Once Upon a Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  He gazed at her for a long moment, and she felt her breath catch all over again with the intensity of his stare, even through the square frames of his glasses that normally hid his expressions. His eyes flicked from her face, then down to the necklace at her throat. “I see you haven’t lost them.”

  His words confused her. Was that meant playfully? Or did he truly think she’d do her best to lose his jewels? “No. I’ve been very careful.”

  “Of course.”

  They danced, more of a swaying than any sort of waltzing, which was what she’d imagined. It actually reminded her a bit of a high school prom, and a giggle escaped her throat.

  “What is it?”

  “Just thinking this reminds me of a school dance.”

  A hint of a smile curved his austere mouth. “Oh? In what way?”

  She nodded at a couple that moved nearby. “The dresses. The awkwardness. The cool kids and the wannabes.”

  “Cool kids and wannabes?” His eyebrow rose. “Which one are you?”

  “Oh, definitely a wannabe.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  She swallowed hard, averting her gaze from him. It was easy to do; she just pretended to watch everyone dancing nearby. “I just worry that I’m going to say or do something wrong and mess everything up. So I try not to speak.”

  He shook his head and his hands clasped her waist a little tighter. “No one could be embarrassed by you tonight, Maylee.”

  For some reason, that didn’t make her feel better. “Because I don’t look like myself, right?”

  “Why would you think that?” He stared, his feet barely shuffling as they danced, and he was right; he wasn’t a good dancer. He’d stepped on her skirt twice and her foot once, but it somehow didn’t matter.

  “You said so yourself.”

  Griffin sighed.

  “Well, you did,” she said defensively. “And then you drove me to the salon so they could make me look “presentable.” Your words.”

  “You misinterpret them.”

  “I’m really not sure how it’s possible to misinterpret them, Mr. Griffin. You just said that no one could be embarrassed by me tonight. Seeing as how I normally don’t look like this, I have to think I’m embarrassing on a day-to-day basis. And you made that pretty clear by buying me clothes.” Oh, now she was spewing all kinds of hurt at him. She needed to stop, but she couldn’t help herself. “So please tell me how I am misinterpreting that. I may be country, but I’m not stupid.”

  “I never said you were stupid.”

  “Let’s just forget I said anything, all right?” She was ruining this lovely evening. She then turned to look at all the incredible dresses whirling past. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sure it’s not my place.”

  “Miss Meriweather,” he began. Then said, “Maylee.” Then stopped again. And sighed.

  And now she felt bad. He’d spent a lot of money to get her all gussied up tonight and this place truly was something she’d never forget.

  “I . . . I am not good with people,” he admitted.

  “Now that’s a lie,” she told him. “You’ve been swanning around with the rest of these nobles all night.”

  “I’m good at mingling,” Griffin told her. “I’m not good with . . . people. One on one.” His hands moved at her waist, and he shifted, tilting his neck from side to side as if wanting to tug at his collar. “I know a lot of people, but I don’t have many friends, Maylee. And I never say the right thing.”

  “You sure do say a lot for someone who doesn’t say the right thing,” she muttered.

  His hands shifted on her waist and, to her surprise, he moved one of her hands from his neck and clasped it in his own. It was almost like a waltz, except she doubted either of them knew how to dance a waltz. “Just because I talk doesn’t mean that I don’t keep fucking things up.”

  She squeezed his hand with hers, feeling oddly connected to him at the moment. Maybe it was the intense look of concentration on his face, or the words that echoed her own misery at being out of place. He was at home with high society and didn’t know what to say one on one. She was the opposite—she loved chatting with everyone, but amongst this glittering crowd, she felt like an alley cat that had somehow snuck through the back door. “So if you keep messing things up, what do you think you should be saying?”

  Griffin swallowed and for a moment looked so uncomfortable she wanted to laugh. Then he spoke, and the laugh died in her throat.

  “I should be telling you that I think you are . . . impressive,” Griffin said in a low voice. “I should tell you that your smile makes the room warmer. That the room seems a little darker when you leave.”

  Her eyes widened. All of a sudden, his hand in hers felt incredibly intimate . . . incredibly sexual. It was almost as if he had it on her breast instead of against her own hand.

  And for a wild, brief moment, she wondered what Griffin would be like in bed. Would he be that incredibly polished, arrogant—almost bored—nobleman he normally was? Or would she get a glimpse of someone else underneath?

  “Say something.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she murmured. She was so astonished that she was at a loss.

  “You’re blushing,” he declared, and that soft tone of his voice had changed a little, becoming a shade of its normal arrogant self. “That blush does ridiculous things to me, I’ll have you know.”

  “You don’t have to sound so disgusted about it,” she said defensively. Was that supposed to be a compliment? Was she supposed to be flattered that he sounded revolted at the thought of being attracted to her?

  “I’m disgusted because you’re my employee,” Griffin said. “You are off limits because of that. I am not a predator to attack you simply because I hold a bit of power over you.” He looked angry at the thought. “That is not a situation I should ever put you in. I shouldn’t have said a thing tonight, and yet here I am, spouting off like a teapot.”

