Griffin frowned at his reflection, touching the tie as if he didn’t quite believe she’d fixed it so quickly—or so effortlessly. “I can manage a schedule well,” he said.
“You too? Then why do you need me?”
“I was correcting your English. The proper phrase is ‘I can manage a schedule well. Not ‘I’m real good with a schedule.’”
“But I am,” she told him, and then ran a hand down the front of his jacket. He’d buttoned it wrong, too. She quickly undid his button and then redid it. Did the man not know how to dress himself? Lordy. He needed her more than he realized. “I’m real good with schedules. And men’s clothes.”
And when she looked up from fixing his jacket, she winked at him.
She could have sworn he blushed just a little.
This was a predicament. Griffin touched his tie again as he waited at the front of the plane for the stair car to arrive. Behind him, the flight attendant chatted with Maylee, and both women were laughing and talking as if they were the best of friends.
Maylee was totally wrong for this job. She was a train wreck. She wore polyester. She drawled like a hillbilly.
She’d cuddled against him last night in his lap.
She tied a mean tie.
And she was already here.
He wasn’t sure what to do. The smart thing would be to immediately send her back to the States. But then what? Admit to his mother that his one assistant had fallen sick and now he had to rely on her tender mercies? Hear the same talk he’d heard a dozen times before about hiring more staff and acquiring a massive residence to live in the style that was expected of a viscount of Bellissime? When all he wanted to do was work on his research and sponsor his pet projects?
It was one reason why he had more money than anyone else in the family. Griffin was the wealthiest national of Bellissime. While all of the royal family was wealthy to an extent, they also had extravagant households, multitudes of country homes that featured twenty rooms or more, and dozens of staff to take care of their needs. Griffin used his money for other things—like investments and joint projects with his friends in their small secret society—and he’d made his money double year after year.
So . . . he didn’t want to hear disparaging remarks about his lifestyle.
He looked back at Maylee. She was grinning at the flight attendant, pinching her dress to her side as the other woman safety-pinned it back. She was friendly, that was obvious. And surely she couldn’t be that incompetent or Hunter would not have kept her on as an employee.
And she could tie a crisp tie.
Griffin sighed. He supposed he could give it another day or two. It couldn’t possibly hurt things, could it?
Adjusting his cufflinks (another blasted item that was difficult to put on without Kip), Griffin prepared himself to emerge as the stair car arrived. Below, there was already a crowd of paparazzi waiting, along with several people from the local newspapers. Here in Bellissime, he was an important person.
How he hated that.
As the stair car came to the door, the attendant hurried forward and a moment later, the door opened. She gave him a warm smile. “Welcome to Bellissime, Mr. Verdi.”
He nodded at her and stepped into the sunlight.
A roar of voices went up.
“Lord Montagne Verdi! Lord! Look over here!”
“Viscount!”
“My lord! Is it true you’ll be looking for an eligible bride while attending the royal wedding?”
“My lord! Over here!”
On and on, the cacophony of voices shouted. Griffin ignored all of them, raised his hand, and gave a polite wave. He put on a fake smile for the cameras, thinking that he loathed this part of his life more than anything else.
“Lordamercy!” he heard a voice exclaim behind him. “Look at all these people! You some kind of celebrity here, Mr. Griffin?”
“Mr. Verdi,” he said, pausing at the top of the stairs. “And only here, I’m afraid.”
Which was why he never came home if he could help it.
Chapter Four
These people were plumb crazy over the man. They must not know him real well, Maylee thought to herself. Sure, Griffin Verdi looked suave and elegant, but he was not a nice man. He’d done nothing but snarl at her since she’d woken up, mocked her clothes, said she wasn’t a good employee, and then tried to ignore her. She could see why his last assistant hadn’t wanted to come with him.
She’d been nice and fixed his clothes, and had he even said so much as a thank you?
Not a peep.
Still, he’d stopped talking about sending her back, which was a small win. It’d be a long trip, but she’d smile and take the double time and enjoy her first trip to a foreign country. She’d dealt with cranky men before—her Pepaw wasn’t exactly a gem—and she knew how to handle men like him. You simply ignored their pissy moods, remained pleasant, and they’d eventually come around.
Maylee followed Griffin as he walked down the red-carpeted tarmac and followed him to the limo waiting for him. It was ridiculously shiny, the windows heavily tinted, and on the door was another one of those family crests like the one that had been on the wall of the plane.
Not exactly inconspicuous.
Maylee shouldered her bags as assistants loaded Griffin’s luggage into the car. No one touched her bright plaid suitcase. She guessed the help’s luggage didn’t get to mix with the viscount’s.
“Shall I take that for you?”
Maylee turned around and saw a man in a suit and a dark hat. The chauffeur. He was young and handsome and had the same accent that Griffin did. He was also smiling at her with appreciation, his hand extended to take her things. She beamed a smile at him. “I’m not sure where my stuff is supposed to go.”
“It can go up front with me. Just like you.” He winked at her. “So I can listen to that lovely accent of yours.”
She grinned at him. “Well, thank you kindly, sir.”
“Mr. Sturgess,” he said, taking her bag and giving her another flirty smile.
“Mr. Sturgess,” she repeated, smiling and extending her hand. “I’m—”
“—my assistant,” Griffin cut in, clearly displeased. “And she will have to ride in the back with me to go over my schedule.”
Mr. Sturgess’s face lost its friendly smile, and he gave Griffin a crisp nod. “Of course, my lord.”
Maylee gave the driver an apologetic look as he opened the door to the back seat and Griffin slid inside. Maylee was surprised by that, as it was common for women to get into the car first, but Griffin was a lord something or other, so she guessed she fell below him on the totem pole. Keeping a bright smile on her face, Maylee entered the car after her new boss.
Griffin didn’t speak to her for at least a half hour. They drove on, and Maylee was distinctly uncomfortable as they headed through the city. After a while, though, she stopped caring what he thought and just enjoyed the sights. Bellissime was gorgeous. The streets were narrow and paved with cobblestones, and the buildings that lofted above them seemed old and full of personality. In the distance, mountains soared above the rooftops, and everywhere, people walked the streets. It was so charming and quaint, like all the stories she’d heard of Swiss villages. No one ever talked about Bellissime when they mentioned tourism, and she didn’t understand why. The little city was so very pretty.
They turned down the main thoroughfare and Griffin looked behind them. He groaned.
“What is it?” Maylee turned to look, but all she saw were more cars.
“The paparazzi are still following us.”
She gave him a surprised look. “Why wouldn’t they be?”