Ramsay(20)

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The caterer arrived bright and early Saturday morning. I spent the next  several hours directing the setup of round tables and chairs on the  expansive lawn, getting the band and the bartender situated, and showing  the florist exactly where I wanted all the floral arrangements. I had  her drape flowers on ribbons behind each chair and do several garlands  along the porch railings. The effect was charming and lovely. I smiled  up at the clear blue sky, dotted with a scattering of fluffy white  clouds. It was going to be a beautiful day-lots of sunshine, but not  overly hot. It was the perfect day for a garden party.

Satisfied with the results of the setup, it was time to shower and get  dressed. I hadn't packed many dressy outfits, not knowing exactly what  I'd be doing here, so my choices were limited. But I had a black,  sleeveless dress with a floral, lace overlay that I thought would work  well for a garden party. After blow-drying my hair, I put it up in a  loose updo, pulling a few pieces down to frame my face. Happy with the  result, I did my makeup, dressed, put on a pair of strappy black heels,  and went downstairs.                       
       
           



       

Therese, the head of the catering company, shot me a strange look but  then smiled and said, "The appetizers should be ready in half an hour or  so. Mr. Ramsay arrived a few minutes ago and is upstairs changing."

"Oh. Okay, thank you. Everything looks great." I started to head  upstairs when Brogan appeared at the top landing. I sucked in a breath.  He was gorgeous in a black suit that fit his strong physique to  perfection, and his dark hair was still slightly wet from a shower. Our  eyes held as he descended the staircase, and I clasped my hands in front  of me, those old familiar feelings of girlish infatuation rushing  through my blood.

"You look very handsome."

"Thank you." He looked me up and down, a small disapproving frown on his face.

I smoothed my hands down the skirt of my dress. "Is this not okay? I didn't bring a lot of clothes-"

"It would be fine if you were one of the guests. You're part of the staff, Lydia."

"Oh." I paused, confused and embarrassed. "I mean, I know. But I still  have to mingle and make sure everything runs smoothly. What else should I  wear?"

"You're not running this event. You're working it. You should wear a catering uniform. Therese brought an extra one for you."

Oh God. When he'd said I'd be working this event, he meant as a server.  My face flushed. My stomach dropped. "Oh," I breathed. "Oh right. My . .  . my misunderstanding." I shook my head, my hands fidgeting at the lace  overlay of my dress.

Brogan's lips thinned, and he looked very uncomfortable. "Everything  looks nice-the flowers especially. Thank you for organizing that."

I waved my hand. "It was nothing. My mother always said the flowers are  what speak to a host's taste and artistry. Hydrangeas were her  favorite," my voice trailed off as more blood rose in my face, making it  feel hot. I was babbling. Shut up, Lydia. Just shut up.

"Hydrangeas are your favorite. At least they were," he said softly.

I blinked at him. What had he said? Oh. I felt dizzy like I was about to  faint. I needed some water. "Oh, well, yes, mine, too. You remembered."

"I was a gardener, Lydia. Flowers were part of the job."

"Right." He had been a gardener, yes. Now he wanted me to be his server.  And given his cold tone, I had been dismissed. I pulled my shoulders  straight and let out a breath. "Well, I'd better go get changed."

Brogan nodded curtly, something in his eyes that I didn't have the  awareness or time to try to read. I hurried away, turning the corner  into the kitchen and standing against the wall for a moment to get my  bearings. God, I was an idiot. I banged the back of my head lightly  against the hard surface behind me. "Idiot, idiot, idiot," I chanted.  I'd thought Brogan wanted me to organize his party, to help plan it.  Instead, all he wanted was for me to work it as part of the serving  staff. I felt like sinking into the floor at my stupid assumption. I  took several deep breaths. I wouldn't sink into the floor. Okay, fine.  He wanted me to carry trays around and serve his guests. Fine. And why  not, really? I was sort of jobless as of now-or at the very least, my  employment situation was in limbo. So I could use a job as a matter of  fact. I wasn't too good to be a food server. Lots of wonderful, talented  people worked serving food, sometimes temporarily, sometimes not. I'd  spend a couple hours offering the delicious dumplings I'd put on the  menu, and then I'd make Brogan sit down with me and spell out the terms  of this ridiculous arrangement. This would settle the score from my  long-ago wrong-surely-and we'd move forward from here. So what if we had  joked a little bit via text? Obviously it'd meant nothing to him and it  shouldn't mean anything to me either. We weren't friends, he hated me,  his whole family hated me, and I needed to continue to remind myself of  those important facts.

