"Why not? Isn't that what ya did by settin' me up? It was dirty before it ever began, Lydia, wasn't it? A dirty trick."
I shook my head. "I know but I—"
Brogan stepped forward, swearing softly. "I promised myself I wasn't gona discuss this with ya." He stepped closer, staring me down. "You're an employee of mine now, nothin' more."
I lifted my chin. I would not cry. I had survived worse than this. Brogan thought I was still a self-serving princess. And yes, perhaps I had been. Once. Perhaps I had been petty and maybe even unknowingly cruel, an insatiable flirt who didn't always consider the feelings of others. A princess who played games instead of being honest about my feelings. But I had been a teenager. He was a full-grown man now, and if treating me this way was going to give him something he needed, then let him have it, whatever it was. Suddenly I was too drained and weary to care.
Our gazes held for long moments and I swore I saw something intense—yearning—in his eyes, and it made my heart clench.
I opened my mouth to say something, to try to make some sort of peace between us. But then Brogan's expression went carefully blank, and he stepped back once more. "I'm having a cocktail party this weekend," he said evenly, enunciating every word. I blinked as my mind struggled to catch up to the change in topic. "A housewarming of sorts. I'll need you to work it. The caterers will be here Saturday morning to begin setting up, along with the band and the florist. I won't be back until then."
"O-okay. And what should I do until Saturday?"
"I'm sure you'll come up with something." With that he turned and walked out the door.
I fell back against the wall, tilting my head up as tears filled my eyes and blurred the high ceilings above me. I'd known what happened that day must have hurt his pride deeply, had understood the overwhelming anger it must have caused. But I hadn't known he'd suffered the way he'd just described. All these years, when I thought of him, I hadn't imagined he still carried such raw pain. God, Brogan, I didn't know. I didn't know it still hurt so much.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lydia – Sixteen Years Old
The rain beat against the library window. I tilted my head, leaning my cheek against the cool glass as I snuggled into the plush cushions of the window seat. I ran my finger down the pane, following the trail of a lone raindrop. I loved rainstorms, loved being inside while it beat down on the roof and wind whipped at the trees outside the window.
A small sound caught my attention, and I turned my head to see Brogan standing in the doorway. He looked surprised to have been caught and took a step back. "Sorry," he mumbled.
I stood quickly, running my hand over my hair and giving him a big smile as I tilted my head in the way Ginny did when she talked to men she found attractive. "It's okay," I said, my heart rate increasing slightly the way it always did when Brogan was near. I walked toward him, trying to put a little extra sway in my hips. Brogan's eyes moved quickly down my body, and I felt a little thrill of delight run up and down my spine. "What are you doing here?"
"I was just pickin' up me dad's paycheck," he mumbled, holding out the envelope in his hand as proof. "I should get back. It's really lashing." He nodded his head toward the window indicating the rain and I grinned, and I could feel that it was the dumb, wonky grin that showed too much of my eye teeth.
I straightened my mouth before he looked back at me. "I like it when you talk like that," I said, smiling and tilting my head.
He looked confused for a moment and then ran his hand along the back of his neck as he bent his head forward on a smile. My heart flipped. He was so heart-stoppingly handsome, and he had little to no idea. That was the part I liked best about Brogan. He didn't even seem to understand his appeal.
"Stay a minute," I said. "At least wait until the rain lets up a little bit. It's not like you can work outside tonight."
He hesitated, but when I turned and walked back into the library, shooting him a look over my shoulder, he followed. Yes.
I went back to the window seat and sat down, and Brogan took a seat next to me. My gaze moved to his fingers running absentmindedly along the silky tassels of the cushion we were sitting on. He was always touching something in that way, as if memorizing its texture. A gentle heat moved through my veins. I wondered what his fingers would feel like doing that to my skin. I wondered if he'd like the texture of . . . me. I bit my lip, and his eyes moved to my mouth, causing a wave of satisfaction to wash over me. But then his eyes shifted away, out the window, and a fleeting expression of sorrow moved across his face.
"My mam used to say God gave us rainy days to let us know it was okay to take a day off now and then." And even though his eyes remained sad, his lips tipped up in one of his rare, sweet smiles. Butterflies fluttered in my belly.
His mam. I considered him for a moment thinking that perhaps he and I were more similar than different. Maybe that was another reason I was so drawn to him. I missed my mother, too. So much that sometimes it was still hard to believe she was gone. Sometimes in my secret heart of hearts, I pretended she wasn't. I pictured her right upstairs, sitting in her bedroom brushing her long blonde hair and humming softly to herself. I left her there in my mind and it didn't hurt quite as badly as picturing her in the cold, hard ground.
"You miss her very much," I said softly. He had never spoken of his mother before, even during the times I stood and chatted with him as he worked. He leaned back against the wall behind him and I let out a breath, happy he was relaxing in his seat and that he might stay and visit with me for a little while.