CHAPTER FIVE
Lydia
I sat at my computer in my pajamas, tapping a pen against the edge of my desk before dropping it in frustration. I'd started to write a draft of the email I intended to send Brogan, but decided typing it out might be easier. And then I could just go ahead and press send. I picked up his business card—a thick, white cardstock with black print. Elegant and strong, just like the man. Or at least just like the look of the man. Setting the card aside, I placed my fingers on the keyboard, typing in his email address. Stuart's voice rang in my head, the words he'd yelled when I'd told him what Brogan had offered. He said WHAT? he'd raged. He wants my sister to whore for him as payment for my loss? Who the fuck does he think he is? I'll kill him! Empty words when he was completely at Brogan's mercy, when he had absolutely nothing to bargain with. Still, the look on his face had told me he meant what he'd said. If he could get away with murder, he would.
Brogan,
I find your vague, arrogant offer disgusting and vile. Nonetheless, I have no choice but to accept it if—
I deleted what I'd written, frowning. Did I really think Brogan wanted me as his whore? I had the feeling he didn't. In fact, the way he'd looked at me—with disgust—told me all he wanted was to humiliate me. And I had to believe he had plenty of willing candidates, if he was looking for sex. He was a gorgeous man. I sat up straighter. I could do it. I could take some humiliation if it meant saving the company my father had loved. If it meant saving the jobs of those we employed. I didn't have to be happy about it, but perhaps playing the game would be the best plan. More game playing. I'd grown up and washed my hands of playing games with people years ago. But apparently Brogan had not.
My only other option was to wipe my hands of this mess, go out and get a new job and move on. My heart sank. Could I really move on like that without even trying to convince Brogan to let us have our company back? To buy our company back on some sort of payment plan? If it was even the most remote of possibilities, I had to try. I had to find out what Brogan required of me and what he was willing to give—if anything. I had to. For myself . . . for my father.
Brogan,
I appreciate the offer you have so generously presented—
Delete. I brought my foot up on my chair, hugging one knee for a moment, closing my eyes and picturing Brogan as he'd been as a teenager, picturing those light blue eyes, all the more stunning because of his dark coloring. They seemed like a trick of nature—something that made his male beauty impossibly stunning. Thinking of them now brought a strange ache, as did the memory of the way he'd always looked at me with those piercing eyes of his. It had been . . . adoring. It had appealed to my teenage vanity, of course, but it had also appealed to something else—something deeper, something I’d wanted to explore. Why had he adored me of all people? The boy who seemed to never, ever make a decision lightly, to never do anything without intensity and forethought. That day in the stable I'd begun to understand that whatever it was between us was far more than superficial. The strength of it had startled me. And as much as I hated to admit it, I still felt pulled to him, at least physically. Of course, I had to figure most women were. "Gah," I said, putting my knee down and sitting up straight.
The thing was, despite everything . . . despite this terrible situation, despite that Brogan hated me, that he wouldn't allow me to apologize much less accept it, despite that he'd decided to use his money to take ownership of our company, I couldn't help the feeling that had swirled in my gut when I'd seen Brogan earlier—not just shock and confusion, and distress, but . . . pride. I was proud of his obvious success even though he apparently intended to use it to destroy me. I hardly knew how to organize my own emotions. I was still reeling.
Brogan,
I accept your offer. Please let me know where I should be and when.
Lydia
I paused only momentarily before hitting send. Taking a deep breath, I stood, walking to the bathroom off my bedroom to brush my teeth. As I was finishing, I heard a ding from my computer and returned to see I'd received an email. I walked slowly to the screen and inhaled a sharp breath when I saw who it was from. I'd assumed he'd make me wait. With shaking hands, I opened the email.
Lydia,
I'm pleased. You may start tomorrow at four p.m. Below is my address.
Brogan Ramsay
Oh holy hell. I frowned, chewing on my lip as I noted the address of his home in Greenwich. He lived in Greenwich? How long had he lived there? It had to be only recently that he'd bought the house. Greenwich was a small town—surely I'd have heard? And suddenly it hit me—the man I'd seen at the garden party recently. That man had been Brogan.
"Oh my God," I whispered. I had recognized him. I had just been too discombobulated and shocked since everything had happened this morning to revisit that moment at the garden party. God, I'd known it was him, and I'd talked myself out of it. The smooth way he walked, the controlled way he held his body. The way in which he had always stood just a little farther away from other people. But not me, he had never held himself away from me. Things had apparently changed though. In the most dramatic way possible.
Anxiety assaulted my nerves, and I took several calming breaths. Okay, this was fine. I could do this. And even better that I'd be in a town I was familiar with—where I had friends. Well, sort of. I supposed classifying the girls I'd gone to high school with as friends might be stretching the definition. Quite a bit. I had Daisy. At least I had her. But would I tell her about this? God, the humiliation. How could I? I'd cross that bridge when I came to it because as of now, I really had little idea what I was getting myself into.