Bait by Leslie Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

hips. The top was a brilliant blue, with pads to widen her shoulders, which were narrower than Ronnie’s. The black pants were belted and flared widely at the bottom, which meant she was forced to wear the ridiculously high heels that the princess favored. Deni then styled her hair and watched carefully as Christina put in the contacts that turned her brown eyes green, and did her makeup.
    â€œI don’t understand. It’s just Gabe Morgan, not the king coming to visit. It’s not the king, is it?” she asked, only half-­joking.
    â€œNo, miss. You will see.”
    Uncertain, Christina waited in the sitting room while Deni disappeared into the princess’s room. Her confusion vanished at the first sight of Ronnie. Gone was the casual woman. In her place was Princess Véronique de Savoie, dressed in an exact copy of the pantsuit Christina was wearing. Their hairstyles were identical, as was the eye shadow that brought out the green in their eyes. And Christina understood. If she could fool Gabe, who had already met her, she stood a good chance of fooling the public.
    They stood together by the tall windows, Ronnie on the right, and Christina on the left.

 
    Chapter Three
    H E HESITATED OUTSI DE the door to the princess’s private apartments. The guard who escorted him canted a curious eye his way. Gabe blew out a breath. Shit. This was a job, just a job, like any other. Just focus on the objective, and not the woman he’d be working beside. She was the cheese in his trap; nothing more, nothing less.
    The guard gleamed with spit and polish, imposing in his red wool coat with double rows of gold buttons. The gold braid tied at his throat and fastened at his right shoulder, and the red sash draped from the opposite shoulder to hip, proclaimed him a member of the Household Guard. He’d taken Gabe past the tourists crowding the public portions of the palace, up the right staircase, and through thirty-­foot-­high doors into the residential wing.
    Gabe banged on the princess’s door knocker three times. An older woman opened the door and gestured Gabe inside, rattling off a spate of French he didn’t understand. The guard grunted something in return and left.
    The woman said, “I am Dame Van Praet, Princess Véronique’s private secretary.”
    The woman could teach his men a thing or two about spit and polish. Hair smoothed back and perfectly coiffed. Flawless makeup. Tallish for a woman at around five foot seven, but she still only came up to his shoulder. Chunky gold earrings and a clearly expensive tailored light blue suit. The skirt ended three inches above her knees. Nice legs, even if she looked sixtyish. The secretary’s mouth tightened and she actually managed to look down her nose at Gabe. Impressive.
    â€œIf you require anything, please come to me and I will provide it.” Her voice was stiff. Clearly, this was not a woman used to being checked out. He knew who she was, of course. Her role, her family history, her political leanings. Still, his inner devil got the best of him. His lips twitched.
    â€œIf we need any fancy stationery or envelopes, I’ll be sure to let you know.” He started past her.
    The woman planted herself squarely in his way. “I am not an administrative secretary,” she said, voice frosty. “I am Deni Van Praet, Edle von Naamveld, Dame of the Order of Sint-­Godelieve, Private Secretary to Her Royal Highness Véronique, Princesse de Savoie, Duchesse d’Ardes, Markiezin of Ardvaleen.”
    Doubly impressive. She’d managed to spit all that out without a single pause. Gabe kept his face blank and his chuckles to himself.
    The woman sighed. “Think of me as kind of a chief of staff, then. You have those in America, yes? I manage Her Highness’s appearances, her correspondence, her speeches, and photographs. I am communication liaison between the princess’s household and the other