"I'm not sure I belong," she hedged.
"Trust me, every fool in Bellissime is going to be at this thing tonight. You'll belong just fine."
She winced.
Oh, hell. That wasn't exactly what he'd meant. "Don't worry about it," he added brusquely. "You're there to work, regardless of who attends."
"Yes, sir."
"And you should be properly attired."
"Yes, sir."
Griffin sighed and glanced up at the driver. He wanted to knock on the glass partition that separated the front of the sedan from the back, but that would make him seem impatient. Still, they had to be arriving soon, didn't they? The concierge had assured him that the salon was no more than a few blocks away. He stared out at the streets, covered with Bellissime flags and banners, ready to celebrate the wedding of their royal princess. People walked the streets, taking pictures of the decorations, and it seemed like everyone in the world was in the city this morning.
They pulled up to a busy sidewalk and the driver parked the car, then exited to open the door. Maylee glanced up from her laptop, peered at the location, and frowned. "I think we're at the wrong place."
"We are not," Griffin assured her. "I asked to come here."
Her pale eyebrows rose. "Why?"
"It's a surprise for you." He kept the smug expression off his face. He wanted to see her reaction. See that sunny smile spread across her round face. "I'll arrange for Mr. Sturgess to pick you up in a few hours," he said as the driver came to her side of the car and not his.
"Pick me up?" She looked even more confused. "But . . . I don't understand. Why? What are we doing here?"
Griffin adjusted his cuffs, pleased with himself. "I've arranged to have a makeover for you. They'll do your hair and makeup for the ball tonight."
She flinched again. "Oh."
He pursed his lips. She didn't look very pleased. Perhaps she didn't understand. "It's so you can have an appropriate hairstyle for the ball and look like the other ladies."
"I understand," she said flatly.
Well, this wasn't going how he'd anticipated. "You're welcome," he snapped.
"Thank you," she said in just as nasty a voice. Then, she got out of the car and slammed the door, practically storming to the very expensive salon that he'd booked for her.
Scowling, Griffin stared after Maylee. He did not understand that woman at all. When the sedan pulled away from the curb again and began to drive toward the palace for the wedding rehearsal, Griffin checked his watch. It was early in Bellissime, but the day would be in the early dawn hours over back in New York City.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Hunter.
The phone rang six times on Hunter's office phone and went to voicemail. He hung up and dialed Hunter's personal line instead. Six times, voicemail. Damn it. Wake up, he texted to Hunter. I need advice. I made a hair appointment for Maylee. Why would this make her angry?
Ten minutes later, his phone rang, Hunter's name showing up on his screen. "So? Any ideas?"
"First of all, you're on speakerphone," Hunter said in a gravelly voice.
"Second of all, you're a f**king idiot," Gretchen yelled into the phone from the other side. "Why did you call at four f**king am?"
Griffin glared at nothing in particular as he held the phone away from his ear. "Is your girlfriend going to scream epithets at me the entire time? Because I can hang up."
"Hey, don't get pissy at me, buddy. You're the one who called at four f**king o'clock in the morning."
"That's because I wanted to talk to Hunter," he emphasized. "Not you."
"We're a package deal. Isn't that right, baby?" Her voice got sweet, and he heard Hunter barely stifle a groan in response.
"Please tell me you're not making out while I'm trying to have a conversation with you," Griffin said, revolted.
"Um . . . Hunter's occupied," Gretchen said, and she sounded a little silly and breathless. "I'll dispense advice. Look. Did she know you made her a hair appointment?"
"It was a surprise."
"And did you say it was a surprise because you wanted to treat her for working so hard?" Gretchen prompted.
Griffin went silent.
"Hello?" Gretchen called. Griffin could have sworn he heard another muffled groan coming from Hunter, and then a stifled giggle coming from Gretchen. This wasn't helping.
"I . . . ," Griffin began. "I told her that it was so she could be appropriately attired."
"Okay, so you implied she's gross-looking normally. Way to go, shit for brains."
"I did not."
"You basically told her that she looked like crap."