He was going to be forever correcting her on his proper title, wasn't he? But curiosity weighed heavier on him than a correction. "What was that about?" he asked as they exited the store.
"Oh, I was just giving her a tip," Maylee said. "It's only polite."
He turned and frowned at her. "Why would you tip her?"
"Because she helped us?"
"Helping us should be enough of a privilege for her," he told Maylee. Was that why the staff was so bloody friendly? Was she handing out money to all of them?
Maylee snorted. "You sure do have a high opinion of yourself, Mr. Griffin."
Of course he did. He was a viscount as well and had once been ninth in line to the throne. Why shouldn't he? "Exactly how much have you been spending on tipping these people?"
"Well, Mr. Griffin, Mr. Hunter always gives me money so I can tip his people. It's the polite thing to do." And she gave him a prim look, as if he was the one at fault in his manners.
"That doesn't answer the question."
She sighed. "A couple hundred. I figured I'd just expense it when we got back."
"A couple hundred?" Out of her personal wallet? When she lived in a hovel so she could send money to her parents? And dressed like a vagrant? "Are you insane?"
She shot him another hurt look. "Excuse me for trying to be polite."
"Look, if you're going to hand out money to everyone, at least let it be my money."
"That's fine." She turned to him and put her palm out.
He looked down at it, then at her. "I don't have any money on me right now."
She arched a brow. "Like I was saying?"
"Let's just go." He gestured for her to get back into the car, when he spotted a garish stand at the end of the street. It was covered in the bright yellow and blue Bellissime flag and he spotted touristy T-shirts. He paused. Sighed. Looked at Maylee's frowning face. "Actually, let's do one more stop before we go on." He took her elbow and gently turned her until she faced the souvenir stand.
Maylee's undignified squeal of delight was rather fun to hear, he admitted to himself.
***
Griffin was just escaping from a dinner party when his phone rang with a very distinct ringtone. "Excuse me," he told the waiting Maylee and driver, and walked away a few steps to answer the call. "Jonathan," Griffin said into the phone. "How goes the trip to Spain?"
"Incredible," Jonathan said. "You really should be here. Some of the artifacts they're finding are downright unbelievable. They're convinced we might have enough proof in a few years to give strength to the theory that it's truly Atlantis and not Tarshish."
Griffin felt a surge of excitement, followed quickly by jealousy. "I wish I was there."
"Me too, buddy. How goes the wedding bullshit?"
"As expected," Griffin said sourly. "Lots of hand shaking, gossiping, dinner parties, and endless rigmarole. And the wedding won't officially start until next week."
"Glad it's you and not me," Jonathan said with a laugh. "I wouldn't trade places with the lofty viscount for anything."
"Of course not," Griffin said mildly, glancing around as he paced down the sidewalk. It was getting late and the street was rather empty, which was a blessing. Maylee leaned against the sedan and listened to the driver tell a story. He was standing a little closer to her than was polite, but Maylee was laughing and smiling up at him. They looked cozy.
Griffin didn't like that. Did the man have to stand so close to her? And did she have to look so darn pleased with the conversation? The limo driver pointed at a nearby building and he watched Maylee shade her eyes and lean so she could see. When she leaned, her bottom thrust out in her skirt, rounded and rather . . . eye-catching.
"Anything exciting happen?"
Griffin shook his head and looked away, thoughts returning to his phone conversation. "Other than a pap sneaking into my assistant's room to try and bribe her?"
"Jesus. They're determined, aren't they?" Jonathan snorted. "Listen, hey, can you clear your schedule this weekend?"
Griffin frowned. "I doubt it. Why?"
"Because they're breaking ground in a new area. You know, the one with all the ruins on the radar printouts? You said you wanted to be there for it."
His heart sank. He did want to be there. "I can't get away from the wedding. I'm sorry. Can they put it off a week?"
"Probably not. Weather's supposed to be perfect this weekend. And Spain's only a short plane ride away from where you're at, right?"
"Doesn't matter," Griffin murmured. "I can't abandon my familial duties."