How to Trap a Tycoon(34)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

And now here Dorsey sat with barely ten minutes to go before the start of her shift at Drake’s, trying to conjure enough energy to change from her teaching assistant clothes to her bartender clothes. In her backpack, she also carried Lauren Grable-Monroe’s clothes, because she’d had an early-morning appointment with a writer for a local weekly, which had gone, if memory served, fairly well. But she hadn’t had time to go home between Lauren’s meeting and Dorsey’s first class at Severn . She hadn’t had time between Severn and Drake’s, either. In fact, Dorsey could barely remember when she had last spent any amount of time at home. It seemed like a very long time ago…

She closed her eyes for just a moment—only long enough to rest them, honest—then was immediately jarred to awareness by a not so gentle shove to her shoulder. Snapping her eyes open again, she glanced up to find Lindy Aubrey standing over her, hands fisted on her hips, one eyebrow arched in silent query, clearly none too pleased to find her bartender here in the locker room. Which was odd, Dorsey thought, because for the first time in weeks, she was actually a few minutes early for her shift. You’d think Lindy would be happy about that, but—

"Do you know what time it is?" her employer asked.

"Ten till four," Dorsey replied.

Lindy shook her head. "Try five after."

Dorsey glanced down at her watch. Sure enough, she was five minutes late for her shift and not even dressed in her uniform yet. "But that’s impossible," she said. "I got here fifteen minutes early."

"Then what have you been doing for the last twenty minutes?" her employer asked.

"I’ve been…" Sleeping, she realized. Good heavens, she’d actually fallen asleep sitting on the bench and had stayed that way for fifteen minutes. "I—I … I guess I … I just didn’t realize … I mean I…"

Lindy crossed her arms over her midsection, looking all too menacing in her sleek black suit. "Dorsey, this has gone on long enough," she said. "For the past month, you’ve missed more shifts than you’ve worked. And my patience has just about come to an end."

"But I’ve always had someone covering my shifts for me," Dorsey pointed out. "I’ve never left you shorthanded."

"That’s beside the point," Lindy said. "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—