How to Trap a Tycoon(28)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Lindy’s smile turned knowing. "Yes. You will."

Unable to help himself, Lucas noted again the proliferation of jewelry adorning Lindy’s not at all unattractive person, and unbidden, an idea popped into his head. Though, he had to admit right away, it wasn’t a very good one. Because the idea that braved entry into his brain just then was that maybe he could target Lindy Aubrey as his tycoon to trap. She was rich, obviously, and a good-looking woman. Intelligent, wry sense of humor, sexy in her own man-eater kind of way. Hmmm…

Of course, there was that small matter of him wanting to wet himself whenever she came within a hundred feet of him, he reminded himself. That could potentially put a damper on things, so to speak. Probably it would be best if he found someone else.

Lindy continued to gaze at him in that bored, I’m-done-with-you-now way of hers, then, "Edie," she tossed over her shoulder at the bartender who stood nearby. Then she went back to sifting through her papers, and—just like that—dismissed Lucas with all the concern of a jackal that had finished bloating itself on a piece of ripe carrion.

The good news, as far as Lucas was concerned, was that he no longer had Lindy Aubrey’s attention. The bad news, however, was that he did have Edie Mulholland’s.

Oh, great , he thought. Little Edie Sunshine. Just what he needed to make a lousy night lousier. Little Edie Two Shoes. Mulholland of Sunnybrook Farm. A woman who was so nice and so kind and so sweet and so polite and so … so … God, so blond, she could make the Olsen Twins vomit.

"Hi, Mr. Conaway," she greeted him pertly with a cheerful little smile.

Pertly. Cheerful. Ew. Lucas tried not to lose his dinner all over the bar. And the "Mr. Conaway" thing was just too nauseating for words. He knew that referring to him as "Mr." was required by her job, and really, coming from another woman, he might find the address kind of … well, kind of arousing, actually, now that he thought more about it. But the fact that it was Little Edie Sunshine saying it revolted him for some reason. She was probably the same age he was, give or take a year, but she seemed so much younger somehow.

Her pale blond hair was swept atop her head, held in place by some invisible means of support. A few errant tendrils had escaped to frame her face, giving her an ethereal, almost angelic appearance. He couldn’t help comparing her to a Pre-Raphaelite madonna with her delicate build, her huge, blue eyes, and her high, elegant cheekbones. Her mouth, too, seemed more beatific than the average woman’s was, as if she had been touched at birth by some holy hand and was divinely blessed as a result.

She was just so naive, so ingenuous, so damned happy, Lucas thought uncomfortably. She couldn’t possibly have even a nodding acquaintance with reality. Wherever Edie Mulholland lived, he knew it was, without doubt, an enchanted kingdom populated by fairies and sprites and unicorns and rainbows. Trolls and dragons like him would be completely unwelcome in such a fantastic place.

"Edie," he said by way of a greeting, trying not to gag on the word. Jeez, even her name was nice and sweet and pert and blond. "What are you doing here? I thought you only worked days."

She smiled easily. "I’m filling in for Dorsey. She had something she needed to do tonight."

"Oh." Then, without further ado, Lucas said, "Gimme a Tanqueray and tonic."

"Coming right up," she replied—happily, of course.

Lucas tried not to hurl.

And he tried not to be fascinated by the deft, capable way she prepared his drink and set it without flourish on the bar before him. As sweet and nice and polite and blond and nauseating as she was, Edie Mulholland, he had to admit, was one helluva bartender.

"Thanks," he said as he reached for the glass.

"Don’t mention it," she replied—sunnily, he couldn’t help but note.

He enjoyed a healthy taste of his drink, realized she was still standing in front of him, almost expectantly somehow, then remembered that Little Edie Sunshine was one of those bartenders who like to—he bit back another gag—make small talk. Uncertain why he felt compelled to indulge such a filthy, disgusting habit, Lucas found himself asking, "So. Edie. How was your day?"

Not surprisingly, she grinned brightly, and somehow, he refrained from curling his lip in disdain. "It’s been great!" she announced with much animation. "Well, except for this afternoon."

Resigned to his fate, Lucas asked halfheartedly, "Um … what happened this afternoon?"

Edie frowned unhappily. He rejoiced at the sight. Very softly, very somberly, she told him, "I committed adultery."

Whoa! Now this was a newsworthy bulletin! Lucas was about to leap up and dance the dance of righteous victory when he remembered that Mulholland of Sunnybrook Farm was a single woman. "Edie," he said. "How could you commit adultery? You’re not married."

She gazed at him blankly for a minute, clearly confused. Then, suddenly, her expression cleared, and she blushed like a summer rose. "Oh, not that kind of adultery," she said, lowering her voice even more. Then, in a clearer voice, she added, "I’d never do something like that. Hair adultery. I committed hair adultery."

"Hair adultery?" he echoed before he could stop himself.

She nodded. "I needed a bang trim really bad, but my usual stylist was out. So…" She glanced first right, then left, as if to make sure no one was listening. Then, lowering her voice again, she said, "So I made an appointment with a different stylist."

Evidently, this was a grave sin among women, Lucas surmised, because Edie looked as if she might shave her head in penance for committing such an egregious act of betrayal. "Uh … I see," he lied.

"What’s worse," she continued, even though he had silently willed her not to, "the new stylist? She did a better job than my usual one. Now I want to go back to her next time. I feel so guilty."

He eyed her blandly. "Gee, I can see where that might cause some real turbulence in your otherwise happy existence."

She nodded. "Other than that, though," she concluded genially, "it was a really nice day."

Before he realized he was even thinking the question, Lucas heard himself ask, "Edie, do you ever wake up in a bad mood?"

She smiled—happily. "Never."

"Why not?"

She shrugged—pleasantly. "It’s a waste of time."

"A waste of time," Lucas echoed incredulously.

She nodded—merrily.

He enjoyed another sip of his drink, then stated, "You’re a Stepford Wife, aren’t you, Edie?"