Ruth Jean Dale - Trading Places

“Tabitha will always know where to find me. She’ll also handle all the credit cards. Anything you want, up to but not including a mink coat, go to her.”

That didn’t sit well. Not that Alice had a hankering for a mink coat; she just didn’t have a hankering to go begging to Tabitha. “I don’t like it,” she said unhappily.

Tabitha said with malice aforethought, “Too bad. That’s the way we’ve worked it out.”

“Easy.” Sharlayne gave her senior assistant a warning glance. “Try to get along, will you? We want Alice to enjoy this experience, after all.”

“She’s already enjoying it too much.” Tabitha’s gaze was malevolent. “Flirting with that bodyguard—”

“Great!” Sharlayne looked delighted. “That’s exactly what I want her to do—act just like me.” She smiled at Alice. “Relax, honey. You did just fine or Tabitha wouldn’t be so annoyed.”

“This time,” Alice conceded. “But when I run into someone who already knows you—and I inevitably will—all the artful makeovers in the world…all the designer clothing and glittering jewels and fabulous surroundings…won’t get me through. I have to admit, I figured this could be fun—”

“Not to mention profitable.”

“That’s true.”

“Well, stop worrying about it,” Sharlayne said as if her mind had already turned around in another direction. “Do the best you can. Any time you can gain for me will help. I’m going to finish that book if it kills me.”

“Okay,” Alice said, “but this seems even crazier now that we’re into it.”

“Alice, listen to me.” Sharlayne leaned down to peer into eyes nearly identical to her own. “People see what they expect to see, not what’s actually there. If they expect to see Sharlayne Kenyon, they will.”

“But what if—”

“Alice, you’re whimpering.” Sharlayne straightened, her manner stern. “Let me remind you what’s at stake here—a brilliant tome detailing my brilliant life, and a debt-free future for you. Isn’t that worth a little stress and strain?”

“I suppose, but what if I’m found out? What if—”

“Hush and listen to me. You’re also getting a chance to live a fantasy most women would kill for. A mansion, a good-looking man at your beck and call, servants, a good-looking man, designer clothes, a good-looking man—”

“Okay, I catch your drift. A good-looking man.” Alice, who had never in her life been free of money worries or had any male, good-looking or otherwise, at her beck and call, was putty in Sharlayne’s hands. But one question still remained. “Why do I even need a bodyguard, good-looking or otherwise?”

“You don’t,” Sharlayne said calmly. “Let me explain this one more time. He’s just around to keep people away, so they won’t get wise to the switch.” She glanced around the bedroom, clearly impatient. “Now, I really have to get out of here. Last chance for questions.”

Her words reminded Alice of the part of the wedding ceremony where the minister asks if anyone present knows why this couple should not be joined together. This was definitely a now-or-never moment.

She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

Sharlayne said, “Good. In that case—ta-ta, ladies. Tabitha, keep me posted. Alice, enjoy yourself.” With a final conspiratorial wink, she was gone.

Alice turned to Tabitha, who was staring at the door through which her boss had disappeared. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “Nobody with a grain of sense or an eye in his head would ever accept you as Sharlayne Kenyon.”

“You better be wrong,” Alice said, “because if you’re right, we’re both up the proverbial creek without a paddle.”

This time, she didn’t flinch before Tabitha’s glare. She was, after all, Sharlayne Kenyon.

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