Once Upon a Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  “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 fucking idiot,” Gretchen yelled into the phone from the other side. “Why did you call at four fucking 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 fucking 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.”

  He frowned. “But she looks inappropriate most of the time. She knows this.”

  “Oh, boy. Let me guess. You’ve told her several times that she looks inappropriate?”

  “Of course. We had to buy her new clothes because her others were garish. She looked completely improper.”

  “Wow, Griff. A pike up your ass and a foot in your mouth. That’s quite a feat.”

  He groaned. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “What do you mean, why do I care?”

  “I mean, you’re a douchebag to me all the time and you never care about that. Why care about Maylee?”

  He frowned. “That is none of your business.”

  “Ooooh,” she said into the phone, and for a moment, he had the revolting thought that he’d just heard Hunter’s girlfriend orgasm into the phone. But in the next moment, she sang out, “Griffin and Maylee, sitting in a tree, F U C K I N G—”

  The phone clattered to the ground and Griffin held it away from his ear again. A moment later, there was a rustling on the other line, and he heard Hunter’s voice. “Hello?”

  In the background, Griffin could hear Gretchen’s laughter.

  “I’m still here,” Griffin snapped. “Can’t you control her?”

  “No,” Hunter said, and Griffin could have sworn he heard a smile in the man’s voice. “But man, you’ve got to be nice to Maylee. She’s a good girl.”

  “I know that,” Griffin retorted. God, why were his friends so incredibly infuriating? “I was trying to do something nice for her. I thought she would like it. What woman doesn’t want a makeover?”

  “A woman who was just told she was ugly,” Gretchen shouted on the other end of the phone.

  “Take me off speakerphone,” Griffin said. “Right now.”

  “Hunter has to go,” Gretchen called out, her voice tinny and loud over the speakerphone.

  “No,” Griffin said. “I still need—”

  “Nope, he’s got to go,” Gretchen yelled. “He has an enormous boner and I have to take care of it.”

  “God, Gretchen,” Hunter said, and it sounded like they were wrestling over the phone again.

  Ugh. Griffin hung up on them. Those two were like wild animals in heat. He drummed his fingers on his leg, thinking. Maybe there was something to what Gretchen had said, despite her crude mouth. Maybe he’d somehow offended Maylee after all.

  He’d just have to be that much more complimentary when she returned, to let her know how nice she looked.

  Then, maybe, she’d stop frowning long enough to let him kiss her again. He thought about her soft mouth and how enthusiastically she’d kissed him in return.

  He definitely had to shower her with compliments, he decided. He wanted to see her face blossom into that smile that made his heart pound. That smile let him know he’d done right . . . and that she was pleased.

  And he liked seeing her pleased.

  ***

  Griffin finished adjusting his antique familial cufflinks, then examined the way his tailcoat fell in the mirror. Perfect. If it was even slightly off, his mother would flip out, declare that Griffin had gotten shoddy with his appearance, and then he’d never hear the end of it. No one cared about appearances more than Princess Sybilla-Louise, not even the queen. He examined the tails on the tailcoat with a small turn. Ludicrous. He looked like a penguin. Why did men have to dress up in such ridiculous getups for a party? He slung his bow tie over his neck and went to the door adjoining their rooms. Robert had picked up Maylee this afternoon and she’d run errands while Griffin had met with the Bellissime Museum Society to discuss a donation to fund a new wing. He hadn’t seen her all day.

  And it was . . . strange.

  He rather missed her cheery competence and unbridled enthusiasm. Kip took everything in stride and was more of an assistant than a companion, but Maylee felt like the opposite. Now that Griffin was used to Maylee’s extreme reactions to seeing new things, he found he missed that. He considered things with her eyes in mind. Would Maylee smile when she saw that souvenir stand? Would she want to go for a walk tonight and visit the chocolate district? They’d passed it on the way back from his mother’s palace, and he’d stopped and purchased her a box of truffles, one of the few things that Bellissime was known for, and had them carefully packed so he could present them to her later. He wanted to see Maylee’s face when she saw the expensive treat.

  He wouldn’t mind feeding them to her, actually. Watching her exclaim in delight at the first taste, seeing her eyes open in sensual wonder as the flavors slid across her tongue. Watch her lick her lips with pleasure and turn to him for more. May
be she’d lick his fingers, too . . .

