Ramsay(23)

She marched right up to the group of coiffed vultures and beamed a smile  at them, holding her tray forward. "Dumplings, anyone?" she asked,  pushing her cleavage forward. "They're soft and delicious." They turned  toward her and for a second I wished I had a camera. Their shocked,  clueless expressions were so perfectly priceless. Point to Lydia.  Obviously being completely unprepared for her return, the girls simply  took a dumpling, their expressions remaining confused, and Lydia turned  and marched away. I caught up to her.

"This is enough, Lydia. Go inside. You're excused from this party."

"Excused?" she asked, not stopping, forcing me to follow along behind  her like a moronic puppy dog. "Oh no. I wouldn't dream of allowing you  to excuse me now, Brogan, not when your revenge hasn't been properly  satisfied. Don't deprive yourself of my complete and utter humiliation.  I'm sure those girls have something more devious up their sleeves than  flinging food. Then again, they're not the brightest bulbs in the  bunch-take it from me-so they could be out of ideas. We'll have to wait  and see. You must be on the edge of your seat to find out. I know I am."

I almost groaned. "Lydia, please, it's enough. I've had enough. Please  go inside." Good fucking God, now I was saying please to my . . .  archenemy? I suddenly wanted to laugh at the thought of the term Fionn  had used once to describe her.

She shook her head, a beatific smile on her face as she headed toward  another small group chatting and laughing. "Dumpling?" she asked,  smiling around at the group. As the women took the dumplings, I watched  as the men used the opportunity to examine Lydia's cleavage at length  and in close proximity. Disgusting lechers. Why the hell did I have such  disgusting lechers at my house? I hated disgusting lechers. But  apparently I had invited a whole horde of them to my home to partake of  my food and drink.

"Oh, hello, Brogan," one man finally said. I had no earthly idea who he  might be, other than a disgusting lecher. "I haven't had a chance to say  hello. Nice party." Then he babbled on about something inane and  useless that I supposed I was meant to listen attentively to. Lydia took  the opportunity to duck away and head to another group nearby to offer  more of her soft, delicious dumplings.

"Are you okay, Mr. Ramsay?" the man in front of me asked, a concerned frown on his face. "Bit of heartburn, is it?"

"Em, yeah, excuse me," I muttered.

By the time I caught up with Lydia, she was filling a tray with  champagne from the bar. "Lydia, put the tray down and go inside," I  said. "I insist."

She turned away from the bar. "I can't just yet, Brogan. The crowd  standing by the band is parched. If I don't get this champagne over to  them immediately, there's likely to be any number of dry throats. Trust  me when I say you don't want it to be known that you let your guests  suffer dry throats at your first party. There could be negative gossip  and as anyone who-"

"I couldn't care less about negative gossip," I growled.

"You should, Brogan. I'm just a lowly server now, but as you may or may  not remember, I used to run in different circles and among the rich and  shallow, negative gossip can ruin someone more quickly than carrying,"  she leaned toward me and whispered loudly, "a knock-off Hermès purse."  She pretended to shudder and I stopped, feeling my lips tip up in the  barest hint of a smile, mixed with a small measure of surprise.

Lydia. God, how did I forget how you once made me laugh?

She passed out the champagne and then rushed off. I stood staring after  her, not knowing what to feel, the same way I'd felt after we'd joked a  bit on text. I had felt a strange, confused happiness then, just as I  felt now. Before I could even spend a moment more thinking about it,  Lindsey and her group surrounded me. They'd been too busy running Lydia  all around to bother me before, but they had me cornered now. I sighed  internally. Lindsey had attempted to hang off me at every event I'd seen  her at since I'd been looking at real estate in Greenwich. Her obvious  flirting and obnoxious conversation, mixed with the way she repeatedly  touched me, was barely tolerable. In truth, I hated it. I hated her  scent. I hated the feel of her talon-like fingernails, even through the  material of my shirt.                       
       
           



       

"Brogan," she sing-songed, leaning in and kissing my cheek. Her heavy  perfume, mixed with some sort of competing hair product, overwhelmed me,  causing my head to swim for a moment. "I haven't had a chance to  compliment you on a wonderful party! I was just telling my girls it's my  favorite of the year so far." She batted her eyelashes, her eyes  wandering down to my crotch.

