How to Trap a Tycoon by Elizabeth Bevarly (thriller books to read txt) 📕

"I hired you to work thirty hours a week, and you agreed to work thirty hours a week. Now, I don't mind accommodating you when you need a night off here and there, but this is getting out of hand. If you can't handle the work load, I'll hire someone else who will. Do I make myself clear?"

Dorsey nodded.

"Fine. I don't want to hear that you need another night off for a while. Or else."

"But—"

"Not one night. If you need more than your regularly scheduled nights off, then don't bother coming in at all."

Dorsey hesitated only a moment before deferring to her. "Yes, Lindy."

"That said, I need you to work an extra shift this week. Saturday night. Drake's is catering a cocktail party for one of its members, and I'm down a bartender. You can start setting up at six o'clock . Here's the address." And then, without even awaiting a reply—there could, naturally, be only one reply … or else—she thrust a scrap of paper into Dorsey's hand.

" Six o'clock ," she repeated. Then, very clearly, she cautioned, "Do not be late."

"I won't," Dorsey assured her.

Lindy was about to turn and leave when her gaze lit on something on the top shelf of Dorsey's locker. Not the wedding ring, which she knew—and approved—of Dorsey wearing to fend off unwanted advances, but the stack of spiral notebooks that had doubled in number over the last month. Her notes for her dissertation, Dorsey realized. Four volumes, so far. In hindsight, she supposed it wasn't such a good idea to leave them here at Drake's where anyone could find them. But she never worried about the sanctity of her locker being violated, and she often liked to review past notes when recording new ones. Still, if Lindy ever took it upon herself to investigate…

Nah. That would never happen. Dorsey was confident of that. Lindy was a total privacy freak where her own life was concerned, and she always respected others' rights in that respect, too. She guarded Drake's membership roster like a mother polar bear protecting its young, and she afforded her employees no less a privilege. She asked few personal questions of anyone, and expected the same courtesy in return. She wasn't the kind of woman who would pry into someone else's affairs. Or someone else's locker, either.

With one last warning glance at Dorsey, she spun on her heel without comment, clearly certain that Dorsey would not only show up on time Saturday evening, but would also now scurry right out to the bar.

Which, of course, she would.

Just as soon as she found the energy to move.

With a final sigh, Dorsey went to work on the buttons of her flannel shirt and tried not to think about the weekend ahead. She had really, really, really been looking forward to having Saturday night off. Not just because she'd been run ragged all week trying to be Dorsey at Severn, Mack at Drake's, and Lauren in too many places to name, but also because she had so much catching up to do in each of those lives. She had papers to grade, research to perform, writing to complete. And, dammit, she needed to rest. She and Lauren and Mack were all starting to look a mite bit peaked.

But she knew she'd be showing up to work the cocktail party. Not just because Lindy would fire her if she refused, but also because, she had to admit, it might be kind of fun, if she could stay awake for all of it. Although she'd observed a lot of the elusive domestic tycoon's predation and mobbing behavior at Drake's, where he was surrounded by like members of his pack, working this party would give her the added opportunity to analyze some of his social behaviors. With any luck at all, she might even witness his mating habits. Or, at the very least, his courtship rituals. Viewing the tycoon's mating habits, after all, could put her off her lunch for days.

Only then did Dorsey remember that Lauren had an engagement of her own that weekend, speaking and signing books at Northwestern University . But that was on Sunday afternoon, Dorsey reminded herself. Lauren—and Dorsey—were both free on Saturday night.

* * *

When she saw that it was Adam Darien who opened the front door to the posh penthouse suite to which Lindy had directed her Saturday night, the first thought that went through Dorsey's head was that she really should have seen this coming. The second thought was that he looked too yummy for words.

His white dress shirt and charcoal suit were utterly faultless and very sexy—though not quite as sexy as they were when he was all rumpled and disheveled at Drake's at day's end. And his brightly printed Valentino necktie was totally bitchin'. Dorsey felt a momentary pang of covetousness, and she had half a mind to slip the accessory from under his collar and pocket it for herself. And, hey, while she was at it, she thought further, she might as well unbutton his shirt and slip it, with his jacket, right off his shoulders. Probably, he'd want to remove his own shoes and socks, but she could certainly help him out of his trousers, and then she'd be free to run her hands all over his naked—

"Hi, Mack. Long time, no see."

Pffft . Another perfectly good fantasy interrupted just when she was getting to the good part. That had been happening to her a lot lately.

"Uh, hi," she responded lamely, not sure what else to add.

Actually, that wasn't quite true. There was, in fact, one question that was circling through her mind at a pretty steady clip at the moment, but she was fairly certain this wasn't a good time to ask him if he had any plans to put his tongue in her mouth again any time soon, and if so, when, because she had absolutely no plans after the party was over.

"I'll be working your party tonight," she told him instead.