Billionaire Boys Club 4 : Once upon a Billionaire(20)

The waiter came by a moment later and they both ordered, Griffin first. He couldn't help but notice that Maylee had ordered the same thing he had. Was she unfamiliar with the food on the menu? He watched her for a moment longer, and she sipped her water with an anxious slurp, her gaze darting about the room.

Definitely nervous around him.

Hell. Griffin leaned back in his chair and regarded her. "I . . . apologize." There, that wasn't so hard, was it? He was rather proud of himself for doing so.

Her pale brows drew together and she looked confused. She glanced over her shoulder.

"I'm talking to you," he said, irritated anew but fighting it back. He wasn't that much of a beast, was he? "I realize I haven't been the most pleasant of employers, and I apologize for that. I'm unhappy to be here and I'm taking it out on you, and that isn't fair."

Her eyebrows rose again, as if she couldn't quite believe this admission. Then, it happened. That slow smile unfurled on her face, lighting it up. Her green-brown eyes danced with happiness and her entire face seemed to glow. She was rather pretty when she smiled, he noticed.

"Thank you kindly, Mr. Griffin." She beamed at him. "That's right sweet of you."

He didn't even correct her English, or her bizarre misuse of "mister." That was him being nice. Again. He grunted and glanced away, not wanting to stare at her. But he felt . . . better. He liked that smile of hers. It was completely and utterly sincere, and her eyes shone when she smiled.

Not many people were sincere around him, and he appreciated the ones who were. He began to pick up his book so he could get a few pages in, then put it back down, because she was still smiling at him. Like she expected . . . conversation. Since he was in a charitable mood, he obliged. "I trust your sleep was pleasant?"

"It was wonderful," she gushed. "The pillows were as fluffy as baby lambs. I can hardly believe that they give those kinds of pillows to hotel guests. Aren't they afraid people will steal them?"

He nearly choked on the water he was sipping. "Steal?" From L'hotel de Bellissime? Did she realize that the people who stayed in his suite were usually visiting royalty or celebrities? Did she think everyone had the same accommodations? But she seemed so thrilled about everything that he didn't correct her.

He didn't even point out that it was pronounced "pillow" and not "piller." He was heading straight for sainthood if this kept up.

"Yup. Every time I went on a trip with my aunties and uncles down to Georgia or Florida or someplace, they'd strip the motel room of everything they could carry off. Said it was expected." She shook her head. "I'm guessin' most folks don't do that, then."

"I can assure you, I've never stripped a hotel room of anything."

"You'd want to if you had my pillow," she said with a cheery nod. "Best pillow I ever snuggled."

For some reason, the mental image of a sleepy Maylee, curls tossed on her pillowcase, clasping a pillow to her breast . . . did unspeakable things to his groin. Griffin cleared his throat. "I shall take your word for it."




 

 

The waiter delivered their breakfasts, and Maylee was effusive in her thanks. She chatted with him about the weather, the delicious smells coming from the kitchen, and how pretty his home country was. The man's attention was completely removed from Griffin, and he conversed with her for a few minutes as if they were old friends, and then disappeared.

Griffin frowned as he picked up his silverware. "The staff is acting odd this morning."

"Oh?" She looked innocently curious. "I thought he was lovely."

Of course she did. The waiter was clearly flirting with her. Perhaps Maylee's uneducated drawl was some sort of aphrodisiac to men who only heard fluid French and British English. Who knew.

He decided to let it go and took a bite of his toast, then opened up his book and began to read, enjoying the peace and quiet of breakfast without scrutiny. Maylee was quiet as she ate, too, though that happy smile remained on her face.

Griffin had only read a page before a shadow fell over his book, dampening the light. He glanced up and frowned as two men approached the table, one dressed as a chef, and one as a waiter. He closed his book with an annoyed sigh. The silence had been too good to last, he supposed. Now he'd have to endure the stream of questions. Bracing himself, Griffin frowned at the two men and leaned back in his chair. "What is it?"

Maylee shot him a quick look-as if he was the rude one-and turned her smile on the men.

"Beg your pardon," the waiter said, and looked at Maylee. "I'm sorry to intrude, but my companion wanted to thank you for your help last night."