The Once and Future Prince / Pretend Mistress, Bona Fide Boss. Оливия Гейтс

sentences that delivered volumes. She’d botched her shot at appealing to him. She’d walked away without garnering a new crown prince for Castaldini, or at least a regent and savior. In his benevolence, he was offering her a replay. Or was it a retrial?

      Whichever it was, his charity, should she play her cards right this time, might even extend to her. Awesome.

      The arena for this second and final parley was no neutral ground, of course. She’d never had a say in the timing or venue of their encounters, and he wasn’t letting her start now. An official beggar wasn’t any higher up the ranks than an unofficial paramour.

      His decree? Dinner. Tonight. At another trap of his choice.

      She got to jump through his hoops one more time. Yay her.

      Ernesto had come to her hotel this morning bearing advice. And dresses.

      His advice she’d accepted without a murmur. He recommended that she keep on doing what she’d done so far. She had no problem with that. She probably could do nothing else. Seeing Leandro again had damaged something inside her, the equivalent of brakes in a car.

      What she had a problem with was the dresses. And his second piece of advice, dress to the nines.

      “I’m sure as hell not giving Leandro license to get more personal than he already has, Ernesto,” she’d protested. “And that’s what I’d be giving him if I wear any of these—these…” She’d flung a hand in the direction of the haute couture creations crowding a wheeled clothes rack. “He’d take one look at me and think I’m getting personal, shoving feminine wiles into the equation when I’ve failed to do my job any other way.”

      “I am the world’s leading expert on Leandro,” Ernesto had said patiently. “I project a very favorable reaction.”

      “Favorable in what way?” she’d groaned. “I want his ‘favor’ in only one way, and that isn’t obtained by dressing up like a Mata Hari. In case he is giving my diplomatic mission a real second chance, I may end up insulting him by implying a dress can sway him in such a matter. And even if it could, you’re barking up the wrong tree. A swanky getup does not make a femme fatale. If you think feminine wiles will come to my rescue under fire, think again. I came off the cosmic assembly line without them.”

      “You don’t need wiles,” Ernesto had insisted. “You need only yourself. The dress is to suit the setting where he is holding this next session of…negotiations. Trust me now, cara mia.”

      That had silenced her. He’d meant she’d never trusted him before, with the reason she’d ended things with Leandro. To him, it must have looked like she’d walked out on Leandro in his darkest hour. And she’d never been able to defend herself. The only way to do that was attack Leandro, the man Ernesto regarded so highly and loved like a son. She wouldn’t risk tainting that regard, that love. Not when he was a far bigger part of Leandro’s life, and losing Ernesto’s esteem would be a far graver injury to Leandro than to her.

      Not that she’d lost it. Even without the truth, Ernesto had remained kind and caring. He’d contacted her regularly, always tried to visit her when her job had taken her back to the States. He’d even come to congratulate her on her engagement to Armando, which had been announced on a day that he’d been in Castaldini.

      At her continued silence, Ernesto had sighed. “Va bene, Phoebe. I don’t presume to have an opinion on what went wrong between you and Leandro. And since neither of you chose to confide in me or seek my counsel, I haven’t been able to do more than remain neutral, as his right-hand and as your friend.

      “But as a friend, I have to point out a few things. No matter what you think of your initial encounter with Leandro, you got much farther than anyone before you. You obtained something other than outright refusal. You did luck out, and it was because of who you are, and what you and Leandro once shared. No matter what you think of him, or feel toward him, he is powerful beyond your dreams. And Castaldini does need him, one way or another. King Benedetto was right to send you, even if he has no idea how right or why. So whether or not you approve of the situation, or of Leandro’s intentions and methods, you are the only one who has a chance to turn his position around.”

      And with that, he’d left her. To her fate, it seemed.

      He believed she had a chance to turn Leandro’s position around? What she had was the feeling that she was sinking in quicksand, and any move would make her sink faster.

      And you know what? What the hell.

      Stressing wouldn’t reverse the swiftness of the plunge. The sooner she was submerged and done with it, the better.

      She got up, crossed the three-thousand-square-foot reception area to the bedroom she’d selected at random. She walked through to the bathroom full of marble and gold fixtures and showered as if her life depended on it, scrubbing till her skin felt raw. She dried off and plopped down on the capitonné dressing stool across the room, staring at the designer collection laid out on the frilly king-size bed.

      After battling the need to hop into the most austere outfit she had with her, she decided to bow to Ernesto’s judgment. And when something wild and wanton seethed inside her, demanding that she go all out and wear one of the most outrageous and shameless creations, she restrained it, kicking and hissing, and chose the most understated dress she could find. She was not going to Leandro’s torment session in blaring red or gold, declaring without words that she was indeed sizzling for far more than juvenile, infringing, lascivious allusions.

      After dragging on her chosen dress, she inspected the result. Hmm. Probably dressed only to the fours or fives. They’d all have to live with that.

      Half an hour later, she was waiting for Ernesto to escort her to his master, trying to ignore the buzz that was escalating inside her at the thought of seeing said master again. To give herself something to do, she reexamined her reflection in the gilded full-length mirror in the suite’s foyer.

      With the heels and freshly styled hair, probably sixes or sevens.

      Appropriate. She was at them, too. And she had herself to thank for that. Instead of having one confrontation be the end of it, here she was, through her own idiocy forced to see him again, to hopefully get the result she should have gotten the first time. Or not. He might be…hell, he was stringing her along, to fulfill an objective that probably had nothing to do with Castaldini and everything to do with that still overwhelming attraction that had seared away her resolutions and intentions. She could only let him steer her and everything wherever he pleased. She’d deal with it when she found out where that was.

      And if that new, reckless entity that had been awakened inside her told her that she couldn’t wait to go wherever he led, she smacked it silent. Been there, done that.

      Never wanted to be there, or do that, again.

      Leandro glowered at his watch.

      Late. Three…four minutes. And he had a feeling those minutes would soon be accompanied by many more.

      Was it her doing, or Ernesto’s? Which of them wanted to keep him human by denying the gratification of his every whim?

      Both, probably. And both, damn them, pegged him right. Knew they were the only two people alive he’d let cross him.

      A huff exploded from him. Cross him? How about walk all over him? Ernesto knew he could get away with anything. And Phoebe…

      Oh, yes. She knew, too.

      She knew what she’d been doing last night. She’d parried and attacked until he was at critical mass. Then she’d hit him with what he would have never seen coming. One word. One insight. One verdict. Stunned.

      She’d known, when he hadn’t known himself. Not until she’d uttered her analysis.

      He was still stunned. And it wasn’t because his king, his people, had gone so far as to exile him, but that it had gone so wrong between him and Phoebe.