Page 2 of Highest Bid

“We all three took a lot of risks to get where we are now,” Galan conceded. “We’re only lucky those risks paid off.”

Liam chuckled. “Who’d have thought we’d come this far? Guess that’s why you’re so...conservative now. But I can almost understand not wanting to push your luck any further than you already have.”

Conservative? Fuck. Was he really getting that unadventurous?

Not in the bedroom, buddy.

Liam nodded at a group of men on the other side of the room, one of whom was the auctioneer about to step on stage. “Duty calls, Gal.” His grin turned into a wry smirk. “I’ll let you know how I went with a little side bet I made with Aiden.”

Galan frowned. Side bet? But he was already too preoccupied scanning the room to stop Liam’s retreat and query him further. His frown deepened as he identified each of the bar staff, with their drink trays held aloft as they stepped around their suited customers.

Where the hell was Layla?

He’d pushed back thoughts of her for—he flicked a look at his Patek Phillippe watch—easily half an hour. “A new record,” he muttered.

Hiring her had been one of his more foolish risks. With no bar experience and zero waitressing skills, no one had been more shocked than he when he’d chosen her over far prettier and more experienced barwomen.

That wasn’t even to mention that from the first night on the job she’d hidden her body beneath the same black T-shirt, with Black Pearl Nightclub emblazoned across the chest, as the male bar staff. She was the antithesis of the lingerie-wearing barwomen who floated seductively around the room, flaunting their bodies to earn big tips.

Perhaps that was why he was so damn intrigued.

In his experience, women did what they could to earn a few extra bucks. Hell, he and his brothers encouraged a sexy outfit on nightclub shift. Expected it, even. But though Layla was pleasant and gracious to all the patrons, she hadn’t once shown off what appeared to be a decent body.

That he was oddly comforted by her choice of clothing was something he didn’t like to think about too often. Layla wasn’t even his type.

He’d always enjoyed his nights fucking a plentiful supply of fast women, often more than one, with sex nothing more than a physical release. He’d never really experienced a deep emotional connection with anyone since his parents’ deaths. He was disconnected from everyone around him, his emotions firmly boxed away.

His growing obsession with Layla was nothing more than his need for a challenge. He stifled a bemused chuckle. And Layla was definitely one woman who defied him at every turn.

The auctioneer stepped onto stage, and the men in the room became all ears at his introductory speech. Minutes later, the men were all eyes, as the first woman stepped onto stage in nothing more than a miniscule bikini and a huge smile.

Galan grinned at the quickly escalating bids. There’d be a lot of happy charities tonight thanks to this auction. Each woman selected a cause she wanted to support. The higher the men bid for her, the more her chosen organization received.

It wasn’t until the fourth girl came out and blew kisses to the bidders that Aiden put in an appearance beside his older brother. He clapped Galan on the shoulder and murmured, “I knew these ladies would get the men bidding.”

Galan nodded. “You selected well.”

Aiden smirked. “Yeah, well, you know what they say. It’s a hard life, but someone’s got to do it.” He arched a dark brow. “Are you planning on making a bid?”

Galan sent him a sardonic look. “I’ll leave that to the paying customers.”

Aiden’s smirk widened. “You’ve got every right to bid, too, you know. The highest one is all that counts.” He handed him a bidding paddle before Galan even realized what he’d been given. Aiden winked, “Keep hold of it. You never know, you just might need it.”

Galan stared after his brother, his lips thinning and his arms crossing. One thing he’d always hated—as both his brothers knew all too well—was subterfuge. He liked to be in control. It was less likely for things to go wrong. And right now his every instinct flailed like a fish that’d been thrown on baking hot sand.

His brothers had concocted something. But if they thought for even one second he’d bid on any of the women walking out on stage, they could think again. He shook his head. He had more than enough hookups without having to pay for it.

So what had his damn brothers gone and done?

Wolf whistles and cheers jerked him back to the present, and for a moment his fool heart forgot to beat. His throat dried, and his every nerve ending short-circuited, as he stared openmouthed at the sexy, inescapably beautiful woman strutting out on stage on impossibly tall stilettos.

Heart-shaped pasties just barely covered the nipples of her bared, beautiful breasts. A perfect fit for his big hands. Her waist-length, dark hair fell like a curtain around her exquisite body, where a short peacock feather skirt with feathered train was her only covering.

For a moment, denial left him frozen in place. It can’t be.

Though he’d never seen her out of her uniform of men’s T-shirt and black dress pants, never seen her without her glasses, or her dark hair out of its bun...it was irrevocably, undeniably her.

“Layla,” he breathed. And he finally understood why she was the one woman in his life who had gotten under his skin like a damn burr.

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