Griffin glared at his brother, who had a penchant for chasing the skirts of any female servant in his household. “She’s my assistant.”
“She looks like a poodle with all that hair. It’s quite fascinating.”
“Don’t even think about it, George.”
George raised an eyebrow at Griffin. “Ah. Is that why she’s your assistant?”
He knew what George was implying and he wanted to punch his brother in the mouth. “No, she’s my assistant because . . .” Because what? She was great at her job? That wasn’t true. She was decent, and her friendliness smoothed over a lot of problems, but she’d never be an excellent assistant. “I’m borrowing her from a friend.”
“Ah, a swap.”
How did his elegant, arrogant brother manage to make everything sound so filthy? Griffin ignored him.
George chuckled and moved forward to his seat. “Let me know if you’re interested in a swap yourself, little brother.”
Griffin glared at his brother, stepping forward and leaning in to whisper to George despite the photographer’s protests. “You cannot be attracted to her,” he told his brother. “You just compared her to a canine.”
But George simply grinned. “I like poodles. They’re exceedingly . . . energetic.”
“Viscount Montagne Verdi, please straighten,” the photographer was saying over and over again, waving his hand to try and force Griffin back into line. Everyone was staring at him, impatience stamped into every royal face.
Griffin straightened, masking his emotions. “Apologies.”
“Hang on just a sec,” Maylee said, and stepped forward. She rushed to Griffin’s side and squeezed in next to him. Likely she hadn’t seen his mother’s horrified gaze or she’d have flinched away. As it was, she trotted up to him, flipped one of his medals over, and smoothed the braid on his shoulder. Then, she beamed up at Griffin. “There you go, Mr. Griffin. Right as rain. Can’t have you looking all raggedy in the family portrait, can we?”
And she bounded away again.
“We can’t have that,” George murmured, clearly fascinated.
Griffin was scowling when they took the photographs.
As soon as the portraits were finished, Griffin pushed away from the others and made a beeline for Maylee. She turned to look at him, a bright smile on her face. “You looked very elegant, Mr. Griffin—”
He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her away from the others. “Please come with me, Miss Meriweather.”
She did, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she trotted to keep up with his angry strides.
Griffin dragged her down to the end of a nearby hall, away from listening ears, though he was sure quite a few people stared at them when they left. He didn’t care. Some would think he was disciplining an out-of-line employee. George would think he was chastising a lover.
For a moment, Griffin felt so completely smothered by the entire situation he wanted to turn around, exit the building, and head straight onto the next flight back to the States.
When he finally stopped and turned around, her wide-eyed surprise irritated him. “Clearly, Miss Meriweather, I need to go over things with you again.” He raised a finger. “First, it is Lord Montagne Verdi, or my lord or Viscount Montagne Verdi. You can also use Mr. Verdi, since you are American. It is not, and has never been Mr. Griffin. I am not sure how many times we have to go over it, but we will go over it once more.”
She flinched.
He ignored it and ticked up another finger. “Second of all, do not, I repeat, do not interrupt me in front of the queen, the crown princess, and any other royal personages so you can straighten my clothing. It implies a familiarity that we do not have.”
She gave a jerky nod and said nothing, her eyes huge in her pale face.
“Next, you are here to do a job. So is the photographer. So is the chauffeur. I am not paying you to stand around and talk to them.”
She said nothing.
“And finally . . .” he trailed off and tried to think of something to criticize. He’d pretty much gotten everything out of his system at this point, but he still wanted to end on something. So he focused on her hair because of George’s lewd commentary. “Do something with that, please. A tousled look is not appropriate for palace visits.”
Her hand touched the curls springing out of her scarf. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Yes. Well.” He straightened and tugged at the tight collar of his uniform. “See that you keep those things in mind, please.”
“Yes, Lord Montagne Verdi.” Her voice was so quiet and stiff that it didn’t even sound like her. Her gaze was averted, and he knew that if he made eye contact with her, she’d probably be teary-eyed.
And that made him feel . . . shitty.
He stalked away, furious with her . . . and himself.
Damn it, what was he supposed to do? Just ignore his employee stomping all over decorum simply because she was American? He didn’t see Luke Houston going around and adjusting people’s ties or calling people by the wrong title.
Then again . . . Alexandra had probably coached Luke for hours on how to act in front of her family. And Luke was an actor, so he was used to handling situations with other famous people.
Maylee was simply out of her league.
Which made him feel guilty again. He stopped just as he re-entered the portrait gallery. He should go apologize to her and explain that how they acted in private wasn’t the same as how she should act in public or in front of the queen.
“Darling, is everything all right?”
His mother. Griffin turned to the Princess Sybilla-Louise. “It’s fine, Mother. I was just educating my assistant on proper manners. The scene we had with the portrait won’t happen again.”
