"I suppose I'll need to find a job," she said eventually as if her mind had been following the same path as mine.
"I'd be happy to keep you on at De Havilland Enterprises. But I will not hire your brother back. And I can't have you going back to work until his issues have been resolved."
For the first time since we'd begun speaking, her eyes filled with hope. "You'll let me keep working there?"
"If you'd like to, yes. Did you enjoy it?"
Her eyes skittered away. "Mostly. It's kind of hard to say, I mean, I never really got to enjoy it per se. I was always sort of in desperation mode." She let out a small, brittle laugh.
I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. It felt cold and small, and I wanted nothing more than to take her in my arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, that she didn't have to be in desperation mode anymore. I couldn't though. I couldn't because I didn't know if that was the truth or not. I was still trying to catch up with the way things had changed course.
She stared down at our hands for a moment and when she slid hers out from under mine, she used it to pick up her wine, taking a long sip. "I should call my brother . . . warn him . . ."
"It's already been done."
Her eyes lingered on my face for a moment. "How did he take it?"
"Not well."
"Maybe I should try. Maybe he'll listen to me."
"Has he ever listened to you, Lydia? Even once?"
Watching her face pale was heartbreaking. It was as if she were scrolling through years worth of interaction and examining her brother's actions. I could hear him shouting at her to shut up. Repeatedly. By the look of pain on her face, and the way she couldn't meet my eyes, she had found her answer. Her next words, said so softly, made me cringe inside. "No. I suppose not." She looked lost, almost . . . guilty, as if she were somehow to blame for his failings.
I sighed. "Leave it for now. He knows what he's up against. He knows where he stands, and he knows he needs to lie low. There's nothing you can do for him."
Her eyes shifted away as she took another sip of wine. After a while, she seemed to relax a little bit, taking another bite of her dinner, though it was probably cold by this time. We both ate in silence for a few more minutes. I didn't say anything, allowing Lydia to come to terms with everything we'd discussed. She'd taken in a lot tonight and still maintained her dignity and strength, and I admired her for it.
"So, what is it you do to earn all this money that you use to acquire failing companies such as ours?" she asked finally. "I know you won ours in a poker game, but I assume you've acquired failing businesses before, since you had a team in place so quickly at De Havilland Enterprises?"
"Accurate assumption." I paused. "I do a little bit of everything." She raised an eyebrow, and I took a sip of my wine, relaxing now, too. She'd listened to what I had to say and though she hadn't said the words, I knew I had her agreement about coming to live with me in New York and letting me provide the protection she could very well need. Helping Stuart in any manner whatsoever made me furious and disgusted, but if it meant keeping Lydia safe, I'd do it anyway. And truth be told, even though Stuart had made his own choices, my actions had caused a new level of desperation, and I couldn't ignore that fact. Arseways. "You might remember I'm good with numbers."
She nodded. "Yes, of course."
"The short of it is that I earned enough money to use my talent to make some very profitable investments. I did that for a few years. I still dabble in investing, and I own a number of businesses that I have at least some involvement in, but mostly, I do what I want to do."
She stared at me for several moments. "You . . . do what you want to do. What does that mean exactly?"
I shrugged. I knew I was being evasive, but it was difficult to describe what I did-I had never attempted to put it into words before. "Whatever comes up. Nothing illegal, if that's what you're thinking."
She considered me for another moment before saying, "And the money you earned to begin making the investments?"
"That, Lydia, is another story and not something I feel like discussing right now."
She ran her pointer finger around the rim of her wine glass. "Some of it has to do with what you told me the other night-"
"Some, yes."
She licked her lips again and blood rushed to my groin. The relief of her agreement to my proposal, combined with the wine, was causing my thoughts to turn in a different direction-back to Lydia and how much I wanted her.
"The man at your party, Fionn. He works with you?"
"Yes. He's my business partner. I met him a couple months after I'd moved to the Bronx. He was in a similar position as me. Desperate. We became a team of sorts, I guess you'd say."
Sadness moved across her features. "He seems like a nice guy."
"He's the best man I've ever known."
She studied me as she nodded. "I'm glad you . . . had somebody watching out for you," she said softly.
"He did what he could."
We were both quiet for a moment before Lydia asked, "And once you have me safe and sound in New York City, what exactly am I supposed to do, contained in one apartment all day long?"
I swirled the last sip of wine and brought it to my lips, finishing off the glass. "I have a whole new set of drawers and cabinets there for you to re-arrange."
"Ha ha."
I laughed. "I suppose I could give you some work to do for my company. Let's see how it goes."
She nodded, and I stood up to begin clearing the dishes. When the table was cleared and the food was put away, I poured us each another glass of wine. Turning to her, I asked, "Tired? We could take our wine down to the water." Why did asking her that make my heart jump with nervous anticipation? Why did I feel like I was asking her out on a date and if she said no, I'd be crushed? We'd settled things between us for now. She had no real reason to spend any time with me at all.
"That sounds nice." I let out a relieved breath. "But I think I'll change into something a little more comfortable."
"Okay."
I finished up in the kitchen and then sat at the counter and answered a few emails on my phone. Twenty minutes later when Lydia still hadn't come down, I became restless. What was taking her so long? Grabbing the half bottle of wine and our glasses, I decided it was time to go get her so we could catch the last of the sunset. Glancing out the window I saw the wash of red and orange was already low on the horizon, the clouds tinged in gold.
"Lydia?" I called, knocking lightly on her door. When I didn't get an answer, I opened it slowly, calling her name again. The room was empty and my heart lurched unpleasantly. Had she left? But then I noticed movement beyond the French doors and saw her. My heart rate slowed, and I moved toward the doors. She had changed into a loose blue dress of some kind that was falling off one shoulder. She was standing at the rail of the widow's walk-her hands joined on the ledge-watching the last of the sun as it slipped beyond the horizon. The lingering light cast her hair in a pale yellow glow-a few strands lifting in the summer breeze-and I could see the outline of her profile, the mouthwatering shape of her body beneath the light material of the dress. I was entranced. I stood there for a moment just watching her, memorizing this moment, and knowing that for me, there would never be another woman as beautiful as Lydia De Havilland standing on my balcony watching the day slip into dusk.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lydia
The door clicked behind me and I turned. Brogan. He held a wine bottle against his body with his bicep, the stems of two wine glasses between his fingers. He looked debonair and sexy, and I took a moment to admire him. "Sorry, I just needed a minute. The sun was setting." I inclined my head toward the water where the last vestiges of light were dwindling, causing the surface of the water to look as if a thousand diamonds were dancing upon it. "If I lived here, I'd never watch a sunset from anywhere else."
Brogan's shoulders seemed to tense for a brief moment and then he stepped fully onto the walk, pushing the door closed behind him. He moved toward me, handing me my glass.
I had come upstairs and changed, when all the events of the day had seemed to catch up with me all at once: the emotional trip to my childhood home, kissing Brogan, telling him of the pregnancy, Stuart, that our predicament had become worse. Far worse. And suddenly, I was so tired. Just weary to my soul. I'd spent the last seven years-or so it seemed-drifting from one heartache to another, one challenge to another, and I felt like I'd hit my limit. In that very moment, standing in the middle of Brogan's guest bedroom, a blue sundress gripped to my chest, I'd felt like every muscle was tensed with pent-up negative energy, and I just wanted to scream. I wanted to fall into someone, depend on another person, allow someone else to be strong for a while. And I didn't have anyone to do that-no one at all. I'd made some peace with my parents' deaths today, but returning to our old estate had also been a reminder that I was completely, utterly alone, and the reality of that felt like a sudden, gripping despair, the cracks in my heart splintering, widening.