How to Trap a Tycoon, Elizabeth Bevarly [best smutty novels txt] 📗

handsome man. His black hair held only a few negligent threads of gray, and his blue eyes suggested a wealth of intelligence and good humor. Beneath the pin-striped power suits he favored, his body was slim and firm and fit.

There was, unfortunately, one problem. Like Dorsey, he sported a wedding band on the third finger of his left hand. And she was fairly certain that his reason for doing so didn't quite mirror her own. It was something that rather compromised any feelings—whether honorable or not—he might have had for young Edie.

That didn't stop him, however, from visiting with the other bartender pretty much every day. Or from saying things like—

"Edie, you need someone to take care of you."

—as he was saying when Dorsey pushed up the hinged section of the bar and strode quickly behind it.

"I know, Mr. Davenport, I really do need a keeper," Edie said in response, just as she always did. And, as always, her voice was the picture of politeness when she said it.

Which was no surprise at all, because Edie Mulholland was, without question, the nicest, most courteous person on the planet. And had Edie's remark about needing a keeper come from any other woman, Dorsey probably would have lost every bit of respect she had for her. Then she probably would have smacked her open hand against the other woman's forehead and cried, "Snap out of it!" They had, after all, come a long way, baby. The last thing Dorsey's gender needed was for some sweet, young thing like Edie Mulholland to hurl them all back into high heels and pearls. Or, worse, chastity belts and those funny little pointed hats with the scarves attached.

But Edie did need someone to take care of her. Because in addition to being the nicest, most courteous person on the planet, she was also the sweetest, the most generous—and the most trusting.

She was exactly the kind of person that predators—predators like, oh, say, Straight-Shot-of-Stoli—came after. And she wouldn't know what hit her until it was too late.

"And believe me, I'm working on it," she added in an aside to Straight-Shot as she lifted a hand in greeting to Dorsey. "If all goes well, I'm going to find exactly the person I'm looking for. Soon."

"Edie, I'm sorry I'm late," Dorsey said as she slung her white apron over her head and reached behind herself to tie it. "I was at the library, and time just got away from me."

"That's okay," the other woman said as she repeated Dorsey's action in reverse—unfastening and tugging her apron over her head. "I can still make it before they close," she added as she fingered her delicate blond bangs to straighten them.

"I'll come in a half-hour early on Monday, okay?"

Edie smiled, her blue eyes full of a genuine happiness at the simple pleasure of being alive.

Some people, Dorsey supposed, were just decent folks. And Edie Mulholland was their queen.

"Don't worry about it," she said, reaching beneath the bar to collect her things—history and humanities textbooks for when the bar was empty, fashion magazines for when the regulars began to trickle in. Because smart women generally received lousy tips. "It's no big deal," she added. "Honest."

"I'm still coming in early to relieve you on Monday."

"Fine," Edie said. "But have a nice weekend between now and then, okay?"

Yeah, right , Dorsey thought. With a barely begun dissertation that was due in six months waiting for her at home? With volumes of research to perform and analyze? With papers to grade and a midterm to create? Not likely.

Nevertheless, she assured Edie that she would do her best, and only then did the other bartender wad up her apron and throw it in the linen bin beneath the bar. Then Edie quickly began to pack up her own backpack. She was zipping it up when Dorsey realized she'd left a book behind, a lone paperback sitting on a shelf beneath the bar.

"You forgot one," she said, reaching out to grab it. She was handing it to Edie when she noted the title of the book and frowned. "Oh, Edie," she added, unable to mask the disappointment in her voice when she saw what it was. "Not you, too. I can't believe you're reading this stuff."

Edie blushed as she made a grab for the book in question. "Hey, it's headed straight for the best-seller list," she said in her defense. "Everybody says so. Lots of women are reading it."

"What is it?" Straight-Shot asked.

Unwilling to give the man any insight into Edie—especially insight like this—Dorsey pretended she hadn't heard the question and handed the book back to her coworker. But Edie evidently had no qualms about letting Straight-Shot know what she was looking for in life, because she turned the book face out toward him.

"How to Trap a Tycoon," she said.

Man, Dorsey thought, she didn't even have the decency to sound embarrassed about it.

"By Lauren Grable-Monroe," Edie added.

She didn't stuff How to Trap a Tycoon into her backpack with the other books, however, only turned to hand it back to Dorsey, who, not surprisingly, was reluctant to claim it. "I'm leaving it for Renee," Edie told her. "She wants to read it. And then Alison wants it after Renee." She smiled knowingly at Dorsey. "You want me to put you on the waiting list?"

Dorsey shook her head. "No, thank you," she said blandly.

Edie chuckled. "Yeah, that's our Dorsey. The last woman in the world who would want to trap herself a tycoon."

"And why is that?" a second male voice piped up.

Dorsey spun around at the remark, only to find Adam Darien gazing at her with much interest—way more than usual, and that was saying something—from the other side of the bar. He smiled before adding, "Oh, yeah. I forgot. You're already married, aren't you, Mack?"

As much as Dorsey MacGuinness hated to be called Mack, she never challenged Adam Darien on the nick-name. She told herself it was because of Lindy's rule—give the customer what he wants … or