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CHAPTER FOUR

JORGE

In all the years I’ve been here, I’ve never seen the club quite like this. Well, maybe the night Finn hunted Cat… The entire place is buzzing with excitement, and everyone is dressed to the nines. Especially the men. All of them in well-tailored tuxedos with perfectly coiffed hair—even Rory. It’s a far cry from his normal appearance, but it suits him.

Standing beside Layla, I feel both out of place and in my element. Of course, the wine she’s been sneaking me all night has kept my nerves at bay. Well, it was… Having to go after watching Conor sell for far more than anyone else this evening has my stomach suddenly fluttering with nerves.

Breathe, Jorge.

Running my hand through my hair, I smooth it back. Trying to soothe my anxiety.

“You’re next,” Layla chirps, stepping before me.

I force a smile and mutter, “Okay…”

Adjusting my bow tie, she stares up at me and curiously tilts her head. “Why do you look so nervous all of a sudden?”

A nervous chuckle rattles from me before I answer. “Oh, I don’t. Something about following a half-million-dollar bid makes you worry you’re gonna go for the price of a happy-hour beer.”

She lightly slaps my arm and rolls her eyes, laughing. “Please. You’re hot as hell, sweetie. You’ve had men checking you out all night.”

“They might be looking, but that doesn’t mean they’ll actually buy.” I shoot her a dry smile. “I’ll probably be tonight’s bargain bin option.”

Like the poor disheartened guy slinking off the stage for two thousand dollars.

“You’re not the bargain bin, sweetie. Trust me.” She places a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth as Tristan announces my name, calling me to the stage. I take a step and a sting radiates across my ass. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

Shaking my head at her, I can’t help but chuckle as I walk toward the stage. When I step onto the podium, I immediately feel the burn of all eyes on me—my nerves quickly morphing into a curious excitement.

“Jorge is a fun, charismatic guy with sharp wit and a bit of a bratty streak.” Tristan’s voice booms through the speakers as he winks at me. I roll my eyes and pretend to flip my hair over my shoulder, only proving his statement. “He needs a little taming, but I’m sure one of you is the right man for the challenge.”

The bidding starts, and it’s a blur—two hands shooting up almost at once. One is a man about my age—at most in his early thirties—fit, handsome, with a rugged jawline and searing green eyes. The other is an older man with silver hair and a well-maintained beard. He oozes sophistication and experience, and the look in his soft brown eyes tells me he knows exactly what he wants.

The number climbs fast, raising thousands of dollars with every fling of a paddle into the air. The two of them literally fighting with each other to win me. My mind wanders, pondering how each of them would like to collect their winnings. How very differently I imagine that for each of them.

“Seventy-five thousand,” a deep and familiar voice shouts from across the room. It takes me a second to register it as I scan the crowd in the direction it came from. When I do, I nearly freeze.

Rory McLaughlin.

I blink, hardly believing that it could actually be him. He’s nearly fifteen years older than me. The few times I’ve noticed his eyes on me, they appear to be filled with disdain or annoyance. Yet, I’ve spent way too many nights fantasizing about what I’d like that broody bodyguard to do to me.

Why is he bidding?

My heart is pounding, and my tuxedo suddenly feels tight and suffocating. The silver-haired man bids again, and Rory stares at me with sheer determination. Lifting his hand to garner Tristan’s attention, he shouts, “One hundred thousand.”

This isn’t like the other two men. This is personal. My mind spirals, and I’m unsure of what’s happening—or how to feel about it—I stare back at him in disbelief.

“Sold!” Tristan announces, pointing toward Rory, who is walking through the crowd to claim his winnings. The entire room erupts into applause, but all I can hear is the thundering of my heart echoing in my ears.

I stand at the edge of the stage, frozen, and trying to comprehend what the fuck just happened.