Free Ramsay by Mia Sheridan Page A

Brogan nodded and stepped back, allowing me room to enter. I did, looking up and around at the two-story foyer. "You have a lovely home."
    Brogan thinned his lips and nodded, pushing the door so it swung shut with a small click. "Follow me, I'll show you to your room." Well, this was uncomfortable.
    "Room or cage ?"
    Brogan shot me a scowl. "I left you a choice in this matter, Lydia. Feel free to leave now if you've reconsidered."
    I followed him up a flight of stairs, my eyes caught by the stunning view out the window of the upper floor. I was right—all the way to the Long Island Sound. "No, I haven't reconsidered. But I'd like to discuss terms. We didn't—"
    Brogan turned into a room and I followed him, the words I'd been saying dying on my lips as I took in the luxurious accommodations. I was pulled immediately to the French doors that led to a widow's walk providing a beautiful, clear view of the water. I could imagine standing here with a cup of coffee in the mornings, watching the sun rise. Temporarily, of course.
    I turned and looked at the bed, a large canopy with plush, white bedding. The far wall featured a fireplace flanked by two tufted, velvet chairs, and a door that must lead to the bathroom. The only other furniture was a chest of drawers and a nightstand.
    I turned suddenly back to Brogan and he startled slightly at my abrupt movement. I thought I caught a fleeting expression of nervous anticipation, but when I blinked, his face held only neutral boredom. "This is . . . this is beautiful," I said anyway, biting my lip. "Can we talk now?"
    Brogan cleared his throat. "Actually, no, I have a business call I need to make. I'll see you later at dinner."
    "Oh, okay. Um, dinner? Do you cook, or should I . . . I mean, will that be part of my . . . duties?"
    Brogan seemed to consider that. "Actually, yes, that will be part of your duties. You'll probably want to go shopping for some food, though. I haven't had the chance to get to the grocery store for a while."
    The sudden picture in my mind of this aloof, powerful man strolling through the frozen food section glaring at the potpies and sending searing glances at the English muffins made me want to giggle. I stifled it. "All right then." I'd plan to discuss the terms of this arrangement over dinner. I eyed him. "And on what schedule does my begging begin?"
    Brogan had turned toward the door but now halted and pivoted toward me. I shrunk back as he took two long strides before he was right in front of me. "When would you like to start?"
    I raised my chin. "Does it matter what I want? I thought I was at your command. Isn't that the whole point of this?"
    Brogan stared at me for several heartbeats but didn't say a word before turning and leaving my room, closing the door behind him.
    I released a breath, walking to my bed and sinking down on it, lying back, and staring up at the canopy above me. Okay, well, here I was. And at least going to the grocery store would give me something to do with my nervous energy.
     
    **********
     
    An hour later I was back at Brogan's house with an armload of groceries. I wasn't the greatest cook, but I could manage. I'd been living on my own since I returned from college, and I'd learned to make do for myself, especially since I was on a budget and went out to eat as little as possible. Of course, if this whole business with Brogan didn't work out in my favor, I'd be on an even tighter budget. Jobless. Or maybe I'd be better off. As it was, I was putting practically every dime of my own paycheck back into the company. I had to hope it would be worth it, but in the meantime, I was shopping the bargain racks and clipping coupons. Not that I would ever let Brogan know that—it would probably please him, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He knew we were bad off—he didn't need to know the particulars of my personal finances. Or, that when I’d first thought to shop for this year's swimsuit at Target—which surprisingly enough,