And yet . . . despite my own assertions, my mind kept returning there. Had it been a peace offering? A way to reach out? Or was it really what I'd called it at Daisy's house, a way to completely cut all ties with me? But if that were the case, was it really necessary? He didn't need to give me ownership of my family company or my home in order to cut ties. He’d already done that. Perhaps then, it was his way of saying, "I win, but now I have no need for these spoils of war. Take them, they're nothing to me now." No, that made no sense. And . . . my heart rejected it. It felt wrong.
But then there was Courtney. He'd said he'd been clear with her about her place in his life—out. But where had he been those nights?
I thought back to the way he'd made love to me—tenderly, reverently. The way he'd looked at me, the way he'd touched me, I just couldn't accept that he was doing it vengefully or dishonestly.
I thought we made a peace treaty last night.
Is that what that was?
I massaged my temples. I was going to give myself a headache—again.
I left Daisy flirting with one of the event hosts by a large, bronze and silver sculpture of what looked like a pile of crumpled candy wrappers. I stopped and gazed at some of the paintings for a few minutes here and there, but mostly meandered. It felt good to be out, good to get dressed up, to remember I was still young, still attractive when I exerted some effort. Several men smiled at me as I passed, their eyes lingering a moment too long and that boosted my spirits, too. I was far from ready to date, but maybe someday . . .
"This is boring as hell," Daisy said, coming up next to me and taking my arm. "I made my contribution by buying a print near the front of the gallery. We can get out of here now."
I laughed. "We've only been here for half an hour."
"Yup. Twenty minutes too long. All the men here are rich businessmen. We've both sampled that variety. Let's go somewhere where the pickings are better." She pulled me and I followed.
"I don't want to sample any variety of men," I said. "But I'll follow you somewhere where there's a variety of alcohol."
We retrieved our wraps from the coat check and walked outside. "There's a restaurant across the street, a new hibachi place. Very young and trendy. Let's check out the bar." Daisy linked her arm with mine and we crossed at the crosswalk, moving as quickly as possible so as not to get chilled in the unseasonably cold weather.
The hibachi restaurant was dim and warm and smelled wonderfully of savory, grilled meat.
"We're just going to have a drink," Daisy said to the hostess when she greeted us.
"Of course." She smiled, waving her arm toward the bar to our left.
We turned toward it as a small group who had obviously just eaten moved toward the restaurant door. My heart stuttered violently when my eyes met Brogan's. For the breath of a moment, something inside that was wholly uncaring of the rules and reasons of my head lurched toward him in joyous delight. Shock registered in his light-blue eyes, but then they immediately shuttered, moving away from me as if I was of no consequence at all. I stopped in my tracks, frozen, my gaze moving to the people he was with: Fionn, two older men I didn't know, and . . . Courtney. She saw me, her cat-like eyes registering surprise as well right before she hooked her arm through Brogan's and smiled at me, showing the bare hint of teeth. The message was clear in her expression: I win.
And I had lost. Oh yes, and it had been a slaughter.
"Lydia," Fionn said, stopping in front of me as the rest of them moved on. I blinked at him. Next to me, Daisy put her hand gently on my arm. Fionn didn't seem to notice her.
"I . . . I—" Oh God. I was going to faint right here in the lobby of this restaurant.
"How are ya?" he asked gently.
"I . . ." Fionn's eyes moved over my face, his expression worried.
"Lydia," Daisy said. Fionn's eyes jumped briefly to her and back to me.
"Listen, Lydia—"
"Fionn," Brogan said from behind me. Fionn glanced to where Brogan must have been standing and then off to the left.
"For feck's sake," he murmured. His gaze met mine again. "Lydia—"
"I have to go," I choked, turning, stumbling slightly, not knowing where to go. Brogan was at the exit.
"We have to use the restroom," Daisy said, her grip on my arm tightening. Fionn hung his head, his hand moving to the back of his neck, but he didn't stop us. Daisy pulled me and I followed, stumbling again. My legs didn't seem to want to work.
I held myself together until we got to the ladies’ room and then I collapsed onto the small, velvet couch in the bathroom lobby, sobs moving up my throat so forcefully I couldn't choke them down.
I knew now.
I had wondered, and now I had my answer—Brogan had given me the business and my family home to assuage any guilt he might hold. That had been his way of saying anything we'd had between us was over. Finished. Just like me. And if the gesture itself didn't say so, Courtney's presence certainly did.
I realized then that, despite my grief over Stuart's death, despite my horror and confusion and deep despair, I'd held a kernel of hope in my heart that Brogan would come to me—come for me—and attempt to make things right. I’d hoped that I hadn't imagined he'd cared for me, that he might even love me as I'd loved him. I'd begun to admit to it earlier tonight when I'd opened that envelope, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt when I'd come face to face with him.