"I do wanna hear your theory, as a matter of fact," Eileen said.
"I thought ya might. Me theory is that our friend here still loves the girl, and it's bloody killin' him right now to see her hurtin'."
"Insightful, my wise friend. Fair play. Ya might just be right."
"I think so," Fionn said.
"For fuck's sake, enough is enough," I said hoarsely, heading straight toward Lydia. She seemed to have seen me because she turned in the other direction and made a fast beeline for the exact group of girls who were having so much fun tormenting her. Why? What in the hell was she doing?
She marched right up to the group of coiffed vultures and beamed a smile at them, holding her tray forward. "Dumplings, anyone?" she asked, pushing her cleavage forward. "They're soft and delicious." They turned toward her and for a second I wished I had a camera. Their shocked, clueless expressions were so perfectly priceless. Point to Lydia. Obviously being completely unprepared for her return, the girls simply took a dumpling, their expressions remaining confused, and Lydia turned and marched away. I caught up to her.
"This is enough, Lydia. Go inside. You're excused from this party."
"Excused?" she asked, not stopping, forcing me to follow along behind her like a moronic puppy dog. "Oh no. I wouldn't dream of allowing you to excuse me now, Brogan, not when your revenge hasn't been properly satisfied. Don't deprive yourself of my complete and utter humiliation. I'm sure those girls have something more devious up their sleeves than flinging food. Then again, they're not the brightest bulbs in the bunch—take it from me—so they could be out of ideas. We'll have to wait and see. You must be on the edge of your seat to find out. I know I am."
I almost groaned. "Lydia, please, it's enough. I've had enough. Please go inside." Good fucking God, now I was saying please to my . . . archenemy? I suddenly wanted to laugh at the thought of the term Fionn had used once to describe her.
She shook her head, a beatific smile on her face as she headed toward another small group chatting and laughing. "Dumpling?" she asked, smiling around at the group. As the women took the dumplings, I watched as the men used the opportunity to examine Lydia's cleavage at length and in close proximity. Disgusting lechers. Why the hell did I have such disgusting lechers at my house? I hated disgusting lechers. But apparently I had invited a whole horde of them to my home to partake of my food and drink.
"Oh, hello, Brogan," one man finally said. I had no earthly idea who he might be, other than a disgusting lecher. "I haven't had a chance to say hello. Nice party." Then he babbled on about something inane and useless that I supposed I was meant to listen attentively to. Lydia took the opportunity to duck away and head to another group nearby to offer more of her soft, delicious dumplings.
"Are you okay, Mr. Ramsay?" the man in front of me asked, a concerned frown on his face. "Bit of heartburn, is it?"
"Em, yeah, excuse me," I muttered.
By the time I caught up with Lydia, she was filling a tray with champagne from the bar. "Lydia, put the tray down and go inside," I said. "I insist."
She turned away from the bar. "I can't just yet, Brogan. The crowd standing by the band is parched. If I don't get this champagne over to them immediately, there's likely to be any number of dry throats. Trust me when I say you don't want it to be known that you let your guests suffer dry throats at your first party. There could be negative gossip and as anyone who—"
"I couldn't care less about negative gossip," I growled.
"You should, Brogan. I'm just a lowly server now, but as you may or may not remember, I used to run in different circles and among the rich and shallow, negative gossip can ruin someone more quickly than carrying," she leaned toward me and whispered loudly, "a knock-off Hermès purse." She pretended to shudder and I stopped, feeling my lips tip up in the barest hint of a smile, mixed with a small measure of surprise.
Lydia. God, how did I forget how you once made me laugh?
She passed out the champagne and then rushed off. I stood staring after her, not knowing what to feel, the same way I'd felt after we'd joked a bit on text. I had felt a strange, confused happiness then, just as I felt now. Before I could even spend a moment more thinking about it, Lindsey and her group surrounded me. They'd been too busy running Lydia all around to bother me before, but they had me cornered now. I sighed internally. Lindsey had attempted to hang off me at every event I'd seen her at since I'd been looking at real estate in Greenwich. Her obvious flirting and obnoxious conversation, mixed with the way she repeatedly touched me, was barely tolerable. In truth, I hated it. I hated her scent. I hated the feel of her talon-like fingernails, even through the material of my shirt.
"Brogan," she sing-songed, leaning in and kissing my cheek. Her heavy perfume, mixed with some sort of competing hair product, overwhelmed me, causing my head to swim for a moment. "I haven't had a chance to compliment you on a wonderful party! I was just telling my girls it's my favorite of the year so far." She batted her eyelashes, her eyes wandering down to my crotch.
A moment from a summer's day seven years ago filled my mind. Lydia and her girlfriends had been splashing and laughing at her pool. I'd walked by pushing a wheelbarrow filled with soil, and I'd heard Lindsey say, "God, if it wouldn't cause my father to have a conniption, I'd be all over that hot gardener boy. He makes slumming it look irresistible." I'd cringed, feeling hot shame move up my neck as the rest of the girls had started laughing. But when I'd looked at Lydia, she wasn't laughing. Instead, I watched as she stuck her foot out and tripped Lindsey who was too caught up in a giggling fit to notice. Lindsey had screamed as she went flying into the pool, flailing and belly flopping into the water on a loud smack. Lydia had winked at me and cocked one of her sexy hips as she'd feigned shocked concern for Lindsey. I'd turned my head to hide my laughter. Yes, Lindsey had always been a malicious bitch. Nothing had changed. So why didn't I harbor any ill feelings toward her? Why didn't her past mistreatment bother me? In fact, I barely remembered it.