  For some reason, the thought of stuffy, staid Griffin as a teapot made her giggle hysterically.

  The music slowed and the song ended. “And I’ve already said too much,” Griffin told her, and his hands left hers. People stopped dancing and turned to clap, and she and Griffin parted, leaving Maylee with a wealth of confused feelings.

  ***

  They left the party about a half hour later, and Maylee was relieved to escape, despite the awkward car ride back to the hotel. Griffin was silent, occasionally fidgeting with his cufflinks.

  She wished he would talk, but he seemed to already think he’d said too much. So she stared out the window and watched the night streets of Bellissime roll past. Her own thoughts were a mess, but she couldn’t straighten them out, not with him sitting a few feet from her in silence. So she touched the jewels to make sure they were still on, stared out the window, and tried not to think about how quiet he was.

  They didn’t speak as they took the elevator up to Griffin’s room. The security guard posted at the end of the floor nodded at both of them. Outside of her own door, Maylee paused. Her hand touched the ridiculously expensive jewelry again. “I should give this back to you.”

  Griffin took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, not glancing at her. “It’s been a long night, Maylee. I’ll collect them in the morning.”

  “All right,” she said softly, and opened her door and went inside. Once it was shut, she quickly checked the room for intruders. She could have asked him, but her mind was still all goofed up when it came to Griffin, and for some reason, she didn’t want him in her room if he didn’t want her.

  At least, not the real her.

  Maylee looked in the mirror at her reflection. The woman who stared back at her had long, dark eyelashes and perfect, smooth blonde hair. She glittered in jewelry and wore an expensive gown that made her look like an elegant lady. It only made Maylee more confused.

  Griffin had told her that he liked her tonight, even as he constantly insisted she change what she look like.
How was she supposed to take him seriously even as he tried to fix her?

  She carefully removed the heavy necklace and set it down on the dresser. Next, the earrings. Then, she removed the pins from her hair and shook it out. It was still too smooth and strange to be her own. So was the perfect face that stared back at her. She needed a shower.

  Maylee shimmied out of the dress—no easy feat considering she didn’t have any help with the zipper. She grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom and washed her hair.

  When she emerged, her face was squeaky clean, her hair was back to wet, roping curls, and she felt more like herself. She dressed in her camo pajamas and picked up her knitting and climbed into bed. She couldn’t concentrate, though. Her gaze kept straying over to the jewelry on the dresser, and her thoughts kept playing over the night.

  Griffin said he liked her. He liked her smile. He liked her touch.

  But did he really like her? Did he want the real Maylee? The country girl who wore camo pajamas and knitted and tried to drink out of finger bowls at fancy parties? Or did he want the smooth, elegant blonde he’d tried to make her into?

  She put aside her knitting and turned off the light. Even then she couldn’t sleep. What did he want from her?

  I’m not good with people.

  Maylee thought it wasn’t that he was bad with people; it was that he didn’t know how to ask for things after a lifetime of having them handed to him.

  And that thought made her sit upright in the bed.

  He didn’t know how to ask for things. Griffin just assumed that they would naturally become his. All the nobility thought like that. He didn’t know how to ask her if she was interested in him. He’d hemmed and hawed around things tonight and eventually told her he liked her.

  And that was it. He hadn’t said more. Maybe he hadn’t realized she needed to hear more?

  Was that Griffin’s weird way of asking her if she liked him? If she wanted to kiss him? Simply telling her he was bad with people and leaving it out there for her to interpret?

  Suddenly, she needed to know the answer to that.

  She flicked on the light and jumped out of her bed, crossing the room to the adjoining door. Without stopping to think about the hour or if it was polite to do so, she knocked quickly.

  There was a loud rustling on the other side of the door, and a moment later, Griffin flung it open, his eyes slightly wild, hair mussed. “Maylee! Is—is everything all right?” He pushed into her room, and she noticed he had the bedside lamp in hand, brandishing it like a weapon once more.

  Oh, dear. She’d scared him. “It’s all right,” she told him. “There’s no one in my room but you.”

  He exhaled slowly and then looked over at her. With a low breath, he nodded and relaxed. “You startled me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, tucking her hands in and feeling a little stupid. “I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He rubbed his face and returned back to his room to put the lamp down. “What do you need?”

  I need you to like me for me, she thought, and was surprised at her own thoughts. “I was just, um, curious what you meant earlier.”

  “What I meant earlier?”

  “When you said I was impressive.”

  His face flushed. That, combined with his messy hair, made him look adorably boyish despite the long, lean chest that was currently exposed to her view. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

  “Oh.” She rocked on her feet, hating that he was dismissing her already. She felt like they were so close to some sort of breakthrough that if she didn’t say something now, the moment would be gone forever. But was she stupid to say it? Even as she stood before him looking like her normal self instead of the elegant woman she was earlier?

  “Get some sleep,” he said in a gentle voice. “I’ll check your room for you if you like.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she told him. “I just would like to talk right now.”

  “About?”

  She ignored that sharp, clipped word. “You and me.”

  “What about us?”

