That sympathetic little hand squeezed his arm again. "So we both sacrificed for our family."
He wasn't sure that his was much of a sacrifice. An Ivy League college versus a school where they taught you how to work a filing cabinet? There was no comparison. "After I graduated, I was doing well fiscally with some small investments, so I decided to stay in the States. I chose New York City because it seemed like a central place." That, and his friends in their secret society were all located in or around the city itself. "I've been there ever since."
"You must love it."
He actually hadn't given much thought to it. He still lived in the same book-scattered townhouse that he'd purchased when he'd first moved to New York. The others had acquired penthouses or entire buildings. That didn't interest Griffin. It was simply a place to sleep in between trips around the world, usually with Jonathan on another one of his expeditions.
He sighed. And Jonathan was currently in Spain, digging up the site of what could possibly be the ruins of Atlantis.
"Oh, no," Maylee said. "Don't sigh, Mr. Griffin. I thought we were distracting you from whatever made you so sad. I can tell you more about my move to New York City, if you like. Did you know I cried the first time I rode the subway? I was so scared I thought I'd be mugged every time I turned around. People always tell such stories about the subway, but it's really just like a big ol' bus."
Griffin gazed down at her as she chattered. Her springy hair was escaping the knot at the base of her neck, and white-blonde tendrils were blowing in the breeze around her face. Her feet picked their way along the sidewalk, and her hand remained in the crook of his arm.
She was his employee, and yet she was trying to cheer him up because he seemed melancholy. That was . . . thoughtful.
For a brief, crazy moment, he wanted to stop her in her happy chatter and put his hand under her chin. He wanted to cover her mouth-that soft mouth with the full lower lip-with his, and see how she'd react. Would she blush and spout some countryish saying? Or would she fling her arms around him and give into the kiss with enthusiasm, as he suspected she would?
Or . . . would she slap his face because she was his employee and she was just being nice by talking to him?
Griffin patted her hand and continued walking, listening to her speak about her adventures in New York. It was clear after hearing a few more stories that Maylee was terrified of the city. He didn't blame her. For a girl raised in a small town in the South, he imagined it was a very different sort of place.
But she never gave up. She never turned around and went home. She soldiered on, because it meant that her family would have a better life and more money.
When Gretchen had saddled him with Hunter's laughable assistant, he'd been furious at her idea of a practical joke, in a time when appearances and scheduling was crucial. But the more he got to know Maylee, the more he wondered how someone so strong and determined had ended up being a mere assistant. She was smart and she was kind and she deserved a better lot in life.
Being Hunter's assistant was a step up from the Burger Shack, but answering a phone didn't seem like a dream career for a girl like her.
It was clear that someone like Maylee never backed down, though. And Griffin had to admit that he'd never imagined himself admiring someone like Maylee for her loyalty, stubbornness, and her resolve to do what her family needed no matter the personal cost to herself.
After all, he was a man who had spent the last ten years of his life avoiding his family as much as possible.
***
When they got back to the hotel, Maylee hesitated outside of her front door. "Can you . . ."
He nodded. "I'll check it out for you."
He did, and there was nothing in her room. She smiled her gratitude at him and closed the door behind her, and Griffin couldn't help but feel a vague sense of disappointment that she wasn't coming over for another night in his bed.
Twenty minutes later, a soft knock came at the adjoining door. Griffin's heart thudded and he jumped to his feet, going to the door and throwing it open.
Maylee stood on the other side, clutching a pillow, just like the night before. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and her fresh-scrubbed face gave him a sheepish smile. "Would it be weird if-"
"Not at all." He gestured to his bedroom. "Come on in."
"Thank you, Mr. Griffin," Maylee's voice was clearly relieved. "You're the best, you know that?"
He was either the best, or the most ruled by his dick. Of that, he couldn't decide. She bounced into his bed on the left side and tossed the pillow she'd brought into the middle of the bed. He turned to look at her and paused. "Are you wearing camo pajamas?"