A moment from a summer's day seven years ago filled my mind. Lydia and  her girlfriends had been splashing and laughing at her pool. I'd walked  by pushing a wheelbarrow filled with soil, and I'd heard Lindsey say,  "God, if it wouldn't cause my father to have a conniption, I'd be all  over that hot gardener boy. He makes slumming it look irresistible." I'd  cringed, feeling hot shame move up my neck as the rest of the girls had  started laughing. But when I'd looked at Lydia, she wasn't laughing.  Instead, I watched as she stuck her foot out and tripped Lindsey who was  too caught up in a giggling fit to notice. Lindsey had screamed as she  went flying into the pool, flailing and belly flopping into the water on  a loud smack. Lydia had winked at me and cocked one of her sexy hips as  she'd feigned shocked concern for Lindsey. I'd turned my head to hide  my laughter. Yes, Lindsey had always been a malicious bitch. Nothing had  changed. So why didn't I harbor any ill feelings toward her? Why didn't  her past mistreatment bother me? In fact, I barely remembered it.

There is such a thin veil between love and hate.

Lydia had never been malicious, not like them.

Not until that day. Maybe that's why it had hurt so bloody much. But  standing here, watching her now, I remembered the way she'd appeared  nervous, unsure. It had inspired tenderness in me then, and witnessing  her discomfort today aroused the same instinctive protectiveness. And it  burned. Heartburn, then, yes.

God, Lydia.

I cleared my throat just as Lydia came up to us, holding her tray out.  "Cream puffs anyone? They're sweet and luscious." She smiled sweetly,  her eyes challenging me not to look at her cream puffs, the ones  threatening to spill out of her shirt at any second. I coughed into my  hand, just barely managing not to choke, turning away slightly as  Lindsey glared daggers at her. "No? Well, your loss. You'll never enjoy  cream puffs like these ones. One hundred percent all natural  ingredients. Nothing phony." She looked pointedly at Lindsey's cream  puffs, obviously overinflated with phony ingredients. Lindsey gasped,  placing her hand on her throat and widening her eyes as if she couldn't  fathom the bold, impudent behavior of the girl serving her food.

With that, Lydia whirled away, to offer her cream puffs elsewhere. I  pressed my lips together, not knowing whether to laugh uproariously or  kill someone-possibly myself. Jaysus, help me.

Lindsey heaved out a disgusted breath. "God, Brogan, you've got to  consider hiring classier help. Being from the working class yourself,  surely you understand what's acceptable and what's not. You'd be  completely within your rights to fire her on the spot. You're showing  remarkable restraint." She clasped my arm, rubbing her phony ingredients  against me. "It's very generous of you," she sighed, "but as you know,  your staff reflects directly on you . . ."

I shook her off. "So do your friends." I looked around at Lindsey's  followers, the women who were standing there idiotically waiting for  their next instructions from the leader of their den of stupidity.  "You'd all be wise to remember that." I enjoyed Lindsey's outraged  intake of breath as I walked away.

The rest of the party went by far too slowly for me as my guests took  their time drinking my liquor, eating my food, and making themselves at  home on my property. I made the rounds once or twice but couldn't  stomach more than that. Lindsey and her brainless bunch had apparently  left early, but the mindless self-centered chatter of the other  overinflated egos in attendance was more than I could handle today.  Especially when I constantly had one eye focused on Lydia as she moved  through the crowd as if she herself were the hostess of this mess of a  party even though she wore the uniform and role of a servant.

I might have even been able to see the humor in it if my emotions  weren't all twisted in a tangle of frustration, anger . . . and guilt. I  felt like the biggest bastard who had ever lived.

Finally, finally, the guests started leaving, and I breathed a sigh of  relief. Fionn and Eileen had evidently had a grand time witnessing my  misery, standing off to the side and cheering each other and placing  bets of some kind or another. Miserable Benedict Arnolds that they were.  They finally came up and said their goodbyes, not seeming to mind in  the least that I focused my most evil glare upon them and told them I  was happy to see them go. They walked off laughing.