A man sat in one of the big, buttery-soft leather chairs at the far end of the plane. An upraised newspaper hid his face from her, and she squinted, trying to recall what he looked like. Young? Old? Ugly? Had to be old if he was able to afford a jet like this, she decided. Elderly people were nice people, weren't they? She rather hoped he was nice.
Maylee cleared her throat. "Mr. Griffin?"
The paper folded. A man stared at her from behind it, a frown on his face.
Well . . . he wasn't old. His dark hair was slicked down into a neat part, and black-framed glasses hid part of his face. His features were regular and pleasant and average, she supposed. If she'd have passed him on the street, she wouldn't have noticed him.
He gave her a dismissive look. "Are we back to ourselves now?"
She resisted the urge to rub her eyes like a sleepy child. "Beg pardon, sir?"
"I'm going to assume that's a yes." He folded the paper and set it aside, then stood. He was tall, she realized, that dark, slicked hair almost brushing the ceiling of the plane. He wore a crisp navy jacket with a symbol on one pocket, khaki-colored slacks, and a loose bow tie hung around his neck, as if he hadn't quite finished dressing.
"I'm sorry if I took up your room," Maylee said, resisting the urge to twist her hands in anxiety. "Did I fall asleep or something?"
His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "I trust you don't remember flinging yourself at me?"
Maylee blinked. "I flung myself at you?"
"If I recall correctly, you asked for a hug," he said in a sour voice. He gave her an unhappy look. Maylee straightened her clothes, but he turned to a mirror on a far wall and began to jerk at the tie around his neck, trying to tie it . . . and doing a rather lousy job.
"A hug?" Maylee choked on a laugh. That sounded so funny. "Really?"
The look he shot her wasn't amused. He untied the tie and then tried to tie it again. "Yes, and then you crawled all over me and wept. It was not how I anticipated spending my flight, Ms. Meriweather."
She bit her lip, a flush of embarrassment heating her cheeks. He sounded so utterly disgusted with her. So much for a great first impression. "Sorry about that. I must not have been myself."
"You were not. You combined alcohol with your pills and it affected your brain." He gave her another displeased look. "At least, I assume that's not how you normally are."
The smile that curved Maylee's mouth was tight. She'd be nice and super polite to this man despite his mean words. "I can assure you I normally don't go around asking my employer for a hug, Mr. Griffin."
"Mr. Verdi," he corrected. "My last name isn't Griffin, it's my first name."
She knew that. It was a polite sort of thing to add a "mister" in front of a first name, but she supposed he didn't grasp that. Well, it wasn't her place as his employee to correct him. Instead, she watched as he knotted the tie, scowled at his reflection, and then undid it again. At this rate, he was going to destroy the poor thing. It already looked rather mangled.
"As soon as we get to Bellissime, I'll book you a flight back home," he said.
Maylee frowned. But . . . they were almost at the airport. The worst part of the trip-the flying-was nearly over. She wanted to see Bellissime and she wanted to get that double-time money. "I'm real sorry about my behavior last night, but I'm not normally that kind of girl. It won't happen again."
"I know that. I took your pills." Before she could protest, he attempted to knot the tie again and continued speaking. "Are you aware that you have an exceedingly pronounced drawl, Ms. Meriweather?"
"Call me Maylee, and yes, I'm aware. I'd have to be dead not to notice," she told him, smiling. "It's a Southern thing."
"And are you aware that you're wearing a polyester one-piece that pretends to be a two-piece suit?"
She gave the too-large dress a little shake. "No wrinkles. I'd say that's pretty spiffy considering I slept in it."
The look he shot her was scathing, which surprised Maylee. "Ms. Meriweather," he began again, dragging the tie from his neck and starting over once more. "I am the Viscount Montagne Verdi. You may call me Lord Montagne Verdi, or Mr. Verdi, but not Lord Verdi. Not Mr. Griffin."
"That sounds like a mouthful," she teased. "Bellissime titles are named after places, right? I read that on Wikipedia."
He gave her a withering look for interrupting him. "Are you quite finished?"
Maylee swallowed. "I guess so."
"As I was saying. My cousin is Her Royal Highness Alexandra Olivia the Third, Crown Princess to Bellissime. She is getting married next week. This means there will be social functions that require knowledge of the rules of etiquette, someone who is willing to work night and day to wrangle my increasingly difficult schedule and, above all, I need someone who is capable at my side. I do not need a 'burn talker.'"