I headed to my bedroom where I took out my laptop and logged in to my email account, my muscles tense as I waited to see whether I was locked out or not. I wasn't. So Brogan had had his new management team fire Stuart, but not me? My heart rate decreased slightly. I had to believe that was a good sign, that at least Brogan was considering working with me on this. The next department head team meeting wasn't for another couple weeks, so hopefully all would be resolved by then.
I spent the next few hours catching up on emails and a few work items I could do from my computer, thankful that although I wasn't in the office, I could keep my finger on the pulse of the company so to speak. Then I went to a recipe website and looked up a few ideas, emailing the one to myself that I finally chose.
Returning to the kitchen, I pulled the recipe up on my phone and got the ingredients out of the refrigerator. Again, I poured myself a glass of wine while I cooked. So far, I had to say, this portion of the revenge plot Brogan had going on was pretty weak.
At five forty-five, I heard a car pull up in the driveway and checked the fish I had just put in the oven. It still needed about fifteen minutes, so I hoped Brogan wasn't expecting dinner early. I heard the front door being opened and left the kitchen to stand in the foyer. Brogan came in first, a smile on his face and I almost startled at the unexpectedness of it. But then I saw why he was smiling. He was talking to a woman who was entering the house behind him as he gestured her into the foyer. He caught sight of me and his smile wilted. "Lydia," he said, nodding his head. The woman stepped fully into the foyer, a smile on her face. She was gorgeous with long, red hair and legs that went on for days. She looked at me questioningly, but Brogan didn't introduce us.
"Um, dinner's not quite ready," I said to Brogan. He took the woman's light wrap, and I couldn't help but to notice that her figure was perfect in every way as the entirety of her dark purple dress was revealed, deeply cut at the chest, showing an ample amount of cleavage.
Brogan moved his eyes from her to me, as if with difficulty. Something tightened in my chest. "That's okay. We'll have cocktails in the living room. What would you like, Anna?"
"I'd love a glass of white wine," she said. "Do you have a chardonnay?"
I looked at Brogan and he looked at me, raising his brows when I didn't answer. "Oh, uh, yes," I finally said. So I'd be, what, serving them tonight? I pressed my lips together. "Let me get that for you." I plastered a fake smile on my face. "What would you like to drink, Brogan?"
Brogan put his hand possessively on Anna's lower back and led her toward the living room, turning his head slightly and saying, "Just water."
I gritted my teeth and turned back to the kitchen. This was fine. I was going to serve Brogan and his date. He could have assigned me worse tasks than this, I supposed.
I checked on the fish and then the items on the stove. I'd made pecan-crusted halibut with couscous and roasted asparagus.
When I walked into the living room with their drinks, they were both sitting on the sofa with their knees touching as Brogan laughed at something Anna had just said. Laughed! I'd rarely even seen him laugh when he was a teenager. He'd just gotten this warm look in his eyes and they'd crinkle slightly at the corners in this endearing way . . .
Without making eye contact, I put the drinks down on two coasters on the coffee table. When I looked up, I saw that Brogan was watching me, his tongue running over his front teeth. His eyes moved away and I glanced at Anna whose eyes were moving between Brogan and me. I cleared my throat. "Dinner should be ready in ten minutes."
I turned to leave when Anna put her hand on Brogan's thigh, giving me a cool smile, and said, "I don't think I caught your name. I'm Anna."
I turned fully toward her, shooting a quick glance at Brogan. His eyes were shuttered as he took a drink from his water. "I'm Lydia. It's nice to meet you." I gave her a small smile and then turned and left the room as quickly as possible. I could hear her asking Brogan in a whispered voice who I was, but I didn't try to listen for his answer.
As I set two places at the table in the formal dining room right off the kitchen, I wondered if Brogan was having me serve him and his date to inspire some kind of jealousy? Why would he do that? Or was he simply trying to cause me embarrassment with the fact that I was now so lowly I was reduced to serving him and his girlfriend? Or one of his girlfriends at least. I did note that she was a different woman than the one I'd first seen him with at the garden party. Apparently he wasn't lacking for dates. What was the actual point of this? Because the truth was, I did feel a smidge of jealousy and I didn't like it at all. I didn't want to watch Brogan with the beautiful woman in the other room. I could certainly accept that he was with another woman—all these years, I'd figured he was. When I'd thought of him, I'd assumed he was probably with plenty of women, perhaps even married, perhaps even with children . . . A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed it down. But assuming something and having to be a party to it were two very different things. And the truth was, I could admit to myself that I had never fully let go of my feelings for Brogan Ramsay. I wasn't even sure exactly how I felt about him—especially now in my current predicament—but what I did know was that I'd rather be lots of other places than where I was now. Suck it up, Lydia. You agreed to this.
I squared my shoulders and returned to the living room where Anna was leaned in to Brogan whispering something in his ear. Her hand was between his thighs, resting just above his knee. His gaze met mine above her turned head, and my eyes widened at the direct eye contact. "Dinner's ready," I muttered, pivoting back toward the kitchen. God, I hated this. And I hated him. I hated that this was bothering me. I hated that he was doing this to me just because he could. He was doing this to prove that he held all the control. Like a spoiled toddler, he was going to show me who was in possession of all the toys. And yet, he knew nothing about me now. He knew nothing of the things I'd experienced since that day seven years ago. He didn't know that I'd suffered, too. He didn't know because he hadn't attempted to find out. He probably hadn’t cared and really, I guess I couldn't blame him, and yet it hurt all the same. And so this was who Brogan Ramsay had become: a man who took pleasure from exacting any petty revenge he could on a person he knew nothing of anymore.