Ramsay (3 page)

I went slowly to my knees, not breaking eye contact with Stuart. "Please don't fire me father. I will not touch your sister again. Not as long as I live." I heard Lydia's quiet cries but vowed not to meet her eyes.
Refused to.

"Kiss my feet and the answer is yes."

I gritted my jaw so hard I bit my tongue. The metallic flavor of blood filled my mouth.
Eileen . . . Eileen
. . . I chanted in my head, picturing her sweet, innocent face, the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. I leaned forward, my body vibrating with rage and shattered pride. Before I'd even made it halfway to Stuart's feet, his leg jerked out and his boot caught me square in the jaw. I flew back, letting out a startled moan as I landed on my arse on the floor, hot pain radiating up my face.

"Changed my mind. Get your flea-bitten family out of here . . . by morning."

I jumped to my feet, dizzy with the conflicting emotions pommeling my heart. I could barely see through the fog of humiliation. I went to step toward Stuart, but Myles, who I'd all but forgotten about, took a step toward me, putting his hand on my chest. I swiped it away. "I think it's best if you just leave, Brogan," he said quietly, pity emanating off him. I hesitated, still breathing harshly.

"Good boy," Stuart said, reaching in his pocket and throwing something on the ground at my feet. I looked down. It was a one-hundred-dollar bill. "You got paid yesterday. That should cover today." Shame and self-hatred was a raw ache in my gut. I could feel heat burning under the skin of my neck, but I bent slowly anyway and picked up the bill. We needed it. Now more than ever. I stepped around Myles, exiting the room and not looking back.

As I strode across the lawn, the sky a dusky blue, the sprinklers came on. The cool water felt good against my overheated skin and I didn't change my course, simply walked through them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw who I thought might be Lydia racing toward her house. I refused to turn my head. Stuart De Havilland had told us to be gone by morning. We wouldn't wait that long. We'd be gone tonight. We'd leave right that very moment. And as God as my witness, I would
never
beg anyone for anythin' again. Not
ever
again.

Lydia –
Seven Years Later

"Earth to Lydia, hello," Daisy said, waving a hand in front of my face.

I laughed softly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it before letting it go. "Sorry, was I drifting off again? I've got way too much on my mind. Start over and I swear you’ll have my full attention." I took a sip of champagne and focused on my friend.

Daisy waved her hand in the air, taking a sip of her own champagne. "No, I don't blame you for ignoring me. I was only complaining about my new eyebrow lady and how the arches she creates are completely sub-par."

I laughed, training my gaze on her perfectly—as always—sculpted brows. "I do see what you mean. You've been ruined. I can't believe you'd subject the public to the disturbing vision that is your eyebrows." I pretended to shudder.

"Oh shut up! Seriously though . . ."
Shut up, Lydia
. . .
That phrase . . . why does it always cause a cold chill to move down my spine?
I knew why of course—my brother had yelled it repeatedly
that
day—but I wondered if those particular words would
ever
cease to unnerve me.
Shut up, Lydia.
". . . so I'm counting down the days until Mariposa's maternity leave is over. The nerve of her."

I laughed, Daisy's banal chatter lightening my mood. "The nerve of her to reproduce?"

"Exactly. So tell me what has you so distracted today."

"Oh the usual. The business, Stuart,
finances
. . . all very boring."

Daisy gave me a sympathetic look. "I thought things were looking better with the business."

I sighed. "I thought so, too. It seems like every time we get a break, something else happens to set us back again. And of course, Stuart doesn't help." My spendthrift brother who still lived as if we could afford to be extravagant. Ever since my father died and Stuart had taken over the company, things had gone from bad to worse. Upon my father's death we'd discovered the company was in more debt than my father ever let on. Possibly because it was still a situation that could have been managed had the person taking over had a semblance of fiscal restraint or management skills—neither of which my brother possessed. I sighed to myself. I did love him, but I also frequently wanted to kill him. I also missed my father terribly. His kindness, his intelligence, his love. Despite the irony, I wished he were alive to have as a sounding board about how to get us back into the black.

Daisy patted my hand. "It'll be fine. You know what you need? Some good sex. When was the last time you had some? There's nothing like a good thorough fucking to lift the spirits."

I choked on a sip of champagne and Daisy grinned. "If only I had a candidate," I said, laughing. I did love Daisy—she came across all polish and style, but she was liable to say the most outrageous things just when you needed it. But Daisy was a trust fund baby who had never had to worry about money a day in her life. She didn't really know what it felt like. Up until recently, I hadn't either. Life had happened, and now I'd learned lessons I'd never expected to learn. And not just about money. I took another sip of champagne. "Things will be fine. Of course."