  Maylee gave him a straightforward look. “I want to know why you’re constantly trying to change me if you like me.”

  He looked incredibly uncomfortable at that. “I’m not trying to change you.”

  “You are.”

  Griffin rubbed his face again. “It’s not that simple. These people live and breathe protocol. I just don’t want . . . I don’t want anyone to hurt your feelings by making you feel inadequate.”

  “The only person who’s done that to me is you.”

  He flinched and looked away.

  “It’s true. Every time I let my guard down, you hurt me. And I . . . I like you. But I don’t know if I should.”

  “I’m an idiot,” he declared harshly. “It was never my intention to hurt your feelings. Anything but that.”

  “And do you like me?” It felt weird to throw it out there so boldly, but she did wonder if he didn’t know how to ask. She would simply have to do the asking. “For me?”

  He was silent for so long that she thought she’d made a mistake in being so blunt. Her stomach churned nervously.

  Then, he looked slowly up at her and reached out to finger a lock of her hair. It was damp, the corkscrew curl loose. As she watched, he wrapped it around his finger. “I missed seeing these tonight.”

  “You did?” Her breath caught in her throat.

  He nodded, seemingly fascinated by that curl between his fingers. “I kept thinking your hair looked messy and unkempt and wild, but I didn’t realize how much I liked that look on you until it was all smoothed out. You were beautiful but you weren’t . . . you.”

  And that was what she wanted—no, needed—to hear.

  Maylee stepped forward, moving toward him. She put a hand on the center of his chest, over his heart. He was incredibly warm. He didn’t move, but she felt him tense against her. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?” she whispered.

  His gaze met hers, and she saw hope and passion there. His fingers lifted, traced the lines of her cheek. “Are you scared to sleep alone?”

  “No. Can I sleep with you anyhow?”

  He groaned and dragged her into his room.

  Chapter Ten

  Griffin’s warm hands took hers and he pulled her into his room. The lights were off, but from the light streaming in from her connected room, she could see a heavily rumpled bed. It was obvious that he wasn’t exactly sleeping soundly, either. Was he thinking about her, too? Unable to sleep because he had her on his mind? Or was that wishful thinking?

  He released her hand and shut the door to her adjoining room.

  It was pitch-dark.

  “Should we get the emeralds?” she asked. “I feel strange leaving them in the other room without being nearby.”

  “Fuck the emeralds.” His hands moved to her shoulders, and he gently steered her further into the room. “Come to bed.”

  She giggled nervously. “You didn’t need much convincing, Mr. Griffin.”

  “Please drop the ‘mister’, Maylee. And actually, you can just call me Griff, if you like. All of my intimates do.”

  He was implying she was one of his intimates? A warm flush ran through her body at the thought, and her hands moved to cover his where they rested on her shoulders. “Griff, then.”

  “That’s better,” he murmured.

  “I didn’t bring pillows,” she said in a soft voice. “To put in between us.”

  “I’d rather hoped we didn’t need them.”

  “Me too, but I didn’t want to presume.”

  His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he turned her around. In the dark, she could barely make out the line of his jaw, the gleam of his eyes, and that rumpled hair that rose so adorably from his head. “Maylee . . . before we get into bed, I just want you to know that I have no expectations of tonight. Whatever you want is fine with me. If all you want is some company, I’m f
ine with that, too. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. Understand?”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she told him, “but I’m a little confused as to why you feel it’s necessary to throw that out there.”

  “Because, like it or not, I’m your employer, and I don’t want to use my position to hold power over you. That would be unfair to you. Outside of this room, I’m in charge. In here, what you say goes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” His fingers brushed her neck again in a soft touch that made her skin shiver with want.

  “Anything I say goes?”

  “Anything.”

  “What if I told you to bark like a dog?”

  He stilled. “Almost anything.”

  She laughed again, mostly because he sounded so very disgruntled. Her hands moved to his chest and slid down the warm skin. “What if I asked you to take off your pants for me, instead?”

  “Will you take off yours?”

  “No, because I’m the one in charge.”

  He grunted at that. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “I’m just flexing my muscle,” she teased. “But if you don’t want to, I understand.”

  “So now you’re backing down?” There was a sly note in his voice that surprised her to hear.

  “Well, since you put it that way. . . no.” Where was all this playfulness coming from? She didn’t know, but she liked it. “Off with your pants.”

  “Done,” he murmured, and he pulled away from her. She heard the rustle of fabric and a soft thump as his sleep pants dropped to the ground. “I’m all yours.”

  A sudden wave of shyness took over her, and Maylee giggled again.

  “You know, Maylee,” he said, his voice taking on a clipped tone, “most men don’t appreciate a woman laughing when they drop their pants.”

  “It’s not at you,” she assured him. “I’m just a little nervous.”

  She heard him suck in a breath. “You’re a virgin?”

  “Nope,” she said softly. “You make me nervous.”

  “Until I take my pants off, upon which you burst into laughter.”

  “I can’t see a darn thing,” she admitted. “So it’s not you, Griff.” His nickname felt odd, but pleasant, on her lips.