Brogan and I would have to discuss terms once I got there. Certainly he didn't intend for me to "work" for him for some interminable timeframe. Surely he'd grow weary of this game, too? Or would he? He couldn't possibly expect me to be some sort of slave labor forever.
All right, I wasn't going to worry about this tonight. I was going to get a good night's sleep and not imagine scenarios that may or may not come to pass. I climbed into bed and shut off the light, laying my head back on the pillow, the vision of pale blue eyes drifting through my mind.
**********
Sleep never came. I crawled out of bed the next morning at seven a.m. after I'd tossed and turned through the night. After a long, hot shower, I blew my hair dry and dressed in a pair of white pants with thin pin stripes and a green blouse. I was going to go into the office for a couple hours to get things settled. I paused as I slipped on my pumps. Was Brogan going to allow me to work at my office during the day—even remotely? I groaned—I supposed, technically, it wasn't even my office anymore. But that was the purpose of this. The purpose of this was that I was going to play by his rules, allow him to exact his revenge, take back his power, whatever he considered it, and then we'd part ways, me in possession of my family company. I would do as he asked me to do, and I'd persuade him to do the right thing. Okay, admittedly, it was a long shot. Perhaps an impossibly long shot. But somewhere deep inside, I had to believe there existed the sensitive boy I'd once known, even if only a shred of him was left. I had to believe as much, and I had to believe having access to Brogan was going to allow me to convince him to give back what was rightfully mine. If I didn't have hope, I basically had nothing.
Another thought made me pause. What if whatever "work" Brogan Ramsay asked me to do was of an illegal nature? I frowned, recalling his place of business. He'd said he was in life insurance and yet, I'd seen nothing that would indicate that was true. There hadn't been as much as a sign on the door or a computer on his desk. And his only employee had been a frisky adolescent. I'd had the impression that whatever his "business" was, it was sketchy at best. Insurance salesman, my ass.
Attempting to turn off my mind, I drove to De Havilland Enterprises and made my way quickly to Stuart's office. Surprisingly, I found him standing in front of the window, looking out at the city beyond. I was surprised to see him there—unless we had a meeting, I usually didn't expect to see him until after ten. I wondered how long it would be until one or both of us were escorted off the premises.
Stuart turned when he heard me enter, and I caught sight of the flask in his hand, and his bloodshot eyes. Ah. Now I understood why he was here so early. He'd never gone to bed. Well at least if I was losing sleep, he was, too.
"Would you like some coffee with that?" I asked sarcastically. "To at least pretend it's morning."
He turned, his expression tight. "No." He took another swig.
I dropped my purse onto a chair. "How is this helping anything? I'm the one who has to go live with a virtual stranger who is looking to make our whole family pay for something that happened seven years ago. The least you could do is present a semblance of strength for me today." I loathed that my voice sounded overly high-pitched. I took a deep breath and removed some files from my briefcase. "I need you to take care of something for me later this afternoon. I'm leaving early and this needs to get done. You're the only one who can do it besides me. Do you think you can manage it?"
"Stop the condescending bullshit, Lydia. Just tell me what you need done and it'll get done." Stuart was back to staring out the window and didn't turn around. I gritted my teeth. As usual, Stuart had gone from livid anger to sulky self-pity. I wasn't surprised, but I also didn't need to contend with it. Not today.
"Okay, thanks," I said, feigning nonchalance. "I'll text you when I know more."
I picked up my briefcase and my purse and went to leave his office when Stuart said, "Did you know our father planned to give him a job here? Said he was some kind of math genius, and we'd be lucky to have his talent at De Havilland Enterprises." I turned, one hand on the doorknob. Stuart laughed softly, no humor in the sound. "Ironic, no?" He took another long draw on his flask.
I regarded my brother, a small frown tipping my lips down. He continued to stare out the window, his shoulders bent, looking broken. I hadn't realized—he'd been jealous of Brogan Ramsay. All those years ago, he'd been green with envy because our father had recognized something in Brogan that had impressed him. My father with the incredibly strong work ethic and business savvy had never been impressed with his lackadaisical son. My father was a good man, but when it came to my brother, he'd noticed every weakness, every difference, and more often than not, looked at him with disapproval. "Take care of your brother, Lydie," my mother had said right before she'd died. "I know he's older, but he's not strong like you." Stuart had only been fifteen at the time and she'd known. I couldn't help the small spark of sympathy that ignited in my chest. There were many things I didn't appreciate about Stuart, but he was still my brother. In actuality, he was the only family I had. And my mother had asked me to look out for him.
He turned toward me. "Take care of yourself. Be . . . safe."
I nodded, offering him a small smile. "I will. I promise. Things will be fine." I walked out and closed his office door softly behind me.