Maylee crammed the other hors d'ouevre in her mouth and then reached for the finger bowl. She picked it up and lifted it to her lips.
Dear God.
Griffin leaned in, stopping her before she could make a fool of herself. "Maylee. You don't drink that."
"Oh." She looked at the little crystal bowl in her hand, then back at him. "It's not a cocktail?"
"It's for you to wash your hands." He gestured at the napkin, ignoring the shocked look of the waiter that held the empty tray.
"Oh," she repeated, and an embarrassed look crossed her face. She returned the bowl to the tray and gave Griffin an uncertain look. "That was stupid of me, wasn't it?" She blinked rapidly, as if she were fighting the urge to cry.
"Not at all," Griffin said, and dipped his fingers into the bowl to show her how it was done. Then, he wiped his fingers on the napkin and gave the waiter a challenging look, as if daring him to mock Maylee in front of his face.
The man nodded at Griffin, waited patiently until Maylee finished cleaning her fingers, and then moved on to the next guest.
As soon as he was gone, Maylee turned to Griffin and gave him a frantic look. "I don't think I can do this, Mr. Griffin."
"Nonsense," Griffin said. "You're doing fine."
"I'm not," her whisper rising to a hysterical note. "I'm going to embarrass both of us! I don't know what to do in parties like this. I-"
"Shhh," Griffin said, and reached out and caressed her cheek. "You're fine."
She looked startled at his touch. He didn't blame her; he was a little startled that he'd done it, himself. But it had felt right and natural to comfort her. She was his to protect, damn it.
"You're fine, and you're beautiful," Griffin reassured her in a low voice, and leaned in. "And I would bet my entire wallet that one of these Hollywood types does the same thing that you did."
She gave him another nervous giggle that nearly broke his heart. "Your wallet is always empty, Mr. Griffin. That's not much of a bet."
That little tease of hers made him feel better. "You've figured me out, have you?"
"Oh, I think I have you pegged."
God, was she flirting with him? He liked that. He liked that a lot. "I think you'd be wrong about a few things."
"Is that so? Try me."
I don't think you realize I want to kiss the hell out of that little smile of yours right now, he thought, but said nothing. He was just happy her nerves were fading. "I would love to, but alas, I see my mother's equerry." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Stay right here."
She pointed at her feet, indicating she'd stay put, and winked at him.
And he laughed.
Five minutes later, he had Maylee sent off with the equerry, who was all gentle smiles and encouragement to poor frightened Maylee. He made a mental note to give the man a raise, since Griffin was the one who paid for all of his mother's servants anyhow. When the two left, Griffin waded into the crowd, looking for family members. He could do his time, spend a while talking to George and his mother, greet Alex and Luke Houston and the queen, and hopefully do one dance or two and then escape.
An arm went around his shoulders. "There you are, little brother."
George. Well, one obstacle down. "Hello, Your Grace."
George laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "So formal. Mother must be getting to you."
"Not at all," Griffin said, allowing George to steer him to a group of his friends. They were all titled men, all about the same age, and all incredible ass**les. Griffin had hated them and their foxhunting, woman-chasing, champagne-swilling ways for as long as he could remember. They were definitely not his kind of friends to hang out with. He'd rather have Logan, Hunter, Jonathan, Cade, and Reese and all of their finance talk any day. He didn't need his brother's friends.
"So," George said, steering him right into the crowd of bored nobles. "Tell us about that fancy little piece you came in with."
"She's my assistant," Griffin said flatly, a surge of anger building. "Off limits."
"So you're sticking your prick into her?" another man said to him, a cheesy smirk on his long face. "Are her tits real? I heard all American girls have fake tits."
"I am not going to answer that."
"That means he doesn't know," George said with a laugh.
"It means I'm not going to answer it," Griffin repeated, his voice stiff with fury. God, he hated these spoiled bastards. They thought they were better than everyone, and thus treated the rest of the world like it was shit beneath their feet. "She is my employee."
"Yes, but George f**ks his little employees all the time."