Was his plan to bore me to death? Or maybe I should look at this as a nice little vacation? Perhaps I'd lie out on his deck and soak up some . . . a loud crack of thunder sounded out the window and rain began beating on the glass. I slumped down onto one of the bar stools and put my chin in my hands.
No, I was not going to sit here and do nothing. He'd "hired" me to work off our debt, and that's what I'd do. I got started in his kitchen cabinets, organizing everything by item and then alphabetizing it all. After a quick lunch, I moved on to his room, knocking first and then opening the door slowly, peeking inside as if he might be there, hiding in the shadows. I stepped inside, looking around at the large master. It looked somewhat similar to the room he'd given me only the bed wasn't a canopy and was made up in dark gray linens, and there were no chairs in front of the fireplace, only a large, soft-looking area rug. There were no personal items I could see, and I decided not to open his dresser drawers—for the moment anyway. Instead, I went to his bathroom and organized his medicine cabinet in the same way I'd organized the kitchen. He only had a few items—toothpaste, a toothbrush, floss, deodorant, shaving cream, a comb, a bottle of Tylenol, and nail clippers—so it didn't take long. It felt extremely personal to be going through his bathroom cabinet, but that's what he got for leaving me with no direction. If I had to make it up as I went along because he'd left me to my own devices, then he couldn't complain. Still, there was a tight feeling in my gut as I went through his personal spaces that I couldn't exactly explain to myself. All this time, all the days I'd wondered about the boy, and then the man . . . and now here I was in his bedroom.
I looked over at the bed again, wondering what he looked like when he slept. Did that intense expression he wore smooth out as he traveled to the land of dreams, or did he hold on to that tight control of his even in sleep? And how many women had slept here with him? How many women knew him intimately, as I had . . . once and only once? Shaking off the thought, I went into his closet and began organizing his clothes by type and color. His clothes mostly consisted of dress shirts and pants, a few ties, and several racks of shoes.
When I was done, I left his room, that same strange feeling of sadness lodged in my chest. That had been a bad idea. I would be better off with no reminders that Brogan Ramsay was a flesh and blood man. Though I had thought of him often over the years, with a mixture of sorrow and regret, I'd be better off remembering he hated me and was out to punish me in whatever way brought him satisfaction. Going through his clothes and personal items had not helped my own cause. Still, it might annoy him so at least I had that.
As I stood staring out the window, I caught movement just beyond some trees to the side of the house and leaned closer, straining my eyes. It had stopped raining, but water droplets were still dripping down the glass, which made it difficult to see. I walked quickly to the front door and made my way across the soggy lawn and through the trees, emerging in another driveway in front of what looked like a nice guesthouse, smaller than the main house, but in a similar style. There was a car driving up the driveway and I watched as it turned out of sight. Someone was staying here? I turned and walked back to the house.
I dialed Stuart's number, and he picked up on the second ring.
"Lydia. You okay?"
I gritted my teeth. It sounded like Stuart had been drinking, his voice slurred. What I was doing out here at Brogan's house wasn't going to make a damn bit of difference if Stuart was drinking himself stupid rather than maintaining our business until I could get back. I'd likely return with some kind of plan worked out between Brogan and me, and the company would be completely worthless. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"He hasn't hurt you?"
"No. It seems like he's planning on using me as his housekeeper. I'm supposed to cook him and a guest dinner tonight." I opened the refrigerator and started looking at what I'd bought yesterday that I could make for dinner.
Stuart let out a breath. "Did he tell you how long you'd have to be there?"
"No. I haven't talked to him yet. I'll let you know when I do, okay? Are you all right?"
"Yeah." He sounded sullen like he was having a pity party. "I've been fired. My replacement showed up today and the new management watched as I cleaned out my office. Not surprising . . . but . . ." His voice drifted away.
I froze for a second, hearing how upset Stuart sounded. And so it begins. Would he fire me, too? "Oh," I breathed, leaning against the counter. "Stuart, I'm sorry. I was worried that would happen, but I hoped . . . Well, this will turn out all right. Will you be okay?"
"Once Brogan Ramsay is dead in the ground," he murmured.
"I don't think we need to get that drastic. Hold tight. This will work out. I'll call you as soon as I can, okay?"
"Okay, whatever you say. Let me know if you need anything." I heard liquid sloshing as if he'd just taken a drink out of a bottle. Yeah, I need for you to grow up and start being a responsible man, Stuart. Start thinking of someone other than yourself. I held my tongue. He'd just been escorted out of our family company. Maybe it wasn't the right time for a verbal lashing. And maybe he wasn't the only one who needed a drink.
"I will. Stuart, I . . . I love you, okay?"
"Yeah, I love you, too. Bye."
"Bye."
I stood in Brogan's kitchen for several minutes, trying to get hold of my emotions. I was resentful of Brogan for the situation we were currently in, but I was angry with Stuart, too. Here I was serving at my master's mercy and he was . . . drunk? I could barely afford groceries and he was still drinking? Where exactly was he getting the money for that expensive vice? And after he'd gambled away our company? I let out a shaky breath. God, my life was in tatters. And now I might have to figure out a way to make my car payment. Or maybe it was time to get rid of it entirely—I had prepaid the garage fee in the city for the year, but it was coming up for renewal in the next few months and I probably wouldn't have the funds to pay it. Truthfully, I no longer lived a lifestyle where maintaining a car in New York City was reasonable. Maybe I should start preparing my résumé, but what employable skills did I actually possess?