Once Upon a Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club 4)

Her eyes widened and she put down her knitting. “Why?”

“Because I’m not g*y?”

“I didn’t mean that you were g*y! Just, you know.” She waved a hand at him. “Fancy. With your hair and your bow ties and stuff.”

“Ah yes, my ‘spackled’ hair.” His cool voice actually sounded amused for once.

She laughed at that. “Who said it was spackled?”

“You did. On the plane. And then you asked me for a hug.”

Maylee sucked in a breath and tried not to giggle. “Oh, lordy. I’m so sorry. How did you not fire me on the spot?”

“Because I am stuck. And because you are good with bow ties.” With that, he set his book aside and flicked off the light. “Good night.”

Maylee fumbled to collect her knitting in the dark, then placed it carefully on the bedside and slid under the blankets. She fluffed her pillow and stared into the darkness at the pillow wall separating them. “Good night, Mr. Griffin,” she said softly. “And thank you for being so kind.”

“Kind is a much better moniker than fancy,” he retorted. “Feel free to call me ‘kind’ in public.”

She grinned.

Chapter Six

The next morning was a little . . . odd.

She’d woken up out of a deep sleep to the sound of an alarm clock going off. As she usually did, she groaned and snuggled deeper into the pillows, rolling over.

And then she jerked upright, because she realized she’d rolled over onto a nice, warm hand and pressed her breast into it. Disoriented, Maylee looked around the room, which was much nicer than her own, and it took a moment for her to realize where she was. Oh. Right. She looked down at the bed and apparently Mr. Griffin was a bit of a restless sleeper. The pillow wall they’d built had been almost demolished while they’d slept, and his arm had snaked underneath the pillows. His big hand was palm up on her side of the bed.

And she’d plopped her titty right into it like a big ol’ hussy. Lordamercy.

Blushing, Maylee crawled out of the bed, tugging at the borrowed sleep shirt to ensure it covered her panties, and then went to Griffin’s side of the bed and shook him. “Mr. Griffin? Time to wake up and go to breakfast.”

He opened his eyes and then gave her a soft smile, stretching on the bed. His hair stuck up in all directions.

And her heart gave a little flip-flop at how boyish he looked.

“I’m getting up,” he murmured, sitting up, his delicious chest exposed again. When he rubbed his face with one hand, she blushed to think about how she’d plunked her boob into it. Gawd.

“I’m going to go change,” she told him.

“Wait,” he said, and got to his feet. “I’ll go check your room for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. I don’t want any other devils in there scaring you.”

He really was a sweet man once you got past his icy demeanor. Very gentlemanly, she decided. Once Griffin had cleared her room for her to go in and change, she went in and wetted down her curls, then twisted them into a knot at her nape to keep them out of the way. Griffin had made it clear he didn’t approve of her messy hair, but it was hard to do anything with it. She put on her makeup, then headed to her closet to find something to wear for the day.

The intruder last night had knocked over half of her clothes and trampled on them. She picked up her favorite dress and stared at the gigantic footprint on it with a wince. Maybe she could get it dry cleaned, but she was low on cash thanks to tipping all the staff. She’d have to run out tonight to see about getting them cleaned—but wait, she couldn’t. Griffin had a dinner party he was attending. It’d have to wait a day or two.

She picked through her clothing again. Nothing else went together. Oh, dear. She had a red blouse and a green pencil skirt, but she’d look like an elf if she wore those together. She’d worn her black skirt yesterday. Maybe she could re-use some of her clothing . . . but she’d thrown it into a wadded ball in her laundry, so it’d need to be ironed and aired first.

Biting her lip, she put on a pale yellow sleeveless patterned dress that she liked to wear with a dark green jacket, which was currently at the bottom of the closet. She put a short red knitted shrug on over it, hoping she didn’t look too nonsensical.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and knocked on the adjoining door.

“Good,” Griffin said as he opened the door. “I can’t seem to figure out which blasted tie goes with this shirt. I—” He looked over at her and stopped, staring at her outfit. She could see his face visibly ice over. “Maylee, I don’t mean to be unkind, but we’ll be meeting with the royal family for photos later today. Your outfit is rather”—he rubbed his freshly shaven chin—“unorthodox.”

“I know,” she said quickly, rushing forward to look at the ties thrown into a heap on his bed. “It’s just that the guy hiding in my closet messed up a bunch of my clothes and stepped on them, and I’ve got to get them dry cleaned. I’m so terribly sorry,” she told him, holding up a dark tie with a faint black pattern on it that wouldn’t be too showy. “I’ll try to stay out of sight today. I’ll just hide in the limo.”

“Sedan,” he murmured. “I asked the driver to come in an unmarked sedan for the rest of the trip. It should be easier to get around.”

That was her suggestion. She beamed at him. “I think you’ll find it much easier. We can even go out the back if you’d rather. The doorman told me of a special side entrance—”

He touched the fringed sleeve of her shrug. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” she said proudly.

“It’s hideous. Can you take it off?”

