Ramsay(19)

He nodded, a light of hope brightening his expression. A lump formed in my throat and I quickly swallowed it down.

"Are you from here?" I asked.

"Yup. Born and raised."

"I've never seen you around."

"My ma just moved us to a basement apartment up the street a couple months ago."

I nodded, standing. "Don't lose that card."

"I won't. Hey," he stood up, too, "thanks, mister."

I nodded over my shoulder as I headed for my car. Pulling out my phone, I texted Fionn.

Me: Sorry looking kid is going to come by tomorrow with one of my cards. Set him up with a job.

I got in my car and headed toward my apartment in the city. A minute later my phone beeped.

Fionn: Jaysus. You plannin on adoptin the whole of NYC?

I chuckled, throwing my phone down on the seat. It rang a second later.  Figuring it was Fionn, I picked it up, but before answering I glanced at  the screen. Courtney. I sighed and threw my phone back on the seat. I  didn't have the energy for Courtney's neediness right now. And if she  was calling in the middle of the night, she was especially needy. I felt  a momentary twinge of guilt but squashed it down. "Not tonight,  Courtney," I murmured into the silence of my car. I was needy myself,  and I knew seeing her now would only end somewhere I'd regret. And for  now, I had enough regret to last a bloody lifetime.





CHAPTER NINE




Lydia



By Thursday, I had read four books cover to cover. Brogan had a  decent-sized library, and so I spent a lot of my time there. I should  have considered this a mini vacation of sorts, but I was too antsy and  keyed up to really relax. From being at the office from eight till five  every day for the last few years, worried about the financials,  attempting to turn the company around, to . . . doing nothing? A  difficult adjustment to say the least.

I had rearranged and organized all of Brogan's dresser drawers-who put  T-shirts in the top drawer anyway? Everyone knew top drawers were for  underwear and socks. Only it seemed Brogan either only owned one pair of  underwear or didn't wear any at all. I tried not to think too much  about that.

I was still shaken and confused about what had happened between us in my  bedroom and a lingering feeling of sad despair filled my heart. I  hadn't even considered the possibility that Brogan and his family had  suffered to the extent he described. I hadn't known where they went when  they left our home, had often wondered if they'd gone back to Ireland  to be with family, had hoped Brogan's father had found another job  quickly, but never once had I pictured them destitute and starving.  Anguish gripped me, and I wondered if I had just been too self-centered  to consider the depth of hardship his family might have suffered back  then. I had been young and sheltered, and though I thought myself  worldly, I hadn't been. Not in the least. "You were," I muttered to  myself, "just a stupid, selfish girl."

And at the moment I was lonely. Brogan and I had been friends once.  Maybe I just needed to remind him of that to get on better footing with  him. Suddenly it wasn't even all about my company. Suddenly I just  wanted to let Brogan know how sorry I was, how I would do anything to  change what I'd done to him back then. If only I could.

I pulled his business card out of my purse and grabbed my phone before I could overthink anything.

Me: Did you take all your underwear with you so I wouldn't rifle through it?

I immediately saw three dots indicating he'd read my message and was  responding. But the dots remained there for a good ten minutes. Why was I  picturing him standing somewhere, trying to figure out why I was being  playful with him and waffling about what to write back? More likely he  was just busy and had started a message and been interrupted. I wondered  again at what exactly he did business wise.

Brogan: The fact that you're asking this question is proof I was right to do so.

I laughed and let out a relieved breath. Smiling, I typed him back.

Me: And btw, who puts jeans in the top drawer? Is that some kind of Irish thing?

Brogan: Aye. Now stay out of my drawers or I'll have to sic my nasty little leprechaun on you. Goodbye, Lydia.

I remembered how he'd always leave me when we were younger, the Gaelic word for goodbye. Me: Slan, Brogan.

Again, I saw the three little dots indicating he was responding, but  then they disappeared. He must have changed his mind and decided to  leave it at that.

