Stuart's face blanked and then  slow comprehension dawned in his slightly inebriated eyes as he stared  at me, his face finally blanching of all color. He gaped. "So very nice  seein' ya again." I smiled. It felt wolfish. And this time I allowed it.





CHAPTER THREE




Lydia



"Morning, Carl," I said, breezing through the doors of De Havilland  Enterprises, removing the coffee, two sugars, no cream, from the drink  holder and placing it on the front security desk.                       
       
           



       

"Morning, Lydia. Have I told you lately that I love you?"

I laughed, kissing him quickly on his grizzled cheek and heading toward  the elevator bank. "Every morning, Carl. And I'll still never get tired  of hearing it." I grinned at him and stepped into an elevator as it  dinged open in front of me. Balancing the other three coffees in the  drink holder, I switched my briefcase to my other hand and pushed the  button to the upper floor.

I'd woken up this morning with a hopefulness I hadn't felt in months, a  certainty that everything was going to be okay. I had a meeting with my  brother at nine, and we were going to go over the quarterly reports.  We'd recently won several large construction bids, and there was every  reason to believe we'd win several more. Based on the numbers that came  in this morning, we'd come up with a plan and even if I had to cut my  own salary in half-again-we were going to get back into the black, so  help me God.

Going with the when you look good you feel good philosophy, I'd put on  one of my prettiest work outfits, an elegant, fitted sapphire wrap dress  and nude heels and spent extra time on my hair and makeup.

Stepping out of the elevator, I greeted Charlene, Stuart's secretary,  and placed a coffee in front of her. She was on the phone but mouthed  thank you to me. I winked and used my shoulder to open the door of the  conference room, walking inside and setting all my things down on the  edge of the large mahogany table.

Once I'd gotten all my things situated, I peeked my head out the door.  "Hey Charlene, has Dave in financials dropped the reports off yet?"

"There wasn't anything on my desk this morning. Do you want me to call down?"

"No, that's okay. I'll wait until Stuart gets in." I called his cell,  but it went straight to voicemail, and so I drank my coffee in the  conference room, going over a few emails on my laptop. When Stuart still  hadn't arrived forty-five minutes later, I put my things away and  headed down to my office, asking Charlene to let me know when he got in.  Why did I have the sinking feeling my brother was at home in bed,  nursing a hangover as he so often was on Monday mornings these days? I  sighed, the hopeful attitude I'd arrived with quickly dwindling.

I walked back up to Stuart's office about noon, but Charlene just  furrowed her brows and shook her head. I sighed, turning to leave, when  the door opened and my brother walked in. I startled at the look of him,  bedraggled and pale. "Stuart?" I asked, walking toward him. "Good Lord,  are you sick? Why'd you come in-?"

"Go into the conference room, Lydia." I frowned, and started to ask him  what was going on when he cut me off. "Please." That startled me more  than anything. I couldn't recall the last time my brother had said  please.

"Lydia, do you-?"

I shook my head at the start of Charlene's question. "No, Charlene. I'll  call you from the conference room if we need anything." A pit was  beginning to form in my stomach. Something bad was going on. Something I  was pretty sure I didn't want to know about.

The door clicked quietly behind us. Stuart went and stood at the head of  the table, his hands on the chair in front of him. I could see that a  fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow.

"What is it?" I asked quietly. I felt myself bracing, drawing inward against whatever he was about to share with me.

"I . . ." He ran his hand through his dark blond hair. It already looked  like he'd done that far too many times this morning. "Jesus, Lydia, I'm  sorry. I'm so damn sorry. I . . ." he let out a long, shuddery breath  and then met my eyes, "I lost the company."

I stared at him, my mind grappling to understand what he was telling me.  I shook my head. "Lost the company? That's impossible." I laughed, a  brittle sound. "You can't lose a company, Stuart. What are you saying?"

"I lost it in a card game. I gambled it. I gambled the company."

I blinked at him: once, twice, three times. "I don't understand," I  said, speaking very slowly. "I think you better help me grasp what  you're trying to say here."

Stuart raised his arms and dropped them, anger coming over his  expression. "I fucked up! I bet the company in a high-stakes poker game,  and I fucking lost, okay? I was with our lawyers all morning. I signed  it over. It doesn't belong to us anymore. Is that clear enough for you?  Are you comprehending?" he spit out.

My blood pressure was skyrocketing, and I felt nauseated. "Don't," I  said, my voice a hiss. I pulled a chair back and sagged down into it.  "That can't even be legal. Surely there's a way to undo this-"

"There's not. Not unless I want a hit put out on my life. Or maybe  yours. Fuck, Lydia, there's no way out of this. I was so close. It was  right within my grasp. All our problems . . . solved! Right there and  then," he snapped his fingers, "gone." He pulled the chair back that  he'd been standing behind and sagged down just as I had. "We're fucked."                       
       
           



       

I shook my head back and forth, reeling. This couldn't be happening.  He'd gambled the company? No way out? A hit . . . on his life? On mine?  What the hell? "No, no, I can't believe this. No, Stuart. Maybe I can  talk to the person who bet against . . . what? What is that look on your  face?"

Stuart put his head in his hands and raked his fingers through his hair  again. After several tense moments he brought his face up, his  expression even paler if that were possible. "I haven't told you  everything. I . . . Jesus-"

"Just spit it out, Stuart. It can't possibly get any worse." Only it probably could. And knowing Stuart, it would.

"The man who owns the company now," he swallowed, his eyes pools of despair, "is Brogan Ramsay."

My heart stuttered, my breath faltering. I clutched the edge of the table. "Bro . . . Brogan Ramsay?" I breathed.

"Yes, his father used to work-"

"Yes, I know who Brogan Ramsay is! How, though? I don't understand." My  heart was pumping out a staccato beat in my chest. I felt like I might  faint if I didn't remain sitting.

"You think I do?" he yelled, throwing his hands up again. "He's a  psycho. He's been plotting this. We fired his father, do you remember?"

"We?" I hissed. "We did not fire anyone, you did." Images were  assaulting my brain, unbidden. A summer twilight . . . his lips tasting  me, his body pushing into mine . . . the look of . . . reverence in his  young eyes . . .

"Because I was protecting you!"

I groaned, leaning my head back on my chair. I remembered it very  differently, and I was damn sure Brogan did, too. But I wasn't going to  argue with Stuart about this now. I needed to try to fix this. "Where  can I find him?"