The photographer moved to Maylee’s side and took a water bottle from her, swigged from it, and then handed it back. He winked at her and said something that Griffin couldn’t hear, and Maylee laughed.
“That’s a rather obnoxious servant,” George observed, picking imaginary lint off his medal-heavy jacket. “Flirting with the camera crew. Do you suppose she’s new?”
Griffin glared at his brother, who had a penchant for chasing the skirts of any female servant in his household. “She’s my assistant.”
“She looks like a poodle with all that hair. It’s quite fascinating.”
“Don’t even think about it, George.”
George raised an eyebrow at Griffin. “Ah. Is that why she’s your assistant?”
He knew what George was implying and he wanted to punch his brother in the mouth. “No, she’s my assistant because . . .” Because what? She was great at her job? That wasn’t true. She was decent, and her friendliness smoothed over a lot of problems, but she’d never be an excellent assistant. “I’m borrowing her from a friend.”
“Ah, a swap.”
How did his elegant, arrogant brother manage to make everything sound so filthy? Griffin ignored him.
George chuckled and moved forward to his seat. “Let me know if you’re interested in a swap yourself, little brother.”
Griffin glared at his brother, stepping forward and leaning in to whisper to George despite the photographer’s protests. “You cannot be attracted to her,” he told his brother. “You just compared her to a canine.”#p#分页标题#e#
But George simply grinned. “I like poodles. They’re exceedingly . . . energetic.”
“Viscount Montagne Verdi, please straighten,” the photographer was saying over and over again, waving his hand to try and force Griffin back into line. Everyone was staring at him, impatience stamped into every royal face.
Griffin straightened, masking his emotions. “Apologies.”
“Hang on just a sec,” Maylee said, and stepped forward. She rushed to Griffin’s side and squeezed in next to him. Likely she hadn’t seen his mother’s horrified gaze or she’d have flinched away. As it was, she trotted up to him, flipped one of his medals over, and smoothed the braid on his shoulder. Then, she beamed up at Griffin. “There you go, Mr. Griffin. Right as rain. Can’t have you looking all raggedy in the family portrait, can we?”
And she bounded away again.
“We can’t have that,” George murmured, clearly fascinated.
Griffin was scowling when they took the photographs.
As soon as the portraits were finished, Griffin pushed away from the others and made a beeline for Maylee. She turned to look at him, a bright smile on her face. “You looked very elegant, Mr. Griffin—”
He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her away from the others. “Please come with me, Miss Meriweather.”
She did, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she trotted to keep up with his angry strides.
Griffin dragged her down to the end of a nearby hall, away from listening ears, though he was sure quite a few people stared at them when they left. He didn’t care. Some would think he was disciplining an out-of-line employee. George would think he was chastising a lover.
For a moment, Griffin felt so completely smothered by the entire situation he wanted to turn around, exit the building, and head straight onto the next flight back to the States.
When he finally stopped and turned around, her wide-eyed surprise irritated him. “Clearly, Miss Meriweather, I need to go over things with you again.” He raised a finger. “First, it is Lord Montagne Verdi, or my lord or Viscount Montagne Verdi. You can also use Mr. Verdi, since you are American. It is not, and has never been Mr. Griffin. I am not sure how many times we have to go over it, but we will go over it once more.”
She flinched.
He ignored it and ticked up another finger. “Second of all, do not, I repeat, do not interrupt me in front of the queen, the crown princess, and any other royal personages so you can straighten my clothing. It implies a familiarity that we do not have.”
She gave a jerky nod and said nothing, her eyes huge in her pale face.
“Next, you are here to do a job. So is the photographer. So is the chauffeur. I am not paying you to stand around and talk to them.”
She said nothing.
“And finally . . .” he trailed off and tried to think of something to criticize. He’d pretty much gotten everything out of his system at this point, but he still wanted to end on something. So he focused on her hair because of George’s lewd commentary. “Do something with that, please. A tousled look is not appropriate for palace visits.”