Grinning, I tossed my phone aside. Surely Brogan joking with me was a  good sign. Feeling lighter, I went to his office to organize something  there. When I saw business cards for an event floral arrangement and a  catering company sitting right on the top of his desk, I paused only  momentarily before calling each one, hoping they were the ones he'd  hired for his party. When I'd confirmed they were, I posed as Brogan's  secretary and had them go over what Brogan had ordered and made some  small tweaks. He most likely wouldn't notice, and he'd done a decent  job, but he was missing a woman's touch. And after all, he had asked me  to work the party. I could hardly do a good job if I was unprepared for  exactly what he'd ordered.                       
       
           



       

On Friday the gardeners arrived and started manicuring the lawn and  grounds. I went outside and gave them some direction. Why not? I was the  only one in charge, and Brogan had said I was part of the party staff,  so I might as well start working. If I knew how to do anything from my  upbringing, it was to throw a fancy party. That and shop, but Brogan  didn't require my skill in that arena. He dressed immaculately. Classy  and masculine and, oh, whatever. Shaking my head, I continued walking  the grounds, noting things the gardeners had missed so I could make sure  they touched them up before leaving.

As I walked between some trees, I caught movement in the window of the  small house behind Brogan's. Biting my lip, I paused and then walked  toward it. I took a deep breath before knocking. There was a long  silence before I finally heard someone inside moving toward the door. It  swung open to reveal a young woman with curly, dark brown hair and the  same icy-blue eyes as Brogan's. I let out a breath. "Eileen?" I asked,  although I knew immediately who she was. The last time I'd seen her,  she'd been a frail pre-teen with leg braces. Now she was a beautiful  young woman. She must be what? Nineteen now? Twenty?

She regarded me coldly before saying, "Lydia De Havilland. Imagine this.  I never thought I'd see ya again. You're just as beautiful as ya ever  were."

I smiled at the lilt of her accent. "You look wonderful, too. Your legs .  . ." I gestured my arm downward, smiling with happiness for her. I  hadn't ever really known her, never exchanged more than a handful of  words over the three years her father had worked for us, but I  remembered her being painfully shy and awkward.

"Yeah. No more braces. My brother found a brilliant surgeon and Bob's your uncle, here I am fixed up good as new."

"That's wonderful." There was an awkward silence in which she simply  stared at me. I squirmed under her disdainful perusal. "I haven't had a  chance to ask Brogan how your father's doing?"

"Our dad's dead."

My heart sunk. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I breathed. She merely shrugged. Another awkward silence ensued.

"Your brother didn't tell me you lived back here."

"Well, I do."

I nodded. This was not going well. It was time for me to go. "Okay,  well. I'm just . . . staying at Brogan's house temporarily." I felt the  blush rising in my face. Had Brogan told Eileen about taking over my  company? About offering me a . . . sort of job or . . . something?  "Working there, I mean."

She gave me a small smirk. "So I heard."

I licked my lips and let out a small breath. She hated me as much as her  brother did. I turned to go. "Okay, well, it was nice to see you. I'm  glad to know you're doing so well."

"Lydia, wait," she said, stepping onto her small porch. I turned just in  time to catch the hard slap across my face. Stunned, I brought my hand  up to my stinging cheek, my widened eyes finding hers. They were cold  and full of contempt.

"That's for breakin' me brother's heart," she said before walking back inside and slamming her door in my face.

I stood there, blinking repeatedly. I now knew that a physical slap hurt  almost as much as the bitchy, behind my back but within earshot catty  comment from the women I'd once called friends. And yet, there was  almost a certain relief in being slapped by Eileen. I wasn't sure I  wanted to examine that too closely at the moment. And I wasn't sure I  could ever face Eileen again without feeling every inch of heat on my  skin. I wanted to hide, I wanted to leave, I wanted this to be over. But  that wasn't an option. My hand on my cheek, humiliated and shaken-yet  with that confusing relief running just beneath the surface-I didn't  even recall the walk back to Brogan's house.