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 br**sts 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?