Billionaire Boys Club 4 : Once upon a Billionaire(17)

Maylee blinked, trying to process this information. "Did you say . . . thirty staff?"

"At the very least."

"Good gravy. For what?"

"Whatever is deemed necessary. Several valets, a butler, kitchen staff, maids, an equerry-"

"Someone to cut your meat into itty-bitty royal chunks for you-"

He snorted, but a hint of a smile curved his austere face. "Something along those lines, yes."

"It sounds a bit ridiculous."

"It's utterly ridiculous," he agreed. "I spent my formative years being completely and totally hovered over by one person after another. I hate the fuss. Loathe it. I refuse to live that way." For a moment, he looked so utterly tired that she felt sorry for him. Then, he glanced at her again as if remembering himself. "Regardless, that's why we're staying at the hotel." 

"I see."

The car fell silent again. She glanced over at Griffin, but he looked so miserable, a stress-line between his brows, that she felt guilty for bringing the conversation around to family, when it clearly bothered him. Maybe a change of pace would do them both good. "Well, Mr. Griffin," she said in a cheery voice, dragging a pen and a pad of Post-its out of her purse. "Why don't we work on your schedule while we wait?"

He continued to stare out the window so she bent over her pad of Post-it notes and began to write. "That sounds like a good idea," he said. "I . . ." his words trailed off. "What on earth is that?"

She looked up at him to see him staring at her Post-its with a frown.

"What is what?" she asked.

"You cannot possibly keep track of my schedule on Post-it notes." He shot her an appalled look.

She forced another bright smile to her face. "It'll be fine. Don't you worry. Now, what's on track for tomorrow?"

"First of all, I don't know what's on my schedule. That's your responsibility. Second of all, I'm pretty sure it doesn't belong on a Post-it note. Get out your laptop."

The man was such a snob. Paper wasn't good enough for him? "I don't have one."

"What do you mean, you don't have a laptop?" He gave her an incredulous look. "Everyone has a laptop."

"Not everyone, Mr. Fancypants." Maylee poised her pen over the Post-its. "Now . . . your schedule?"

"We're not doing this on paper. It's all saved online. We'll just have to wait until we get to the hotel, and then you can borrow my spare."

"You have a spare?"

He gave her another scathing look. "Of course. I'm not poor."

Ouch. "Well, I am."

"That's evident from your wardrobe." He stared out the window again.

All right, any budding likability he might have had was promptly squashed by that. Maylee tucked her pen and Post-its back into her purse and stared out the opposite window. Did the man even know how to be pleasant?

She sincerely doubted it. No wonder his assistant had come down with a cold. She'd have faked measles to get out of his company for the next few weeks herself, if so much money wasn't involved.

Sitting back, she watched the quaint buildings of Bellissime pass by and thought of all the things she could buy her family with the bonus she was getting for this trip. That made her feel better.

Maylee's initial pleasure at the sight of the hotel-a beautiful pink building with columns and covered with green ivy-immediately fled when Griffin groaned. Cars were everywhere, people lining the sidewalks with cameras in hand. More paparazzi.

"This is ridiculous," Griffin said. "They're determined to make my life hell on this trip, aren't they?"

Was he serious? "If you don't mind me saying so, Mr. Griffin-"

"Mr. Verdi, and I'm sure I will mind-"

The man was determined to be unlikeable, wasn't he? "It's your own fault."

That hadn't been what he expected, clearly. He turned and gave her an incredulous look. "What did you say?"

"I said, it's your own fault," Maylee repeated, her voice mild as she peered out the window at the big, swanky hotel. "You're trolling down what is probably the equivalent of Main Street around here, in a big ass limo with a royal seal on it, heading to the most luxurious hotel in the city. That doesn't exactly scream 'Gee, I really want my privacy.'"

Griffin's mouth thinned. "Then what do you suggest?"




 

 

"Get a regular car," Maylee said immediately. "None of this limo business. Get a regular car, and skip the seals and just go to a regular hotel. Go down the back roads instead of parading down Main Street. You'll be a lot harder to find that way."

"In other words, slink away like a common thief?"

"No, like someone who values their privacy."