She winced at his cruel words and tugged it off, then crossed her arms under her br**sts, waiting for him to pick apart her dress next. It didn’t exactly match her shoes, but she’d honestly not given much thought to multiple pairs of shoes when she’d packed. She’d been in too much of a hurry.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me that he’d destroyed your clothing. You’re just making do with what you have.” He patted her arm. “Forgive my words.”

Maylee was shocked. He’d . . . apologized? Over insulting her clothing? He’d done that repeatedly. “Um, okay.”

“We’ll fix it.”

Her brows furrowed, but when he didn’t clarify, she simply looped his tie around his neck and tied it for him, then straightened his jacket. His hair was slicked down again, and he looked like the same old fussy, slightly stodgy and completely disapproving Griffin. She wouldn’t think too much about that, though. Smiling at him, she turned to the door. “Come on. Let’s go get breakfast. I forgot to eat dinner last night and my stomach’s been growling like a badger.”

He frowned as they left his room. “Why didn’t you eat dinner?”

She waved a hand at his concerns. “I got distracted with all the goings on last night.”

“I see.”

Maylee saw several of the familiar staff as they went down to breakfast, and as soon as they were seated, she pulled out Griffin’s laptop and began to go over his schedule, writing notes to herself for things to remember on Post-its. She ordered the same thing that Griffin did for breakfast again, since she didn’t recognize half the stuff on the menu and didn’t want to seem like a rube.

She noticed him watching her, and then she looked up from the computer. His hands were empty. “Did you forget your book upstairs? Do you want me to go get it for you?”

He shook his head and looked thoughtful. “What’s first on the schedule this morning?”

She ran a finger down the screen. “From nine until eleven, you’re meeting with the Bellissime Historical Society—”

Griffin nodded. “Go ahead and cancel it.”

She blinked at him. “But . . . it’s my job to keep your appointments.”

“I know. And I want to cancel that one. What’s after that?”

“Lunch with the mayor?”

He grunted. “I guess I can’t get out of that one. He’s an old family friend. Very well.”

She pulled out her phone and then frowned. “What shall I tell them is the reason for the cancellation? Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “A viscount doesn’t make excuses. I’m simply busy.”

She nodded and got up, crossing the empty private dining room to make the phone call. He was right, though. No one questioned his cancellation in the slightest.

When she returned to the table, breakfast had been served, and she intercepted the waiter on his way back to the kitchen and pushed a twenty into his hand for a tip. “Thank you.”

He took it with a smile and winked at her.

Maylee sat back down at the table and picked up her napkin. Breakfast this morning looked like runny eggs covered with some sort of weird reddish gravy and what looked like caviar on top. Ew. Why couldn’t the man order some grits and bacon like a normal person? It was a shame she was so hungry. She was going to eat it anyhow. “So . . . what would you like to do this morning now that you’ve got it free?”

“After this, I’m going to have the staff go up to our room and arrange to have your clothing dry cleaned at their expense so you can have it back tonight.”

She blushed. Our room? “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t,” he agreed. “But they do. And then we’re going shopping.”

Maylee gave an excited little wiggle in her chair. “We are? Souvenir shopping?”

He gave her a funny look. “I am a native of Bellissime, Maylee. I’m sure I don’t need postcards or cheap shot glasses to remind me of the fact.”

“Oh.” How did he always manage to make her feel so stupid with just a word? She poked her fork at her egg-things, her appetite disappearing.

“We’ll get you clothing. Something appropriate to wear.”

Maylee’s heart thumped with excitement . . . and then it was followed by immediate hurt. “Because I look so awful?”

“That, and because what you’re wearing is appallingly unacceptable for a visit to the Bellissime Royal Palace,” he said, salting his eggs and taking a small bite.

That took all the fun out of the thought of going shopping. Maylee stared at her food until tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. She was sure he didn’t mean to be so cruel . . . did he? “Mr. Griffin—”

“Mr. Verdi,” he corrected. “Or Lord Montagne Verdi. Or Viscount Montagne Verdi. Not Mr. Griffin. Please watch your tongue when we’re at the royal palace.”

“I was going to say that I can’t really afford to buy new clothes, Mr. Verdi.” She carefully stressed his correct title. “Perhaps I should just stay behind,” she said in a small voice, scraping the caviar off the top of one of her slimy-looking eggs.

“Nonsense.”

She waited for more. Maybe you’re indispensable to me, Maylee or I need your help today or even a you’re great company, Maylee. Something that would tell her she wasn’t just an ugly, unfashionable burden on him.

When she looked up at him expectantly, he added, “I might have to change clothes for the royal portraits and you’ll need to be there to fix my tie.”

She sighed.

***

Maylee was utterly impossible to please.

Griffin had thought she’d be happy to get new clothes. Not only were hers hideous, but she was constantly knitting. When he saw the weird little shawl she’d worn earlier, he’d realized . . . she was so poor that she was creating her own clothing. And that made him feel terrible. He hadn’t even realized how underprivileged she was until then, and her embarrassment at not having anything decent to wear for the day was palpable. So he’d offered to take her shopping. She’d been excited when she’d thought they were going to a cheap tourist stand. At the thought of clothing, though?