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

The only thing that had kept him from spending the entire day in bed making love to her had been the fact that she, herself, had had to leave, even before he did. She'd never told him specifically where she was going that afternoon. Nor had any amount of coaxing or cajoling on his part been able to make her stay. And boy, had Adam coaxed. Boy, had he cajoled. He'd unsheathed—so to speak—every amorous weapon—so to speak—in his more than ample—so to speak—arsenal, hoping to convince her that nothing could be more important than the two of them spending the day together alone. Preferably in bed. Preferably naked. Preferably insensate with wanting.

But something had been more important to Mack. Because nothing he'd said or tried or done would make her change her mind. And no matter how many times he had asked her, or in how many ways, she wouldn't tell him where she was going.

You wouldn't be interested , she'd kept saying. Or It's no place special. Or It's just something I have to do. A prior commitment, she'd tried to explain. I can't get out of it.

Adam told himself that her reluctance to reveal her destination—and who might be waiting for her at that destination—shouldn't bother him, that she was entitled to her privacy in that respect. In spite of the spontaneous combustion the two of them had generated the night before, whatever was happening between them was still too new and too uncertain for either of them to start making demands on the other. Whatever appointment Mack had been required to meet, she'd made it before last night. And if it was with another man, well…

Well, then Adam would just have to find the other guy and break his neck, that was all.

Once Mack had left that afternoon, Adam had seen no reason not to complete his day in the way that he'd initially planned, and he had halfheartedly driven to Evanston to ambush Lauren Grable-Monroe. He expected her to speak at length about the writing of her book, then hawk the publication like snake oil. Instead, she spent much of her time discussing the psychology of men and women and the sexual politics inherent in any romantic relationship. She was surprisingly astute, Adam had to admit, and remarkably animated.

Clearly, she loved the subject matter about which she had written. Her talk was laced with humor, but many of her observations were unexpectedly pithy. She was obviously well versed in the whole man-woman dynamic. Then again, considering how she'd made her way in the world, he supposed that wasn't surprising. All in all, though, the author's presentation was remarkably informative.

Man, he should have invited Mack along today, Adam thought as he listened. She really would have gotten into this. Of course, she'd had other things—another man?—to do, he recalled uncomfortably. Then again, he'd be seeing her tonight, he remembered, heartened some. Even if he hadn't been able to convince her to stay at his place that morning, he'd won the concession from her that they would see each other again this evening.

He could hardly wait.

After Lauren Grable-Monroe concluded her speech, she opened the floor to questions, thereby bringing Adam back to the matter at hand. There were only a smattering of inquiries at first, but gradually, several people in the auditorium began raising their hands. Many eventually started waving them quite adamantly in their demands to be recognized. Ms. Grable-Monroe took her time when selecting her interrogators, though whether that was because she was trying to be fair or because she was trying to weed out anybody who might be too challenging Adam had yet to decide.

"Yes, here in front," she said now, directing her attention to a young woman who had a hand extended in the air.

The girl—for truly, Adam noted, she couldn't have yet completed her freshman year—wore the standard university uniform of baggy cargo pants and massive, long-sleeved T-shirt. She tossed back her ebony curls and adjusted wire-rimmed glasses as she asked, "Ms. Grable-Monroe, would you say a word or two about the Cinderella complex? About how women wait around for Prince Charming to come and rescue them from their unhappy lives and make them feel complete?"

"Oh, I'd be happy to speak at length on the Cinderella complex," the author said cheerfully. "Especially since you don't seem to have a clue what it's really all about."

The student's mouth dropped open in surprise, but before she could defend herself, Lauren Grable-Monroe began to talk again.

"Traditionally, a woman with a Cinderella complex, instead of taking charge of her own life and creating her own destiny, assumes that a man, a Prince Charming, will eventually come and sweep her off her feet and carry her to his palace, and then the two of them will live happily ever after. He becomes, in that respect, her rescuer. That's the popular—and erroneous, I might add—interpretation of that fairy tale. I'd suggest we look at it a different way. Ask yourself who needed whom more in that relationship?"

The student seemed stumped. "I'm not sure I'm following you," she said.

Lauren Grable-Monroe tented her fingers thoughtfully on the dais before her and said, "Cinderella, poor drudge that she was, was, nevertheless, a reasonably happy person. A person who really lacked nothing in her life. She had a family—albeit a dysfunctional one, but hey, who doesn't, right?—and a roof over her head and food on the table and steady work. One might argue that the work was a bit too steady, but still. She had a relatively good life, considering the time period with which we're working here. She needed nothing more. Had Prince Charming never come along, she would have survived quite adequately in her world.

"Prince Charming, on the other hand," she continued, "did need something in addition to his family, his roof, his food, and his work. He needed an heir. No self-respecting prince of the time would be without one.