Page 21 of Highest Bid

She disconnected the call and pressed speed dial. When there was no response, she threw the phone into her bag with gritted teeth. She pushed to her feet and Galan stood, too. She blinked up at him. “I have to cut our dinner short. Dad needs me. And Mom isn’t answering her damn phone.”

“What happened?”

Her voice came out shaky. “Mom left him.” She dropped her arms to her sides and shook her head. “I never saw this coming. Mom loves him, she’d do anything to keep him.”

Galan stalked around the table to clasp her hand. He gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’m coming with you.”

Her laugh was tinged with hysteria. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. My family...I’m pretty sure they’re nothing like yours.”

His gut clenched. Her parents were alive and his weren’t. As far as he was concerned, that was the only difference that mattered. He pushed away the stark reminder and said softly, “I’m not there for your parents. I want to be there for you.”

She nodded stiffly, looking nowhere near convinced. But he didn’t care. She needed him, whether she admitted it or not. And a part of him really wanted to uncover what made Layla who she was now.

It wasn’t until after they’d taken his private elevator to underground parking, and she’d settled into his SUV’s passenger seat, that she closed her eyes as though trying to wipe out reality. “I can’t understand why Mom didn’t ring and talk to me about what’s going on.”

“She might have been protecting you,” Galan suggested.

Just like I’ve been protecting my brothers all these years.

Layla snorted and turned to him. “If she’d been interested in protecting me, she would have left Dad years ago when I was little and taken me with her. Their marriage is nothing short of toxic. Dad constantly cheats and takes her for granted, and she can’t accept he might be the only man on the planet who doesn’t desire her above every other woman.”

Galan drove up the ramp of the underground carpark. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me, too.” She sniffled. “Turn right and head to Dover Heights.”

He did as she directed, privately shocked her parents lived in one of the most prestigious suburbs in Sydney. That would teach him to assume Layla’s parents were a working-class family barely scraping enough money together to pay the bills.

He should know better than to be judge and jury when it came to family. The Black brothers knew all too well how people often presumed the worst of others. His hands whitened on the steering wheel. To this day there were still sickening rumors swirling around about their parents being at fault for the crash, not the drink driver who now walked free.

Galan pushed past his inner turmoil even as Layla grew more twitchy and restless by the second. She was wringing her hands when he pulled into her parents’ red-colored, concrete driveway. The white house sprawled across a large green lawn, its dark-tinted windows hiding whoever looked out into the world.

He cut the engine and stalked around his SUV. But Layla had already pushed open her door and climbed out by the time he got to her. She looked up, her smile tremulous. “I should really thank you for bringing me here. I have a feeling I might need your emotional support.”

He swallowed hard. Now that was something a woman hadn’t ever said to him before. Sex he could do, emotional support, not so much...until now.

The frosted-glass front door was unlocked, and Galan followed Layla as she pushed it open and stepped inside, her clammy hand in his. She cleared her throat and called out, “Dad, I’m here.”

A dark-haired man with bleary eyes and his stubble running to gray, staggered out of the lounge room toward them. “Layla, sweet cheeks, thank God you’re here!” He pulled her into a bear hug, and Galan dropped her hand and watched her awkwardly hug her dad back.

She didn’t seem comfortable with her father. In fact, she seemed more...resentful.

Layla had pulled away before her dad even noticed she wasn’t alone. His groggy eyes sharpened, and even from a distance Galan could smell the sour waft of alcohol as the man asked, “And who are you?”

Layla swung Galan an apologetic look. “Dad, this is Galan. He’s a...good friend of mine. Galan, this is my dad, Mark.”

Good friend? He should be relieved. Instead his gut twisted even as he forced a smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mark.”

Mark gave him a distracted nod. “Likewise. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Galan nodded in return. “Yes. I thought Layla could really use a good friend right now.”

Mark glanced at Layla’s pale face, so caught up in his own misery he didn’t notice Galan’s ironic tone. “Then you’d be right.” He sighed heavily. “This is so unlike my wife. She’s never done anything this foolish or unpredictable before. She goes to work then comes straight home.”

Layla bit into her bottom lip. “Maybe she never left you? Maybe something bad happened to her.” Her voice sharpened. “In Mom’s line of work anything is possible.” She glanced at Galan, her face flushed. “Mom’s a stripper,” she blurted.

Galan nodded. Despite Layla’s modesty, somehow he wasn’t surprised by her revelation. Pieces of the puzzle had already began to slot into place. Such as Layla’s smoking hot body and gorgeous looks she’d hidden...until recently. Then there were the eye-popping pasties, stilettos, and feathered skirt she’d worn on stage, likely a costume she’d borrowed from her mother.

But...why hadn’t Layla told him about her mom earlier? Had she even planned to? Because although Galan didn’t for a moment judge Layla’s mother, it was clear her choice of career was a big deal to Layla. Big enough that it took this family emergency for him to learn about it.

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