She looked down her long nose at him. “Does she truly call you Mr. Griffin? That’s so improper.”
“I am told it’s a form of respect in Southern states, but yes, it’s a bad habit of hers. One I intend she correct.” He offered his mother his arm and led her back toward the others. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You know, darling, you’ve let your staff become far too familiar.”
“It’s fine, Mother.”
“I have my equerry spend a few days with all of my new staff so he can educate them. It’s clear that you need to do so with yours. It might do her good. Oh, but then you only keep the bare bones of staff, correct?” She sniffed. “That must explain that poor girl’s manners. No one to show her how to be a proper servant. You should really hire someone to take her in hand.”
“It’s handled, Mother.” He was barely paying attention. He kept thinking of Maylee’s flinch as he’d laid into her. He hadn’t been wrong . . . exactly. But he could have gone about it in a much kinder fashion.
She’d been so excited to be at the palace, and here he’d yelled at her more or less in front of everyone. She had to be humiliated.
Griffin decided he would apologize later. In private.
***
When he finally emerged from the portrait session, Maylee was nowhere to be found. The photographer hadn’t seen her since Griffin had forcefully corrected her, and no one in his family would remember her, since employees—even bad ones—tended to blend into the wallpaper as far as they were concerned.
Except, perhaps, when it came to George, the womanizer. And he didn’t want George to remember her.
Just when he was ready to give up on finding his assistant, he spotted a familiar blonde wealth of curls out by the sedan. Maylee’s back was to him, and the chauffeur, whose name he didn’t remember, was patting her on the back, comforting her.
Griffin stalked toward them, just in time to hear a bit of their conversation.
“—They’re not like regular people, much as we like to think so. It’s just something we have to remind ourselves of. If we don’t, they slap us back down.” The man ran a hand over Maylee’s shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you too much, love.”
Love? A furious retort lodged in Griffin’s throat, then died as the two of them turned around and faced him. Maylee’s eyes were red, and she’d clearly been weeping. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her scarf tying it into a semblance of neatness.
But she gave him a game, polite smile, clearly pretending all was well. “Ready to leave, Lord Montagne Verdi?”
He nodded, noting the flat delivery of his formal title. The chauffeur leapt into action and opened the back door of the sedan. Griffin gestured that Maylee should get in.
She shook her head. “I’ll ride up front with Robbie. It’s only proper.”
And when she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he didn’t argue the point.
When they got back to the hotel, he offered to check her room for her.
She declined.
Nor did she come knock on his door later. He even left the adjoining door unlocked, just in case she got scared and needed to come sleep next to him.
To come cuddle, you mean, he told himself.
He felt like a prat. He was no better than his brother, was he? Lusting after his staff and then slapping them down when they got too familiar.
***
The next morning, Maylee was all business. Her crazy hair was smoothed back into a bun that looked as if it was ready to fly apart at any moment. Her suit was sedate, and she didn’t speak unless he spoke to her.
In short, it was like an entirely different person had showed up to be his assistant that morning.
And Griffin wasn’t sure he liked it.
He tried to make conversation. “Maylee? Which tie do you think I should wear this morning?”
She’d picked one out without saying a word.
At breakfast, she’d ordered toast and coffee, and when she ate, she only nibbled at bites and looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but beside him. She kept her gaze downcast and worked on his laptop while he tried to read his book.
He tried, but failed.
Maylee’s silence was driving him insane. After a few more minutes of quiet, he closed his book and looked over at her.
She gave him a cool look. “What can I help you with, Lord Montagne Verdi?”
“You can start by letting me know if you plan on sulking all day?”
A bit of her old spark flared, then died again. Her mouth flattened. “I’m not sulking.”
“Aren’t you? You’ve not spoken two words since we sat down.”
“Forgive me,” she said in that icy voice. “I thought that was what you wanted in an assistant.”
He got irritated at that. “You know, if you’re going to be like this, I can just send you home.”
She gave him a blank look. “I don’t think you can, Mr. Gr—, er, Lord Montagne Verdi.”
“You don’t think I can?”
“No, sir.” She gave him a challenging look.
“And why do you think that you are so very crucial?” God, she was infuriating.
“Because you have a full schedule today, Lord Montagne Verdi,” she said. “Kip double-booked two of your appointments again so I have to see which one I can move to ensure that everyone is happy.” She closed the laptop and gave him a tight smile. “But I suppose since you’re so in control, you already know that, correct?”
He said nothing.
“Mr. Verdi, if I may be so blunt,” she said, and that soft drawl was nearly gone from her voice. “You say that you wish to be independent and don’t want hovering, but I find that you are not very independent at all.”
Griffin tugged off his glasses so he could give her an appropriately scathing stare. “I beg your pardon?”
“You should,” she said mildly. “But in the meantime, I’d like for you to quit threatening my job, because I don’t think it’s in danger.”