Page 11 of Highest Bid

She’d need that feeling of detachment before she faced Galan again. Need it, too, knowing so many of her coworkers had seen her flaunt her body, with her hair unbound and her glasses off.

She’d have to pretend indifference, and that baring her body was as natural to her as it was to the rest of the lingerie-wearing female staff.

Yeah, like anyone would believe that.

She might as well be a nun for all the sensuality she’d ever exhibited. She stifled a sudden laugh. Her coworkers would have been stunned to witness her eager fall into depravity, and to hear her moans and groans, her cries and screams, as she came undone by the master of seduction himself.

But, as she stepped out of the elevator and marched through the foyer, then out its double doors, into the Black Pearl Nightclub, it was like warping into another dimension. No longer did a loud, throbbing beat pierce the air, while damp, writhing bodies filled the dance floor, and constant, shouted drink orders crammed her head.

It didn’t make her feel any more at peace. She’d gotten the sexual fulfillment she’d craved from Galan, but, without the emotional commitment she’d so desperately wanted, she had to wonder if being with him had been the biggest mistake of her life.

Nothing would ever be the same again. Every time he took a new woman into his bedroom, her jealousy would know no bounds. But, unless she wanted to lose her mind and her job, she’d have to find a way around it. Become anaesthetized to all emotion in just the same way she’d grown insensitive to her parents’ constant fights.

Layla managed to get to the staffroom where the lockers were located without running into any of her coworkers who’d been on shift last night. She was known as the hard-working prude. It would have been quite the shock for them to see her as something else entirely.

With a snort of disgust, she threw the skirt and her ripped thong into the locker. “Last time I’ll be borrowing Mom’s clothes,” she muttered, before she retrieved her spare work uniform.

She’d taken off the bathrobe and put on her bra and a pair of serviceable panties when Colleen, one of her workmates, walked in. “Holy smokes, you really are hot!”

Layla spun around, exhaling noisily at seeing the blonde. So much for staying numb. “Colleen, shit! Are you trying to scare the life out of me?”

Colleen clucked her tongue even as she eyed Layla up and down. “What were you trying to hide beneath that horrid work uniform, girl?”

Layla dragged on the white T-shirt with Garden Café printed in big letters across the front, its palm tree and pineapple logo an eye-catching design on her shirt pocket. Sticking her legs into the same black dress pants she wore for the nightclub, she pushed her feet into an older, but serviceable, pair of Doc Martens. Fastening her hair into a topknot, she settled her spare glasses into place, then stalked out of the staffroom and into the eerily quiet nightclub, her workmate right beside her.

Layla glanced at Colleen. “Do you really believe in the ‘if you’ve got it, flaunt it’ saying?”

“Shit yeah! Imagine all the tips you’ve missed out on. I mean, good Lord, woman, your own boss was willing to fork out megabucks for just one night with you, imagine what—”

“Colleen, is there some place you’re meant to be other than down here prying whatever gossip you can out of other staff?”

Layla’s whole body prickled at Galan’s nearness, before she offered weakly, “She wasn’t prying.”

One of Galan’s dark eyebrows quirked. “If you say so.” He held up Layla’s stilettos. “I thought you might like these back.”

Colleen’s mouth opened, then shut, like a fish dragged from water. “Layla, you wore those? If they’re not fuck-me shoes, then—”

“Enough, Colleen,” Galan growled.

Layla’s belly pulled tight. Had he really needed to return those shoes to her now? He might as well hold up her nipple pasties, too, while he was at it. Like the rest of her outfit from last night, the stilettos were part of her mom’s favorite stripper footwear.

Galan focused back on Layla. “The shoes were a piss-poor excuse for me to come and see you.” She stared up at him, doing her best to decipher the meaning behind his intent stare. “I think you and I have some unfinished business to take care of, firecracker.”

Was this his way of apologizing? Had she succeeded in him wanting more than one night together? She blinked. “We do?”

“Perhaps not so much business as pleasure.” He smiled and added, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Layla blinked again. “Dinner?”

He nodded. “I’m cooking.”

The delight moving through her was almost as wonderful as floaty, after-sex hormones. And a hell of a lot nicer than the devastation he’d set off within when he’d mentioned never having to pay for a woman. She couldn’t once remember him inviting a girl back into his bedroom again, let alone cooking dinner for them. It was common knowledge he didn’t do relationships. He wasn’t into commitment.

She cleared her throat. “I’d like that.”

Colleen pressed a hand to her mouth before she pivoted and made her escape, probably to tell every other worker what had just transpired.

Galan didn’t appear to care about any gossip when he handed Layla the stilettos and said softly, “Wear these for me again tonight.”

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