She nodded. "Did you know the family that bought your estate put it up for sale a couple months ago?"

I stared at her for a moment. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I heard rumors about a big job offer overseas, but I didn't know them. They've already moved. I think it's still on the market."

My heart clenched. God, if only I had a way to purchase it back. I sighed, letting that thought float away. I didn't, and there was no use wishing for something that was an impossible dream.

"How's Gregory?" I finally asked to change the subject.

Daisy's eyes shifted away. "Oh, busy as always. But I guess I knew what I was signing up for when I married him. If he didn't look so hot in a suit, I'd have given up on him long ago."

I gave her a small smirk. "Is he working today?"

"Yup—closing a big deal." I thought something like doubt moved through her eyes, but before I could question it, she smiled brightly, pointing out some girls we knew who'd just arrived and launching into a story about one of them.

I nodded, drifting off again, as my eyes moved over the people at the garden party, laughing, talking, and enjoying appetizers and cocktails.
All so carefree.
Why did I feel so . . .
trapped?
Trapped, standing here in the middle of the wide-open lawn, the summer sun shining down on me. Trapped and restless. It didn't feel like it was only the financial issues my family was facing. But I couldn't put my finger on it exactly. There had to be more though, didn't there? More to look forward to once we were able to get the business back on solid ground? More than the world I'd been raised in, the world of endless social events, shopping, and surface chitchat that, these days, went in one ear and out the other. I couldn't help it. I'd thought working as the vice president at our family company would fill something in me that felt empty, but it hadn't. It was challenging—Stuart ensured that—and it was interesting and fulfilling in its way, and rather than simply being the figurehead I could have been, I chose to be very involved with the business, getting my hands dirty, so to speak, along with the rest of the staff. But it still didn't offer that . . .
something
I'd been hoping it would provide.
Oh, shut up, Lydia, you don't even know what you want. How can anything fulfill you when you're so clueless as to what you're missing? Shut up, Lydia . . .

Shut up, Lydia . . .

"Lydia," my stepmother said, seemingly coming out of nowhere, air kissing my cheek, the heady fragrance of her perfume—the Chanel N°5 she'd worn ever since I'd known her—lingering in the air around me even after she'd leaned away to air kiss Daisy. I barely held back the sneeze that threatened."Daisy darling," she said, and Daisy greeted her with a small smile
.

"Ginny," I muttered, taking a long drink of champagne. "You look perfect as always."

My stepmother ran a hand over her sleek, blonde updo, not a single hair out of place. "Why, thank you. And you look," her eyes ran over me, assessing my outfit, a nude maxi dress with a floral design, "lovely." I resisted scowling and instead took another sip of my champagne. No one had the ability to make the word "lovely" sound critical quite like my stepmother.
Ex
-stepmother actually. She had recently remarried. "Is that from last season?" she couldn't resist adding on.

Of course it was from last season. Ginny was well aware of Stuart's and my financial situation. Did she think I was still splurging on expensive designer clothes?
Naturally.
Because it's what she herself would have been doing in my situation.

"Oh hello, Jane!" Ginny called, looking behind me. Always looking behind me to see if someone
better
, more interesting, more popular, more able to serve her needs, might be around. But I was happy her focus had moved away from me, even momentarily. "I'll be right over," she called, a large smile on her face. "We need to discuss the Bough Center charity banquet."

Looking back to me, her smile wilted. "I hate that bitch." Her eyes narrowed in on me again. "You really should try to mingle, Lydia. There are quite a few eligible men here. You're not getting any younger. Strike while the iron's hot and all that. When was the last time you went on a date?" Her eyes homed in on my face, making a disapproving clicking sound and then bringing her own hand to her eyes as if smoothing wrinkles away she'd seen on
me.
As if they might be contagious. Classic move to make me feel self-conscious without saying a word. Although I couldn't deny Ginny's skin was perfect, even though she was ten years older than me. In the past, I would have beelined for a mirror to find out what fault she had evidently spied in my complexion, in my outfit, in my overall being. But now, it only made me want to shake my head in exasperation of her shallow put-downs. Perhaps it came from having bigger fish to fry than the size of my pores.

