How to Trap a Tycoon Elizabeth Bevarly (year 7 reading list txt) 📖

kind Lauren Grable-Monroe described in How to Trap a Tycoon. Somehow, Dorsey couldn't help but speculate further that Desiree had sporty separates, seductive peignoirs, and at least one diaphanous gown in her closet, as well, and that she was looking to trap herself a tycoon, a tycoon like, oh, Dorsey didn't know, maybe Adam Darien, for example, and it was all Lauren Grable-Monroe's fault, and damn, damn, damn, what the hell had she been thinking to write that stupid book to begin with?

Dorsey had always considered herself to be an average-sized woman, but she felt like a great, hulking ogre next to Desiree. Everything about the woman was just so dainty and so cute and so perky and so … pink. She'd even come to the bar and, when she couldn't remember the name of the drink she usually had—it was something pink, though, she did remember that part—had asked Dorsey to fix her something that would match her suit. And Dorsey, damn her evil little mind, had recommended a cosmopolitan which, in addition to being a lovely shade of rose, was pretty much straight liquor and might just cause someone who was tiny and perky, someone like, oh, say, Desiree to pass out in the bathroom—or, as would be the case for her, the powder room—at some point during the evening.

So far, Desiree had consumed four of them. Any minute now, it ought to start getting interesting.

Likewise interesting was the look on Adam's face now as he hastily approached the bar, because he looked uncomfortable and annoyed, and Dorsey was just superficial and ticked off enough to be happy about it. Hey, why should she be the only one who was having a lousy time?

"What the hell have you been serving Desiree all night?" he demanded without preamble.

Dorsey shrugged as innocently as she could. "Cosmopolitans," she told him benignly.

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "That doesn't sound too bad. What's in a cosmopolitan?"

"Vodka."

"What else?"

"Triple Sec."

"What else?"

"A little splash of cranberry juice for color."

"What else?"

"A lime squeeze."

"What else?"

"More vodka."

He gaped at her in alarm. "Are you trying to tell me she's been drinking straight liquor all night? Do you realize what that will do to a woman her size?"

"Make her really, really fat?" Dorsey asked hopefully.

Adam frowned but said nothing.

"Well, it can," she insisted. "Of course a little thing like her could use a few extra pounds."

Clearly detecting her malice, Adam countered just as coolly, "Oh, I don't know. I kind of like the way Desiree is arranged."

"Yeah, you would," Dorsey muttered. Then, unable to help herself, she added, "She'd better be careful her Wonderbra doesn't suffocate her. Those things can be fiercely hard to manage."

Adam eyed her blandly. "Gee, you talk as if you speak from experience. No offense, Mack, but you don't seem the Wonderbra type." He dropped his gaze to the part of her that was most likely to don such a contraption and added, "Obviously."

If she hadn't set herself up for that comment, Dorsey would have slapped him silly for making it. "I, uh … I wore one to a Halloween party once," she told him, feeling stung by both his blatant ogling and the fact that she'd come up lacking—in both his eyes and her own bra.

"Mm," he replied noncommittally. Then he added, "Actually, if you must know, Desiree doesn't wear a Wonderbra."

A little stab of jealousy pricked Dorsey's ego—oh, all right, a huge, razor-edged broadsword of jealousy rammed itself right through her heart—and before she could stop herself, she replied, "No, I didn't must know, actually, but since you told me anyway, it sounds like you're speaking from experience."

He grinned at her with a little malice of his own. "Maybe I am."

Once again, Dorsey realized she'd just set herself up for being torn down. "Oh," she said in a very small voice. "Well. I see."

Adam sighed heavily, then rubbed a hand over his forehead as if warding off a wicked migraine. "Look, Mack, I'm sorry. I invited Desiree before you and I…" He expelled another restless breath. "Whatever I had with her—it was a long time ago, okay?" he told her.

Dorsey eyed him suspiciously. She told herself to drop the subject, that he'd said all he needed to say on the matter, that it was none of her business, that she was only setting herself up for more disappointment if she pushed the issue. In spite of all her admonitions, however, she heard herself ask him, "How long ago?"

He hesitated before responding, then, "Months," he said. "It was months ago."

"How many months?"

"Lots of months."

"How many?" she repeated.

He expelled an impatient sound, then said through gritted teeth, "So many, I can't remember."

After another thoughtful moment, Dorsey said, "I'm guessing it was two months."

He rolled his eyes but said nothing more. Nor would he meet her gaze. Bingo, Dorsey thought. Men were so transparent. "I'm right, aren't I?" she cajoled. "It's only been two months since the two of you—"

"All right," he conceded. "It's been two months."

"Two months isn't very long," she observed.

"Not in woman years, maybe," he conceded. "But in man years, Desiree might as well be dead."

The difference in opinion heartened Dorsey not at all. "I suppose you've changed your mind about wanting me to stay late tonight after everyone else goes home."

He met her gaze levelly. "No, I haven't."

"But with Desiree here—"

"Desiree won't be here."

A little flutter of something warm and hopeful skittered around Dorsey's heart. "She won't?"

"No," Adam told her very decisively.

"Oh."

Evidently, this was something he had yet to discuss with Desiree, because, as if she'd been conjured from thin air by their speculation, she appeared magically at his side. Then she pressed herself into him as if she were trying to absorb him through osmosis. It soon became clear, however, that it was an entirely different scientific experiment that she wanted to perform on him this evening. Not osmosis so much as metamorphosis.

"Adam," she said petulantly, twirling her empty glass by its stem. "When are we going to get married?"

Adam went absolutely