  Griffin’s pants felt uncomfortably tight. Adjusting himself with a quick movement, he counted backward from one hundred to get control over his body. When he was satisfied, he cleared his throat and moved to the door adjoining their rooms, strangely nervous. He had a small jewelry case in his hand—ancestral jewels that were attached to the Viscount Montagne Verdi title and had been since the nineteenth century. He wanted Maylee to wear them tonight, so anyone who saw her in them would know he was claiming her for his own.

  He wondered what his mother would think when she saw his American personal assistant wearing the Verdi emeralds.

  Then, he decided he didn’t give a shit.

  ***

  Maylee touched her hair, pleased with her appearance.

  She looked . . . pretty tonight. Very pretty, if she said so herself. The lady at the salon had babbled in constant French, but Maylee had caught enough to hear “blow-out” and “Lord Montagne Verdi” and “makeover.” So she’d sat quietly and let the woman do what she wanted to her hair. A few hours later, Maylee’s frizzy corkscrews were straightened into a smooth, shiny blonde mane. Her bone-straight hair was pulled into an elegant upsweep, a small flowered clip at the back of her head keeping everything in place. Thick makeup had been applied with an airbrush—an airbrush, of all things!—and Maylee’s skin was perfect, not a freckle or a rosy spot showing. Her eyes were smoky, fake eyelashes making her own baby-blonde lashes seem dark and full.

  She looked rather like a princess, Maylee thought. Griffin wouldn’t be able to find fault with her appearance today.

  She dressed in her princess gown, too. The dress had been included with the other clothes that Griffin had purchased for her, and when Maylee first saw it, she’d thought it was a mistake. But sure enough, she was supposed to wear this gorgeous, fancy gown out to this party. The lady at the boutique had told Maylee the name of the designer, but she’d forgotten. All she knew was that it was stunningly beautiful, and she got to wear it. She put on her strapless bra and then the sleeveless bodice. It was a deep, almost velvety rose, and the fabric was a delicious, rustling taffeta. The bodice itself was simple, straight across the bustline and sleeveless. The waist was nipped by a full beaded sash in a pale ivory, and from the sash, the full skirts rustled and pleated their way downward to the floor. She had matching ivory high heels, too. She didn’t have jewelry to go with it, so she left it alone. She didn’t want to be too ostentatious tonight.

  It took a little bit of hopping, but she was able to do up the zipper in the back of her dress—no way was she going to ask Mr. Griffin to do it for her. She still didn’t know what to make of him. The man kissed her and then insulted her. He gave her these intense, longing looks . . . and then drove her to a hair salon so she’d look “normal.” He flattered her ego one minute, and stomped it into dust in the next.

  Which was really rough, because she rather liked him. He was smart, and took his duties very seriously. He didn’t smile much, but when he did, it felt a bit like a present. He made her laugh with his dry wit, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, which was nice considering most people heard her accent and dismissed her as an idiot. And he kissed divinely, like he had all the time in the world to taste and savor her.

  Sometimes, she really, really liked him.

  And other times, she wanted him to take a long walk off a short pier.

  There was a knock on the adjoining door, and Maylee sucked in a breath, jerking up the last of her zipper. “Just a sec!” She dragged on the skirted crinoline that would make her dress have a little bit of flare and act as a slip, and shimmied it up her legs before sliding her feet into her shoes. “Be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

  She could have sworn she heard a snort on the other side of the door.

  When she was dressed, Maylee hurried to the door and pulled it open. “Yes, Mr. Griffin?”

  He lowered his hand, clearly ready to knock again, and stared.

  Maylee preened a little under that stare. He had to be impressed with her new look.

  “Maylee?”

  “Who else?” She smiled and touched her hair when his gaze went there. “Do you like it?”

  His brows drew together. “You look so . . . different.”

  Her happy bubble burst. Maylee’s shoulders slumped. “I thought we wanted different.” Hadn’t he deliberately driven her to the salon because he hated the way she looked and was tired of her disgracing him?

  “No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I was just surprised. You look like a different person.” He gave her a quick smile. “It’s good.”

  It didn’t feel good. Maylee swallowed her hurt and blinked back her tears, because she didn’t want to mess up those weird spidery eyelash extensions the nice French lady at the salon had given her. “Well,” she said in a fake cheery voice. “What can I do for you, Mr. Griffin? Do you need your tie fixed?”

  He held it out wordlessly.

  ***

  She looked like a stranger.