I found Therese and asked her for the uniform she'd brought, and she  retrieved it for me. Talk about eating demeaning humble pie. Therese  either thought me completely vapid and stupid, or pitied my embarrassing  faux pas. My guess went toward the former.

Ten minutes later, I was outfitted in the same black pants and white button-down shirt as the rest of the catering team.

After wrapping a short black apron around my waist, I grabbed a tray of  hors d'oeuvres and followed the other servers out to the party. The  first guests were just arriving, and I spied Brogan near the gate, a  blonde woman in a strapless yellow dress holding on to his arm as he  greeted his guests. My heart sped up slightly. Ugh, he'd brought a date.  Of course he had. A different woman. Not Anna and not the woman I'd  seen him with at the garden party. Apparently he had at least three on  call. Good for him. Variety was the spice of life and all that. I was  going to ignore the ache in the pit of my stomach. I had a job to do.                       
       
           



       

A blond-haired man stood next to Brogan, leaning toward him and saying  something that made Brogan laugh. My eyes caught on him momentarily. He  was as tall as Brogan and almost as handsome, dressed all in black as  well. They looked like two fallen angels-one dark, one fair. Look out,  ladies of Greenwich. I straightened my spine for the tenth time since  I'd donned this outfit and walked directly toward Brogan. If I was going  to survive this with my pride intact, I needed to show him immediately  that this was not going to humiliate me quite as much as he might hope. I  was not going to shrink from this. I was going to do it, but I did  still have some self-respect left.

Brogan's eyes widened when he saw me, and I noticed him fidget slightly.  "Sir," I said, holding the tray toward him, "crostini with caramelized  onions, melted cheese & sage?" I raised one eyebrow. "They're  delicious. I sampled one myself before coming out here. You can dock it  from my pay of course. I wouldn't expect anything less." I smiled  sweetly. Brogan's mouth set in a grim line. Our eyes clashed while in my  peripheral vision I saw his date narrowing her eyes. I heard someone  clear his throat and glanced at the man standing next to Brogan.

"I gather you're Lydia," he said, his lips twitching in a held-back  smile and a twinkle in his eye. His Irish accent was strong. I looked  back to Brogan.

"I'm just part of the serving staff. Please enjoy the party." I turned  and walked away, my head held high, and my tray thrust in front of me  like a shield.

Behind me, I heard the blond man whistle and say, "I think I'm gona  start gettin' meself good and hammered. I have a feelin' this party's  gona go tits up real quick."

"Shut up, Fionn," I heard Brogan grumble before I moved too far away to hear more.

I went inside to grab another tray and when I came out, I sucked in a  horrified breath. Lindsey Sanders and crew were just walking through the  gate. I ducked back inside the house and took a moment to gather  myself, breathing deeply. That bastard had invited them on purpose-he  knew very well they had been my high school clique. He was not only  going to make me serve his guests, he was going to make me serve the  people I'd once led. Associated with. Been. If anyone had told me Brogan  Ramsay was capable of this level of ugliness seven years ago, I  wouldn't have believed it. I had spent time with the group he'd invited  today, but I had never treated him with the blatant rudeness they had.  Chin up, Lydia.

I moved around the perimeter of the party, trying to avoid Lindsey  etcetera. Maybe they wouldn't even notice me. After all, they'd been  trained to pretend the people who served them were invisible. I'd just  hope to blend right into the background.