She flushed a little. Had she mentioned that to him? "You might if you burn your hand," she said cheerily. This man was grumpy, all right. But it was probably because he had to sleep in one of these chairs. It looked like he was destroying his poor tie, too. She had to do something about that. If it was anything like Mr. Hunter's ties, it probably cost more than her rent did every month.
Maylee stepped forward and before Griffin could protest, she swatted his hands away from his tie. Expertly, she flipped up his collar, smoothed the silk fabric along his neck, and then began to fix his bow tie, taking great care to make sure the knot was perfect. "Mr. Griffin, I understand that you don't want an assistant like me on this trip. I realize I'm not fancy like you expected." She kept her voice soft and apologetic, and he'd gone silent. "But I am real good at keeping out of the way. And I'm real good at managing a schedule." She tweaked the now perfect bow tie and then smiled at him. "And I can tie a mean tie."
Griffin frowned at his reflection, touching the tie as if he didn't quite believe she'd fixed it so quickly-or so effortlessly. "I can manage a schedule well," he said.
"You too? Then why do you need me?"
"I was correcting your English. The proper phrase is 'I can manage a schedule well. Not 'I'm real good with a schedule.'"
"But I am," she told him, and then ran a hand down the front of his jacket. He'd buttoned it wrong, too. She quickly undid his button and then redid it. Did the man not know how to dress himself? Lordy. He needed her more than he realized. "I'm real good with schedules. And men's clothes."
And when she looked up from fixing his jacket, she winked at him.
She could have sworn he blushed just a little.
***
This was a predicament. Griffin touched his tie again as he waited at the front of the plane for the stair car to arrive. Behind him, the flight attendant chatted with Maylee, and both women were laughing and talking as if they were the best of friends.
Maylee was totally wrong for this job. She was a train wreck. She wore polyester. She drawled like a hillbilly.
She'd cuddled against him last night in his lap.
She tied a mean tie.
And she was already here.
He wasn't sure what to do. The smart thing would be to immediately send her back to the States. But then what? Admit to his mother that his one assistant had fallen sick and now he had to rely on her tender mercies? Hear the same talk he'd heard a dozen times before about hiring more staff and acquiring a massive residence to live in the style that was expected of a viscount of Bellissime? When all he wanted to do was work on his research and sponsor his pet projects?
It was one reason why he had more money than anyone else in the family. Griffin was the wealthiest national of Bellissime. While all of the royal family was wealthy to an extent, they also had extravagant households, multitudes of country homes that featured twenty rooms or more, and dozens of staff to take care of their needs. Griffin used his money for other things-like investments and joint projects with his friends in their small secret society-and he'd made his money double year after year.
So . . . he didn't want to hear disparaging remarks about his lifestyle.
He looked back at Maylee. She was grinning at the flight attendant, pinching her dress to her side as the other woman safety-pinned it back. She was friendly, that was obvious. And surely she couldn't be that incompetent or Hunter would not have kept her on as an employee.
And she could tie a crisp tie.
Griffin sighed. He supposed he could give it another day or two. It couldn't possibly hurt things, could it?
Adjusting his cufflinks (another blasted item that was difficult to put on without Kip), Griffin prepared himself to emerge as the stair car arrived. Below, there was already a crowd of paparazzi waiting, along with several people from the local newspapers. Here in Bellissime, he was an important person.
How he hated that.
As the stair car came to the door, the attendant hurried forward and a moment later, the door opened. She gave him a warm smile. "Welcome to Bellissime, Mr. Verdi."
He nodded at her and stepped into the sunlight.
A roar of voices went up.
"Lord Montagne Verdi! Lord! Look over here!"
"Viscount!"
"My lord! Is it true you'll be looking for an eligible bride while attending the royal wedding?"
"My lord! Over here!"
On and on, the cacophony of voices shouted. Griffin ignored all of them, raised his hand, and gave a polite wave. He put on a fake smile for the cameras, thinking that he loathed this part of his life more than anything else.
"Lordamercy!" he heard a voice exclaim behind him. "Look at all these people! You some kind of celebrity here, Mr. Griffin?"