"Carter Hanes is right over there by the bar," she went on, pointing out a tall, thin man with light hair. I already knew Carter Hanes. In fact, I'd gone out on a date with him the year before, and he'd licked my face when he kissed me. I shuddered at the memory. My stepmother was prattling on. "He's not the most handsome man, but you and he would make a good pair. His father is worth billions
and
he's unwell. Near death I've heard." There was a note of glee in her voice, as if she'd just shared a piece of good news.
Had she thought about my father in such terms once upon a time? Near death?
Her face screwed into a frown. "Well, Mindy Buchanan is swooping in on him, and now you've missed your chance."

She clicked again, looking around to see who might be listening in—apparently Daisy didn't count—before she leaned toward me. "When your father died, and we found out about all his debt, you didn't see me sitting around waiting to be rescued, did you? No, I went out there and found Harold, married him, and solved my
own
problems. You need to stop being a martyr and take the initiative like I did. I'll be back after I've chatted with Jane. Don't move." With that she dismissed me, sashaying off toward Jane, leaving me to ponder how exactly marrying a man for his money was solving your own problems. I shook my head. There was no point in trying to analyze Ginny's flawed, selfish logic.

Daisy put her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. "Wow. She's . . . something, isn't she?"

I rolled my eyes. "I can't even believe I came to this," I muttered, draining my glass. As a staff member walked by with a tray of champagne, I switched out my empty flute for a full one, smiling a thank you.

"Of course you did," Daisy said. "It's
the
social event of the season." She winked at me. I smiled half-heartedly, barely able to remember a time when any of this was important to me, when I'd tried to please my stepmother—a never-ending impossible task. Since I was having financial issues, she thought she would
help
me find a rich husband—in her mind the perfect solution.
God.
To her credit, she wasn't gossiping about Stuart and me. These people would all turn their backs on us in a heartbeat if they found out the extent of our money problems.

"I feel like I might die of boredom," I said. "But even worse, Ginny will be back. I have to hide." God, I was a twenty-three-year-old woman with a job and my own home and I was still hiding from my stepmother at parties.
Ex-stepmother. Even worse.
"And get drunk while I'm at it."

Daisy laughed. "I'll come with you." We grabbed a couple more drinks and started making our way across the lawn to an outdoor balcony overlooking the party below. As we began to climb the steps there was a group of women descending. I resisted the urge to groan, instead taking a large sip of the champagne I was double fisting.

"Why, Lydia De Havilland, I haven't seen you in
forever!
" Lindsey Sanders stopped in front of me, looking me up and down in that bitchy, assessing way she'd always had. "Hello, Daisy," she said, shooting her a thin-lipped smile before focusing her attention back on me. I sighed internally. I wasn't in the mood for Ginny, and I was even less in the mood for these women. My old high school friends. It could be argued that Daisy was shallow sometimes, but these women took it to a whole new level. It might have been somewhat acceptable when we were fifteen, but not now. I'd grown sick and tired of the constant competition, the utter phoniness, and we'd had a big falling out at the senior prom when Lindsey had accused me of trying to steal her date. I'd had zero interest in her date. As a matter of fact, I'd had zero interest in
my
date. I'd been struggling with more complex issues than they'd been capable of understanding, and they had nothing at all to do with stealing the muscled college guy Lindsey had brought to a stupid dance. I'd stopped hanging around all of them after that and they still hated me for it—assumed I thought I was too good for them, I supposed. The truth was, I simply didn't have the stomach for it anymore. I'd grown out of all the trivial nonsense, but they never had.

"You look nice," Lindsey went on. "Not every bottom-heavy girl would have the confidence to wear a floral print. You always did take fashion risks though. We all admired you so much for it." The phoniness dripped from her voice. I held back the laugh that wanted to escape my throat. I knew I wasn't bottom heavy and so did she. Once upon a time, that comment would have had me on an immediate starvation diet. How sad that I had cared
so much
what these petty girls thought of me. "So what have you been up to?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink and looking around as if she couldn't care less.

I plastered on my own phony smile. "Oh, you know, not too much—"

"Lydia's too modest to say that she's insanely busy running a multi-million-dollar company, Lindsey." Lindsey raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow before Daisy went on. "What have
you
been up to? I'm sure it's thrilling, and we
must
hear about it sometime. But not now. Right now we're needed upstairs. Nice to see you!" And with that, Daisy grabbed my arm, and I was forced to stumble behind her, letting out a small laugh before stifling it in a cough. I grinned back at Lindsey and her group of followers who were all glaring after us. I'd been the leader of that group once upon a time . . .