How to Trap a Tycoon(56)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Dorsey noticed that Adam spared her a quick—and really, kind of hot—glance before telling Lucas, "Well, I’ve kinda had my mind on other things this week, okay?"

Boy, did he have his mind on other things, Dorsey thought. Or, at least, on one other thing. Getting her back into his bed. He’d made no secret Sunday night of his intention to do that very thing, and he’d been none too happy about taking her back to her place instead of his own.

And she’d managed to maintain the status quo for the rest of the week, citing work at Drake’s or class at Severn to prevent her from seeing Adam socially. They’d been legitimate excuses, all. But now the weekend was upon them, and Dorsey wasn’t required to show up at Drake’s or Severn for two whole days. More significant than that, though, for the first time in months, Lauren Grable-Monroe didn’t have any weekend obligations. She didn’t have one single public appearance scheduled.

Oh, she was supposed to have been speaking and signing books at a large, independent bookstore. But the owners had canceled the signing when a local church group had threatened to picket the event—with big, hand-lettered signs labeling the author a fornicator and an adulteress and a Jezebel, who was intent on misleading today’s youth and obliterating family values.

Clearly, Mrs. Harrison Enright wasn’t the only one calling Lauren Grable-Monroe names these days. And Dorsey was hard pressed to put her finger on when, exactly, or even why things had started to turn so ugly.

"Mrs. Harrison Enright," Lucas continued, catching Dorsey’s attention and bringing it back to the matter at hand, "is none other than the founder and leader of WOOF."

"WOOF?" she echoed, even though Lucas had been speaking to Adam.

He turned to face her now. "It’s an acronym for Wives Opposed to Opportunistic Floozies."

But all Dorsey could manage in response was to repeat, not quite credibly, "WOOF."

"They’re actually a pretty well-organized bunch. Mrs. Enright has been on a couple of local shows, radio and TV both. At first the group was mostly made up of women like her—wealthy, idle, husbands who are on the make, that sort of thing. But she seems to have won herself a pretty substantial following. Certainly she’s raised Lauren-bashing to new heights."

Dorsey gaped at him, unable to believe this bit of news. But all she could manage by way of a response was yet another "WOOF."

"And the members of WOOF aren’t the only ones who’ve had their fill of Lauren Grable-Monroe," Lucas added. "The guys at The Harvard Lampoon have written a parody of How to Trap a Tycoon called How to Bag a Bimbo. So you know the end can’t be far for ol’ Lauren."

Dorsey closed her eyes and shook her head slowly as she digested all this distasteful information. Certainly there had been people bad-mouthing Lauren since the beginning, but they’d been a minority and had never won any "substantial following."

She’d had no idea there was such a sweeping anti-Lauren campaign developing across the country these days. Granted, she’d been so busy lately that she hadn’t had time to be in touch with the media—or with reality, for that matter—but Dorsey still couldn’t quite come to terms with the idea that so many people out there hated Lauren so much. Hated her so much.

"Oh, and did you read the article in last week’s Rolling Stone?" Lucas piped up further. "’Miss Greedyhearts,’ it was called. And it was not pretty."

"I cannot believe people don’t have better ways to spend their time," Dorsey said. "Whatever happened to having a hobby? Like doing embroidery? Or leather tooling? Or studying alien abduction theory? Those were always good for keeping people off the streets."

"Oh, hey, listen," Lucas said, "you should log onto the Internet some night. Those people are nowhere near as polite as Mrs. Enright and the guys at The Harvard Lampoon."

"I don’t want to know," Dorsey said, holding up a hand, palm out, to stop him from telling her.

"It’s the typical American paradox," Adam joined in. "This country loves to make heroes out of everyday folk, then once those heroes reach their peak of popularity, this country loves to tear them down again."

"Yeah," Lucas agreed. "And then this country loves to jump up and down on the fallen heroes until they can’t get back up again. And then, just for good measure, this country loves to kick them a few more times while they’re down." He turned back to Dorsey. "This can’t possibly be news to you," he said.

"No," she said with a sigh. "It’s not news. But I can’t understand why everyone would pick on Lauren Grable-Monroe that way. She’s harmless."

"She’s famous," Lucas said. "She’s gorgeous. She’s making a bundle of money. In the eyes of the American public, that makes her fair game."

"I don’t think everyone in America feels that way," Dorsey said. "Only a few vocal malcontents, that’s all."

Lucas chuckled knowingly, and something about the sound of it sent a shiver straight down her spine. "Yeah, right. Think whatever you want. But speaking for myself, if I were Lauren Grable-Monroe, I’d keep a fire extinguisher close at hand. You never can tell about angry, torch-bearing mobs."

* * *

Adam stayed at Drake’s far later than usual that night, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave. He’d seen so little of Mack lately, and he had wanted her so much. Spending that one night with her had only generated in him a need for more. He hadn’t felt satisfied—in any way, even those that went beyond the sexual—since Sunday morning. He’d done everything within his power to lure her to his place, but she’d shot down his every effort. But Adam respected the fact that she was a busy woman. Hey, her dedication to her work and studies was just one of the things he loved about her, after all.

Whoa. Back up. Replay.

One of the things he loved about her … loved about her… loved…

Was that really possible? he wondered now as he nursed a cup of coffee and watched her go about her nightly ritual of closing down the bar. Could he actually be falling in love with Mack?

He hadn’t thought he’d loved anyone since his ex-wife, and even she had been remarkably easy to get over. He had often speculated that that was precisely what had been wrong with their marriage—neither he nor his wife had really loved the other. Certainly not the way two people should when they want to be together forever. Neither of them had made any effort to try and work things out. They’d both simply walked away from a decade-long relationship and had never looked back.

For that reason, Adam had surmised that he simply wasn’t capable of loving in the truest, deepest, most genuine sense. Not in the way that a person needed to love in order to bind himself to another human being.