I swallowed heavily, shaking my head. "I . . . I know. I did trick you. It was an awful, selfish thing to do. I've wanted to apologize for so long, I even—"
"I have no need of your apology, Lydia."
"All the same, Brogan—"
"No," he gritted out harshly. Rain began pelting against the windows. "You don't get to throw a sorry at me in order to assuage your own guilt. I don't want it. Keep it for yourself, princess." He added the old nickname mockingly.
My God. He hated me vehemently. After all this time.
I studied his face, hard and set in his anger. "Stuart was right. You did this on purpose. You planned it. You tricked him into losing the company to you."
"Tricked him? Hardly. Your brother's problems are of his own making."
"I know that, Brogan. Believe me, I do. I'm under no illusion as to my brother's weaknesses, his vices. But please, we employ so many people. They all depend on us for their livelihoods."
"Ah, now you care about peoples' livelihoods? How refreshing."
I opened my mouth to respond, but he interrupted me, plowing ahead. "Anyway, what makes you think I'd put anyone out of work? Except, of course, you and your brother. As the new owner, I've taken it upon myself to look into De Havilland Enterprises. At first glance, it appears things could be turned around if it was being run by someone who wasn't a gambler, a drug user, and a fucking self-serving waste of oxygen."
My heart dropped. He might not take the company apart, but the business my father had worked his fingers to the bone for would no longer be in our family. It would have broken his heart to know . . . oh God. And all because of something I foolishly did seven years ago.
I pulled in a lungful of air, a lump forming in my throat. Whether Brogan agreed or not, I had thought we’d been friends . . . once, long ago. Before. I searched his face for the kind, sensitive boy he'd once been, but saw nothing of him in the hard lines of this man's face. I didn't know him anymore. This man was a callous stranger.
"There's nothing I can do, is there?" I asked. I licked my lips, pulling the bottom one between my teeth.
Brogan studied me, his gaze skittering to my mouth and back to my eyes. Tapping on his desk again, he appeared to be weighing something, some decision. "How much do you want ownership of De Havilland Enterprises back, Lydia?"
My throat went dry. "I . . . I'll do anything, Brogan. Anything." My face flooded with hot shame. But it was true. In that moment, I would go to any lengths to fix this mess. For my father, for his dream, I'd do anything. It was his legacy, the only part of him I could still care for in this physical world.
Brogan chuckled, a sound filled with disdain. He rubbed the edge of the leather inset on his desk with his index finger, my eyes following the movement for a moment. He'd always been such a sensual person, always touching something, his hands lingering, caressing, seemingly entranced by textures . . . He had covered his accent, but not that. I grasped onto it—finally recognizing something in this man that had also been in the boy. "Anything? Would you beg for it? Would you get down on your knees and beg?"
I froze, my heart seeming to stop before it picked up an erratic beat, my gaze meeting his. "Is that what you want me to do? Is that what this comes down to? A payback of some sort?"
"Actually, Lydia, some interest has accrued since I was asked to beg. If we're considering a payback, your begging would have to be on a much larger scale. Grand even."
"What does that even mean?"
Brogan looked off to the side, seeming to be considering something. Moments ticked by before he finally looked back to me, his light blue eyes a soft and startlingly beautiful contrast to the harsh expression he wore. "Here's my offer: Come work at my home as I used to work at yours. Do as I ask you to do and every day, you will beg me for your company back. If you do it well enough, I'll consider your request."
I gaped. "Are you out of your mind?" I hissed.
He shrugged nonchalantly, his face impassive now. "It's been said."
"Said? Said by whom? Because I'd be inclined to agree. It's a disgusting offer. You're a pig."
"That's been said as well." Brogan chuckled, leaning back in his chair again, flashing me an arrogant smirk. I blinked. I'd never seen Brogan smile that way before. I remembered a different smile—sweet and slightly shy. That smile used to make my heart flutter. That smile used to make me giddy with desire. One of his front teeth overlapped the other just a tiny bit and I'd noticed the way he'd run his tongue over it when he seemed to feel unsure. When I had kissed him, I'd run my tongue over it, too, and it had thrilled me in some way I hadn't been able to explain—even to myself. I swallowed at the memory, not allowing myself to think any more about it. Because while it was true that his smile had filled me with want once upon a time, when he'd smiled at me all those years ago, his eyes had been warm and full of affection, full of yearning. Not now. Not anymore. He shrugged. "The operative word is offer. You're free to accept or decline. But it's the only offer I'll give you—the only chance you'll get."
"And what type of work would I be doing at your home exactly, Brogan?" I asked tightly.
He steepled his fingers. "I'm not sure yet, Lydia. All kinds of things probably. I guess ya could consider it a jack-of-all-trades position of sorts. Or would the expression be jill-of-all-trades?" He smiled again as I simply stared.