Once Upon a Billionaire(49)

“A woman who was just told she was ugly,” Gretchen shouted on the other end of the phone.

“Take me off speakerphone,” Griffin said. “Right now.”

“Hunter has to go,” Gretchen called out, her voice tinny and loud over the speakerphone.

“No,” Griffin said. “I still need—”

“Nope, he’s got to go,” Gretchen yelled. “He has an enormous boner and I have to take care of it.”

“God, Gretchen,” Hunter said, and it sounded like they were wrestling over the phone again.

Ugh. Griffin hung up on them. Those two were like wild animals in heat. He drummed his fingers on his leg, thinking. Maybe there was something to what Gretchen had said, despite her crude mouth. Maybe he’d somehow offended Maylee after all.

He’d just have to be that much more complimentary when she returned, to let her know how nice she looked.

Then, maybe, she’d stop frowning long enough to let him kiss her again. He thought about her soft mouth and how enthusiastically she’d kissed him in return.

He definitely had to shower her with compliments, he decided. He wanted to see her face blossom into that smile that made his heart pound. That smile let him know he’d done right . . . and that she was pleased.

And he liked seeing her pleased.

***

Griffin finished adjusting his antique familial cufflinks, then examined the way his tailcoat fell in the mirror. Perfect. If it was even slightly off, his mother would flip out, declare that Griffin had gotten shoddy with his appearance, and then he’d never hear the end of it. No one cared about appearances more than Princess Sybilla-Louise, not even the queen. He examined the tails on the tailcoat with a small turn. Ludicrous. He looked like a penguin. Why did men have to dress up in such ridiculous getups for a party? He slung his bow tie over his neck and went to the door adjoining their rooms. Robert had picked up Maylee this afternoon and she’d run errands while Griffin had met with the Bellissime Museum Society to discuss a donation to fund a new wing. He hadn’t seen her all day.

And it was . . . strange.

He rather missed her cheery competence and unbridled enthusiasm. Kip took everything in stride and was more of an assistant than a companion, but Maylee felt like the opposite. Now that Griffin was used to Maylee’s extreme reactions to seeing new things, he found he missed that. He considered things with her eyes in mind. Would Maylee smile when she saw that souvenir stand? Would she want to go for a walk tonight and visit the chocolate district? They’d passed it on the way back from his mother’s palace, and he’d stopped and purchased her a box of truffles, one of the few things that Bellissime was known for, and had them carefully packed so he could present them to her later. He wanted to see Maylee’s face when she saw the expensive treat.

He wouldn’t mind feeding them to her, actually. Watching her exclaim in delight at the first taste, seeing her eyes open in sensual wonder as the flavors slid across her tongue. Watch her lick her lips with pleasure and turn to him for more. Maybe she’d lick his fingers, too . . .

Griffin’s pants felt uncomfortably tight. Adjusting himself with a quick movement, he counted backward from one hundred to get control over his body. When he was satisfied, he cleared his throat and moved to the door adjoining their rooms, strangely nervous. He had a small jewelry case in his hand—ancestral jewels that were attached to the Viscount Montagne Verdi title and had been since the nineteenth century. He wanted Maylee to wear them tonight, so anyone who saw her in them would know he was claiming her for his own.

He wondered what his mother would think when she saw his American personal assistant wearing the Verdi emeralds.

Then, he decided he didn’t give a shit.

***

Maylee touched her hair, pleased with her appearance.

She looked . . . pretty tonight. Very pretty, if she said so herself. The lady at the salon had babbled in constant French, but Maylee had caught enough to hear “blow-out” and “Lord Montagne Verdi” and “makeover.” So she’d sat quietly and let the woman do what she wanted to her hair. A few hours later, Maylee’s frizzy corkscrews were straightened into a smooth, shiny blonde mane. Her bone-straight hair was pulled into an elegant upsweep, a small flowered clip at the back of her head keeping everything in place. Thick makeup had been applied with an airbrush—an airbrush, of all things!—and Maylee’s skin was perfect, not a freckle or a rosy spot showing. Her eyes were smoky, fake eyelashes making her own baby-blonde lashes seem dark and full.

She looked rather like a princess, Maylee thought. Griffin wouldn’t be able to find fault with her appearance today.