Billionaire Boys Club 4 : Once upon a Billionaire(33)

"Oh, that's nice," she said with a relieved sigh, tucking her shoes into her free hand. She beamed up at him. "You look like you're relaxing a little, too. Feeling better?"

"A bit," he admitted.

"Sometimes I like to get away," she told him, lifting her face to look at the claustrophobic huddle of buildings around them. The snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, and Maylee's breath was puffing into the air next to him, but Griffin wasn't cold. Her hand on his arm felt as warm as a brand. "You know. The whole city thing gets to be too much, and even my apartment doesn't feel like home, so I take a day and just walk around the city."

He could imagine that her apartment didn't feel like home. It probably felt like a cave . . . an unsafe one at that. "Where do you like to go in the city?"

"Central Park is pretty," she began.

He grimaced. Everyone always said the park.

"But I like the museums better," she continued. "They're so full of life. Not just the people there, but the things. Everything there represents so much knowledge and talent and creativity. I go there and I feel like I'm surrounded by the pinnacle of what people can attain. You know? And it refreshes me and makes me think I can keep going."

Griffin was surprised to hear her say that . . . surprised and a bit pleased. That seemed far more astute an observation than a country girl would have. "I am a big advocate of museums."

"Of course you are," she said with a brilliant smile. "It's clear you're smart as a whip."

"Are you flattering me, Miss Meriweather?" Because he was. Flattered, that is.

"Just callin' it like I see it," she said. "You're always reading and trying to learn. I admire that."

"What was your major in college?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Filing."

"I . . . beg your pardon?"

"I went to an advanced secretarial school," she told him proudly. "Best one in Arkansas. We learned all kinds of good stuff like how to answer the phone, do spreadsheets, and take messages, but I was real good at filing."

"They have classes on . . . filing?"

"You bet."

"And you paid for these classes?"

That full lower lip stuck out. "Are you making fun of me?"

He immediately felt like an ass. "Not at all. I was merely curious."

The hand on his arm tightened a little, as if she wasn't sure if he was making fun of her or not, and she was bracing herself for a cut-down. "My mama heard about the classes and she told me that if anyone in our family stood a chance of making a real living, then I needed to go there. So she saved her money for months and I took a second shift at the Burger Shack to make ends meet."

"Burger Shack? People really eat at a place with "shack" in the name?"

"Hush, you're distractin' me from my story. So, Mama saved her money, and I saved my money, and I went to the school on the nights I wasn't working. And once I graduated, Mama gave me a nest egg she'd been saving and told me that if I was going to make something of myself, I needed to go to the big city. Not just any big city, but the big city. My success would help my sisters, she told me. So up I came to New York." She looked up at him, her big eyes wary. "It probably sounds silly to you."

"Not at all," he told her honestly. "You're making sacrifices for your family. It's very noble. And your mother's right. I doubt there's much of a career in a burger shack." He couldn't even imagine.




 

 

"Our town is very small," she said. "And you can't get far on burn talking. So Mama thought I should get a fresh start. You know, let hard work speak for itself. I guess she was right, because without her, I'd have never worked for Mr. Hunter in his fancy office, or come to this pretty place." She gestured at the narrow streets of Bellissime.

He tried to see what she was seeing, but all he saw was a city that looked more like a Swiss tourist trap than its own country. He saw buildings that were crowded close together and outdated for all their quaintness. He saw cobblestone streets that made a godawful racket when one was in the car. He saw a place that felt stifling and choking when he was here.

Griffin glanced down at Maylee, who saw none of these things, and was regarding their surroundings with a satisfied look.

He liked her purity of spirit. He liked that she was pleased with the smallest gestures and didn't seem to care about the bigger ones. She had a good heart, he decided.

"So how did you get to New York, Mr. Griffin?" she asked, daintily sidestepping a puddle as they walked. "You obviously grew up here."

"I did. When I was eighteen, I decided I wanted to go to college in the States. Dartmouth. I wanted to major in art history and archaeology, but my brother was the duke and my family was in rather dire financial straits at the time, so George said the only reason he'd let me go to the States was if I majored in finance. So I did."