Billionaire Boys Club 4 : Once upon a Billionaire(11)

This trip was going from bad to worse, and rapidly.

Griffin stared at the sobbing young woman seated behind him. She blubbered loudly, her youthful face turning splotchy red, her white-blonde curls bouncing as she wiped at her face with a cocktail napkin.

"Stop crying," Griffin commanded.

She only cried harder.

This was ridiculous. He glanced at the flight attendant to see if she could help him, but she was averting her eyes, her mouth a reproachful line of disapproval. Lovely. It seemed that even his staff was not on his side.

With a sigh, Griffin looked back at the awful creature that was his assistant. "What will it take for you to stop crying?"

She sniffed loudly. "I need a hug."

"You what?"

She extended her arms out.

"I'm not hugging you."

She began to cry harder.

Griffin's jaw clenched so hard he heard his molars scrape. This was beyond ridiculous. "Stop crying," he said again.

"You don't like me," she blubbered.

No, I don't, he wanted to say, but he had no desire to see more waterworks. He decided to try manipulation instead. "I will if you stop crying."

"O-okay," she said, and sniffed loudly.

That worked? Really? That had been easier than he'd thought. Griffin gave her a firm nod and turned back around in his chair. He'd give the creature some time to compose herself, and then he'd see the best way to get rid of her as soon as they stopped in Heathrow for refueling. He'd have to borrow a few members of staff from his mother, or his older brother, and he'd simply have to endure their incessant advice about adding employees and then cheerfully discard any suggestions once he got back to the States. He barely glanced over as the creature got up from her seat, likely to go and clean herself up in the lavatory. He was still thinking about staffing issues and how his mother would point out smugly that she'd warned him of such a problem, and she couldn't possibly spare one of her own staff, because-

A shadow fell over Griffin.

He looked up, just in time for the strange, bizarre woman to drop herself into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

He stiffened in shock.

Had this . . . horrible woman really just climbed into his lap and put her arms around his neck? It wasn't to be endured. He was her employer, first of all, and this wasn't proper in the slightest. He was also a royal, and no one touched royalty without their permission, even in this day and age. "Miss," he said flatly. "What do you think you are doing?"




 

 

She burrowed her face against his neck. "Told you I needed a hug," she mumbled. And she snuggled closer, oblivious to his rigid posture.

"Get off me."

She ignored him.

He looked for the attendant to help him out, but she'd disappeared from her seat, no doubt hiding up in the cockpit with the pilots. Blast.

Griffin was trapped.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, trying to think. Strands of curly blonde hair tickled his nose as she nuzzled closer, and he began to feel inappropriately aroused. Her arms around his neck were soft, her hair fragrant, and her slight hip was pressing against his cock. Any red-blooded male would have that reaction, he told himself.

All the more reason to get her off his lap.

So he thought for a moment. What was her name? Nana? Millie? "Get up, girl."

She gave a small sigh of pleasure and tucked her head even closer to his neck. "Don't wanna." Her lips moved against his throat, and Griffin shifted in his seat, willing his c**k to quit responding to the touch of a drunk woman.

"What is your name again?"

"Maylee," she breathed, and her soft breath tickled his skin. "Maylee Meriweather."

"I need you to get off me, Maylee," Griffin said, mentally applauding himself at his calm, even tone despite the odd situation. "It isn't proper."

Her head jerked up, narrowly missing his jaw, and she peered up at him. As she did, he noticed that her red-rimmed eyes were a brilliant green-brown that seemed to glow in her pale face. Damn it, those were rather nice eyes for a little country bumpkin who wore polyester.

That was another thought he shouldn't have as her employer, he reminded himself.

"You still gonna get rid of me?" she asked, and her hand began to play with his hair, fingers toying with the base of his neck in a way that sent inappropriate shivers through his body.

Griffin gazed into those big green-brown eyes. He decided to level with her. "This is a very delicate job-"

"I'm good with handling delicate things."

Great, now his mind was thinking of those small hands playing with his hair and touching all kinds of delicate things. Inappropriate. Inappropriate.

"But this is a job that will require a lot of skill-" Oh, hell, now that was a particularly bad choice of words.