"Brogan," she called. I turned back. "To my mind, we're even now."
"Even?"
"Today. It settled the score between you and me. You can try to dish out more, but I'll fight you from here on out if you do. Just so you're aware." She lifted her chin, challenging me.
I almost smiled, but held it back. Fierce, exquisite girl, with swollen feet, her golden hair cascading around her stunning face, and her . . . cream puffs falling out of her too-small shirt. She had absolutely nothing to bargain with, and yet she stood there as if she held all the cards. Then again, perhaps she did. Perhaps she had all along. She watched me as I watched her, a small wary look on her face as if she was waiting for me to do something, but she wasn't exactly sure what. Finally, I simply nodded and left her room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lydia
"Good morning," Brogan said, glancing back over his shoulder quickly as he flipped a pancake on his griddle. "How are your feet?"
My eyes ran down his jean-clad backside. God, I'd forgotten what an amazing ass Brogan had. He was wearing a brown T-shirt that showed off his back and arm muscles. I dragged my eyes away before he caught me staring.
"Better," I said, taking a seat at the bar and twisting my still-wet hair up into a messy bun and securing it with a rubber band from my wrist. In actuality, my feet were still sore, although I wasn't limping any longer. A good night's sleep and a long soak in the tub this morning had helped my feet and my muscles. My mood was buoyed by the fact that we were finally going to talk tonight and perhaps my life could resume again—at least in some manner. I would think about how I was going to attempt to solve what would be a new set of problems once Brogan laid out his terms. "You cook?"
"I can manage the basics," he said, smiling at me. I blinked. Brogan Ramsay just smiled at me—a sincere one. I had even caught a glimpse of teeth, the slightly overlapped front tooth causing my heart to speed up just as it had always done. He must really be feeling guilty to show me teeth. Well good, he should. Although he still hadn't actually apologized, I wasn't going to try to force him to. Like I'd told him last night, yesterday had evened the score between us. Now I was hopeful he'd return De Havilland Enterprises and come up with a reasonable payment plan. We could both go on our merry ways, no permanent harm done. So why did that thought bring a twinge of disappointment, no merriment at all? It wasn't as if I'd enjoyed more than a moment or two in Brogan's company this week. And yet . . . I believed in being honest with myself. There was still something between us—something I was having difficultly defining. Perhaps it was only a physical attraction, unrequited lust, the possibility we'd make sexual magic together if we really had the opportunity this time around. And whatever it was would never be fully known because our relationship—if you could call it that—was of a temporary nature and based on the exaction of revenge. I chewed at my lip, considering my mixed emotions.
Brogan brought a plate piled with fluffy pancakes to the breakfast nook and placed it on the already-set table. I saw there was already a plate of bacon, a plate piled high with potatoes mixed with what looked like onions and peppers, and two glasses of orange juice at each place setting.
"That's a lot of potatoes," I noted.
"I'm Irish. I like potatoes," he teased. "Coffee?" I nodded, and he poured two cups from a pot on the counter, bringing them with him to the table where he took a seat across from me.
"Thank you for this," I said, nodding at the food.
"My pleasure." We both dished up plates and the next few minutes were spent eating.
"God, this is good," I said, spearing another bite of fluffy pancake. "I didn't realize your domestic talents were on par with your gardening abil—" My eyes widened and met his, my stomach dropping at my own mindless, rude comment. "You know what I mean."
Brogan finished chewing. "Lydia," he said, an amused look on his face, "it's okay. The last time you knew me, I was a gardener. Actually, not even a gardener. A gardener's assistant. It's fine."
"Assistant or not, you were the hardest worker I've ever known," I said softly. "I'm not surprised you're so successful now. You did the work of two men on our property."
He paused with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. "You noticed that?"
"I noticed everything you did," I said, my cheeks warming. I lifted my chin. "I was a proper stalker. I took my job very seriously."
He tilted his head, his expression slightly bewildered. Had he really not known? I didn't think I'd been that subtle.
I took a sip of juice. "Anyway, you're a businessman now. Will you tell me about what you really do?"
He finished chewing. "We can get into all that later tonight."
"Okay. But I'm holding you to this conversation," I said, raising a brow.
He gave me another small smile. "As you should. What are you going to do today? I noticed my sock drawer hasn't been organized by color." His lip quirked. He was teasing me. Huh. I grinned. He was a man, there were only two colors, black and white. Therefore, a two-minute job.
"I can get to that this afternoon. But um . . . I have an errand I was going to run today while you're working."
"An errand?"
I nodded, picking up a piece of bacon, dipping it in my syrup, and biting off the end. "Actually, I'm going to go see my old house. My friend Daisy told me the family that bought it from Ginny moved." I took another bite of bacon and chewed and swallowed before continuing. "I won't be able to go inside, but I'd just like to walk around."