"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."