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Ramsay(30)
Author: Mia Sheridan

"Hydrangeas are your favorite. At least they were," he said softly.

I blinked at him. What had he said? Oh. I felt dizzy like I was about to faint. I needed some water. "Oh, well, yes, mine, too. You remembered."

"I was a gardener, Lydia. Flowers were part of the job."

"Right." He had been a gardener, yes. Now he wanted me to be his server. And given his cold tone, I had been dismissed. I pulled my shoulders straight and let out a breath. "Well, I'd better go get changed."

Brogan nodded curtly, something in his eyes that I didn't have the awareness or time to try to read. I hurried away, turning the corner into the kitchen and standing against the wall for a moment to get my bearings. God, I was an idiot. I banged the back of my head lightly against the hard surface behind me. "Idiot, idiot, idiot," I chanted. I'd thought Brogan wanted me to organize his party, to help plan it. Instead, all he wanted was for me to work it as part of the serving staff. I felt like sinking into the floor at my stupid assumption. I took several deep breaths. I wouldn't sink into the floor. Okay, fine. He wanted me to carry trays around and serve his guests. Fine. And why not, really? I was sort of jobless as of now—or at the very least, my employment situation was in limbo. So I could use a job as a matter of fact. I wasn't too good to be a food server. Lots of wonderful, talented people worked serving food, sometimes temporarily, sometimes not. I'd spend a couple hours offering the delicious dumplings I'd put on the menu, and then I'd make Brogan sit down with me and spell out the terms of this ridiculous arrangement. This would settle the score from my long-ago wrong—surely—and we'd move forward from here. So what if we had joked a little bit via text? Obviously it'd meant nothing to him and it shouldn't mean anything to me either. We weren't friends, he hated me, his whole family hated me, and I needed to continue to remind myself of those important facts.

I found Therese and asked her for the uniform she'd brought, and she retrieved it for me. Talk about eating demeaning humble pie. Therese either thought me completely vapid and stupid, or pitied my embarrassing faux pas. My guess went toward the former.

Ten minutes later, I was outfitted in the same black pants and white button-down shirt as the rest of the catering team.

After wrapping a short black apron around my waist, I grabbed a tray of hors d'oeuvres and followed the other servers out to the party. The first guests were just arriving, and I spied Brogan near the gate, a blonde woman in a strapless yellow dress holding on to his arm as he greeted his guests. My heart sped up slightly. Ugh, he'd brought a date. Of course he had. A different woman. Not Anna and not the woman I'd seen him with at the garden party. Apparently he had at least three on call. Good for him. Variety was the spice of life and all that. I was going to ignore the ache in the pit of my stomach. I had a job to do.

A blond-haired man stood next to Brogan, leaning toward him and saying something that made Brogan laugh. My eyes caught on him momentarily. He was as tall as Brogan and almost as handsome, dressed all in black as well. They looked like two fallen angels—one dark, one fair. Look out, ladies of Greenwich. I straightened my spine for the tenth time since I'd donned this outfit and walked directly toward Brogan. If I was going to survive this with my pride intact, I needed to show him immediately that this was not going to humiliate me quite as much as he might hope. I was not going to shrink from this. I was going to do it, but I did still have some self-respect left.

Brogan's eyes widened when he saw me, and I noticed him fidget slightly. "Sir," I said, holding the tray toward him, "crostini with caramelized onions, melted cheese & sage?" I raised one eyebrow. "They're delicious. I sampled one myself before coming out here. You can dock it from my pay of course. I wouldn't expect anything less." I smiled sweetly. Brogan's mouth set in a grim line. Our eyes clashed while in my peripheral vision I saw his date narrowing her eyes. I heard someone clear his throat and glanced at the man standing next to Brogan.

"I gather you're Lydia," he said, his lips twitching in a held-back smile and a twinkle in his eye. His Irish accent was strong. I looked back to Brogan.

"I'm just part of the serving staff. Please enjoy the party." I turned and walked away, my head held high, and my tray thrust in front of me like a shield.

Behind me, I heard the blond man whistle and say, "I think I'm gona start gettin' meself good and hammered. I have a feelin' this party's gona go tits up real quick."

"Shut up, Fionn," I heard Brogan grumble before I moved too far away to hear more.

I went inside to grab another tray and when I came out, I sucked in a horrified breath. Lindsey Sanders and crew were just walking through the gate. I ducked back inside the house and took a moment to gather myself, breathing deeply. That bastard had invited them on purpose—he knew very well they had been my high school clique. He was not only going to make me serve his guests, he was going to make me serve the people I'd once led. Associated with. Been. If anyone had told me Brogan Ramsay was capable of this level of ugliness seven years ago, I wouldn't have believed it. I had spent time with the group he'd invited today, but I had never treated him with the blatant rudeness they had. Chin up, Lydia.

I moved around the perimeter of the party, trying to avoid Lindsey etcetera. Maybe they wouldn't even notice me. After all, they'd been trained to pretend the people who served them were invisible. I'd just hope to blend right into the background.

   
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