Home > Ramsay(28)

Ramsay(28)
Author: Mia Sheridan

"My ma just moved us to a basement apartment up the street a couple months ago."

I nodded, standing. "Don't lose that card."

"I won't. Hey," he stood up, too, "thanks, mister."

I nodded over my shoulder as I headed for my car. Pulling out my phone, I texted Fionn.

Me: Sorry looking kid is going to come by tomorrow with one of my cards. Set him up with a job.

I got in my car and headed toward my apartment in the city. A minute later my phone beeped.

Fionn: Jaysus. You plannin on adoptin the whole of NYC?

I chuckled, throwing my phone down on the seat. It rang a second later. Figuring it was Fionn, I picked it up, but before answering I glanced at the screen. Courtney. I sighed and threw my phone back on the seat. I didn't have the energy for Courtney's neediness right now. And if she was calling in the middle of the night, she was especially needy. I felt a momentary twinge of guilt but squashed it down. "Not tonight, Courtney," I murmured into the silence of my car. I was needy myself, and I knew seeing her now would only end somewhere I'd regret. And for now, I had enough regret to last a bloody lifetime.

CHAPTER NINE

Lydia

By Thursday, I had read four books cover to cover. Brogan had a decent-sized library, and so I spent a lot of my time there. I should have considered this a mini vacation of sorts, but I was too antsy and keyed up to really relax. From being at the office from eight till five every day for the last few years, worried about the financials, attempting to turn the company around, to . . . doing nothing? A difficult adjustment to say the least.

I had rearranged and organized all of Brogan's dresser drawers—who put T-shirts in the top drawer anyway? Everyone knew top drawers were for underwear and socks. Only it seemed Brogan either only owned one pair of underwear or didn't wear any at all. I tried not to think too much about that.

I was still shaken and confused about what had happened between us in my bedroom and a lingering feeling of sad despair filled my heart. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Brogan and his family had suffered to the extent he described. I hadn't known where they went when they left our home, had often wondered if they'd gone back to Ireland to be with family, had hoped Brogan's father had found another job quickly, but never once had I pictured them destitute and starving. Anguish gripped me, and I wondered if I had just been too self-centered to consider the depth of hardship his family might have suffered back then. I had been young and sheltered, and though I thought myself worldly, I hadn’t been. Not in the least. "You were," I muttered to myself, "just a stupid, selfish girl."

And at the moment I was lonely. Brogan and I had been friends once. Maybe I just needed to remind him of that to get on better footing with him. Suddenly it wasn't even all about my company. Suddenly I just wanted to let Brogan know how sorry I was, how I would do anything to change what I'd done to him back then. If only I could.

I pulled his business card out of my purse and grabbed my phone before I could overthink anything.

Me: Did you take all your underwear with you so I wouldn't rifle through it?

I immediately saw three dots indicating he'd read my message and was responding. But the dots remained there for a good ten minutes. Why was I picturing him standing somewhere, trying to figure out why I was being playful with him and waffling about what to write back? More likely he was just busy and had started a message and been interrupted. I wondered again at what exactly he did business wise.

Brogan: The fact that you're asking this question is proof I was right to do so.

I laughed and let out a relieved breath. Smiling, I typed him back.

Me: And btw, who puts jeans in the top drawer? Is that some kind of Irish thing?

Brogan: Aye. Now stay out of my drawers or I'll have to sic my nasty little leprechaun on you. Goodbye, Lydia.

I remembered how he'd always leave me when we were younger, the Gaelic word for goodbye. Me: Slan, Brogan.

Again, I saw the three little dots indicating he was responding, but then they disappeared. He must have changed his mind and decided to leave it at that.

Grinning, I tossed my phone aside. Surely Brogan joking with me was a good sign. Feeling lighter, I went to his office to organize something there. When I saw business cards for an event floral arrangement and a catering company sitting right on the top of his desk, I paused only momentarily before calling each one, hoping they were the ones he’d hired for his party. When I'd confirmed they were, I posed as Brogan's secretary and had them go over what Brogan had ordered and made some small tweaks. He most likely wouldn't notice, and he'd done a decent job, but he was missing a woman's touch. And after all, he had asked me to work the party. I could hardly do a good job if I was unprepared for exactly what he'd ordered.

On Friday the gardeners arrived and started manicuring the lawn and grounds. I went outside and gave them some direction. Why not? I was the only one in charge, and Brogan had said I was part of the party staff, so I might as well start working. If I knew how to do anything from my upbringing, it was to throw a fancy party. That and shop, but Brogan didn't require my skill in that arena. He dressed immaculately. Classy and masculine and, oh, whatever. Shaking my head, I continued walking the grounds, noting things the gardeners had missed so I could make sure they touched them up before leaving.

As I walked between some trees, I caught movement in the window of the small house behind Brogan's. Biting my lip, I paused and then walked toward it. I took a deep breath before knocking. There was a long silence before I finally heard someone inside moving toward the door. It swung open to reveal a young woman with curly, dark brown hair and the same icy-blue eyes as Brogan's. I let out a breath. "Eileen?" I asked, although I knew immediately who she was. The last time I'd seen her, she'd been a frail pre-teen with leg braces. Now she was a beautiful young woman. She must be what? Nineteen now? Twenty?

   
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