  Griffin couldn’t stop staring at Maylee. At the gorgeous blonde angel that stepped into his room, dressed in a sleek pink gown that made her breasts plump up from the banded neckline. Her hair was shiny and her eyes were dark and lush and she looked so polished that she could have held her own with anyone in the palace’s halls.

  And that threw him for a loop.

  He’d sent her there to get transformed, so why was he disappointed to see the perfect, elegant creature before him? Why was he sad to see those wild corkscrew curls had been tamed into a sleek upsweep? That her errant freckle or two on her nose was now totally covered by makeup?

  She was exactly what he’d wanted, right?

  Griffin rubbed his face, frustrated. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

  He knew he didn’t want that sad, unhappy look on her face that was there right now. She hadn’t missed his reaction. She knew he wasn’t thrilled, and the keen disappointment on her face was obvious, even though she was doing her best to hide it. “You look fine, Maylee. Really. I’ve just had a long day and I’m sorry if I’m not saying the right things.”

  “You don’t have to say the right things,” she said in a faux-cheerful voice. “I’m your assistant.” She took the tie from his hand and crooked her finger, gesturing that he should lean forward. He did, and a moment later, she had his tie fixed and smoothed his collar down over it. “There you go.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured, and glanced in the mirror to straighten his clothes. He wanted to say romantic things to her. That she looked like a vision, that she looked like a princess. But he couldn’t get past the fact that she didn’t look like Maylee. It was making him feel rather confused.

  “Since we’re doing makeovers today, can I make a small suggestion?”

  He looked over at her, surprised. “What did you have in mind?”

  Her mouth quirked on one side, and his heart flip-flopped. It was as if his Maylee was peeking out from underneath the glamorous exterior.

  Then he swore to himself. His Maylee? He was insane. She wasn’t his in any sense of the word.

  “I’d love to do something different with your hair,” she told him.

  He looked in the mirror again, surprised. “What’s wrong with my hair?” He’d smoothed it down and gelled it like he normally did. His part was perfectly straight, not a strand out of place.

  “It’s fine if you’re eighty,” she said, and that teasing little smile returned to her face, and all of a sudden he wanted to kiss her, to smear all that thick makeup off and see the bright, happy country girl underneath who he was obsessing over.

  He needed to get ahold of himself. “What did you have in mind?”

  She crooked her finger at him again, arching a now-perfect eyebrow. And he was lost to that enticing finger. He couldn’t resist that come-hither expression on her face. She could have told him she wanted to shave him bald, and he’d still have approached her, helpless
to pull away.

  “You should take off your jacket so we don’t mess it up,” she told him. “Shirt, too.”

  Interesting. He removed his jacket first, and then undid the tie she’d just fixed so beautifully, tossing it onto the bed. This felt a bit like a strip tease. He looked over at her to see if she was thinking the same thing, but he noticed that her gaze was averted, and she had so much makeup on her cheeks it was impossible to tell if she was blushing or not.

  He really needed to have a word with that hotel concierge. Even though she was just doing her job, he wanted someone to blame for his vague unhappiness with how Maylee looked. She was impossible to criticize; her gown, her makeup, and her hair were perfection.

  And it was bothering him. He didn’t like it, and he couldn’t exactly say why he didn’t like it, just that he didn’t. Disgruntled, he stripped off his shirt.

  When he was down to his undershirt, he looked over at Maylee. “All right. You have me half-naked. What do you want to do with me?”

  The words came out huskier than he’d expected.

  Her eyes widened, and her smile grew wider, then she bit her lip, as if she were trying to hide her expression. “Um. I’d like to borrow your bathrobe, actually, so I don’t get anything on myself.”

  “Take whatever you need,” he told her. Damn, that sounded incredibly erotic, too. What the hell was his problem?

  She went to his closet and pulled out the bathrobe, shrugging it on over her lovely pink gown. When she tied it at her waist, he felt another surge of possessive lust and had to count backward from one hundred again.

  “Now,” she told him, tightening the belt of his robe at her narrow waist. “I need you to bend over the sink.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Maylee was pleased with Griffin’s transformation. Gone was that old, glued-down, bone-straight hair that was always plastered to his skull. She’d washed his hair and then put a bit of styling wax on her fingers to tousle his hair, and with the help of a blow dryer, Griffin’s hair was now a light golden-brown crown that topped his head in stylish spikes. It was slightly tousled, but trendy, she decided. Way better than his old hairstyle. “There,” she announced. “You look ten years younger.”