My Ex's Playboy Brother

MY EX’S PLAYBOY BROTHER LEAH ST. ANDREWS Copyright © 2023 by Leah St. Andrews All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. CHAPTERS 1. Holly 2. Cain 3. Holly 4. Cain 5. Holly 6. Cain 7. Holly 8. Cain 9. Holly 10. Cain 11. Holly 12. Cain 13. Holly 14. Holly 15. Cain 16. Holly 17. Holly 18. Cain 19. Holly 20. Cain Epilogue The End. HOLLY I’m literally staring back at the most panty-melting man I’ve ever seen in my entire life. His bulky arms are littered with black tattoos and gold rings wrap around his thick fingers. He hasn’t stopped eye-fucking me since I sat down at the bar, constantly checking to see if there’s anything else he can get me, when he can clearly see that my martini still has some liquor in it. I feel as though—even though I’m technically here for work—something else could blossom from me walking into this bar. I would allow this man to do anything he wanted to do to me if he just touched me where it feels good. Lord knows I’ve dated stuck-up sales guys with tacky suits and rented Beamers that they try to pose as their own, but this man is as raw as they come. Like he’d bust someone’s nose just for being disrespectful and not saying a word. “Another one?” I purposely downed my second martini just to get him to come back over here and stand in front of me. To see how long it would take him while I still have just the littlest drop of vodka in my glass. “I’m not sure if I should,” I venture, even though the answer is going to turn out to be a yes anyway. I’m not ready to leave just yet, mainly because I haven’t spoken to the bar owner. “But your drinks are amazing.” “Thank you.” He wipes his hands down with a towel, waiting for the response he needs to either make me another one or go off to serve his other patrons. “Is the bar owner here tonight?” He perks a brow as I study the dark stubble of hair around his sharp jawline. “I thought you just said you loved my drinks?” “I do,” I quickly contend with a smile. “It’s just that I’d like to speak with him about a proposition I have about some new product he might be interested in.” “Really?” I nod. “What kind?” I shouldn’t be talking to him about it because, technically, it’s none of his business and not his call, but anything that will keep him speaking to me is something I’m desperately and not-so-proudly doing. “A new brand of beer. My company helps move independent businesses into bars, hotels, stadiums, and restaurants.” “Anything good?” “Yeah, there’s a new high-quality pale lager that’s made of barley, rice, and hops…it’s amazing.” He doesn’t appear moved. His hazel eyes not showing a bit of excitement or interest. “Sounds like Bud Light.” I smile. “But it’s a small business out of Detroit.” “How much are you looking to bring in?” “A small portion at first to see if it brings in a profit for our client. Which would be the owner of this bar, of course.” “And what about the owner?” My brows knit a bit. “Excuse me?” “How much of the profit do we need to cut for your company?” “None,” I reply. “We get paid by the beer company.” He bobs his head. “Is that all you came into this bar for?” I feel a heated blush coat my cheeks before I reply, “At first, yes. The owner is the main reason why I’m here.” “So, what’s your explanation for sitting here for so long before asking for the owner?” Nothing significant comes to mind other than the truth. “The drinks.” “Oh?” “If this bar served watered-down beverages, then I’d know it wasn’t the hot spot the reviews on Google raved about.” “You’ve done your research.” I nod. “I’m good at my job.” “The owner is a tough nut to crack,” he claims. “You’re going to need to be really good.” “Does he buy local?” “All the time. But he’s particular about who he does business with. And here I thought you stayed to talk to me.” He leans over, placing a palm along the edge of the bar. “I can’t say that I’ve had someone as easy to look at sitting at one of my barstools for a while.” I feel a blush paint my cheeks again but I hold his stare. “What kind of people do you have striding into this place on a daily basis?” “You tell me.” He volleyballs back. “You said you did your research.” “It doesn’t take a brain scientist to know that the average middle-aged man comes in here after work to keep from going home to their wife. I was just being nice.” “You forgot the random woman who comes in here looking for a random fuck.” Wow. This man is bold as hell. “And how many of those women are successful?” I really don’t need to know the answer to that question, but I’m really out of things to say. “Depends.” “On?” “If they’re not super picky about the dude that they go home with.” That’s…depressing. “But you were here to meet the bar owner. Did you want to leave your business card and I can pass it along?” I nod and begin fishing a card out of my purse. “That would be great.” “And how should I pass the information along?” “What do you mean?” “Were you super aggressive with it? Did I have to shoo you away and tell you to come back later? Were you hovering over my bar and looking for the right opportunity to present