Once Upon a Billionaire

Chapter Two

“Lordamercy,” Maylee breathed as the courtesy transport cart drove onto the tarmac toward the jet. She juggled her bags, clutching them in her lap.

“Almost there, Ms. Meriweather,” the driver told her.

“That’s rather a small plane, isn’t it?” It didn’t look very big. Or safe. She’d flown in an exceedingly large plane on the way to New York City, with three rows across and goodness knows how many up and down. This . . . was clearly not the same kind of plane.

“It’s a private jet, ma’am,” the driver said, an elderly man who seemed to be having a great time watching her reactions to everything in the airport. “Some are smaller than others. This is one of the larger ones.”

It was? She stared at it, gaping. “So there won’t be any other people on it?”

“No ma’am. Mr. Verdi won’t be flying coach.” She could have sworn he smiled to himself at the thought.

“Oh. Okay.” She felt incredibly out of her depth at the moment. Maylee clutched her luggage tighter. This suddenly felt a little overwhelming.

Double time, she repeated to herself. Double time. Gretchen had figured Maylee would be perfect for this job, and really, she was doing Mr. Griffin a favor by traveling at the last minute with him. She just needed to remember that.

He needed Maylee. Not the other way around. Lifting her head high, Maylee resolved that she was going to enjoy this trip. She’d never left the States before, and this would be the adventure of a lifetime.

The cart parked in front of the jet and a wheeled staircase had been set at the door. At the top, a flight attendant waited. The man took Maylee’s suitcase from her arms and frowned a bit at the bright red tartan of it, along with the trailing ribbons she had decorating the handle. He touched one of the ribbons. “Did you need to secure these, miss?”

“Oh, no,” she said cheerily. “That’s so it doesn’t get lost in the luggage pick-up.”

“There’s no luggage pick-up on a private jet,” he said, smiling at her. “Otherwise, it’s a smart idea.”

She beamed at him for the compliment. “I can carry the suitcase, honey. No need for you to go up all those stairs.”

“I don’t mind. It’s my job.”

“You’re so sweet,” she told him, and the man grinned at her. Mama had always told her you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so Maylee was always friendly to the staff. Heck, she was staff. These were her people. “I can’t thank you enough for the ride out here.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said again, and gestured for her to ascend the stairs ahead of him.

Maylee clutched her purse close, shifted her backpack onto her shoulder, and let him carry her suitcase. She was glad she’d worn low-heeled loafers with her skirted suit, because that staircase looked mighty steep. Didn’t most flights normally have a tunnel ramp thingie you went down to get onto the plane? She supposed this baby plane was too dinky for that sort of thing.

Nearby, another flight attendant smiled at her. She was wearing a black-jacketed suit that looked way fancier than anything Maylee owned. Her blonde hair was pulled into an elegant twist and she wore more makeup than Maylee. Still, she looked model beautiful. “Welcome. Mr. Verdi is inside. Can I take your things?”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Maylee said, and shrugged off her backpack. “You are so kind to offer. And my goodness gracious, you are so pretty!” It wasn’t a lie—the woman was flat-out gorgeous.

She chuckled at Maylee’s effusive compliment and took the bag from her. “Thank you. Follow me, and I’ll show you where you can sit.”

The interior of the jet was nothing like the time that she’d flown coach. Then, she’d been at the back of the plane and the ride was so bumpy that she’d felt like she’d ridden a bull all the way to NYC. They’d hit turbulence and it had given her nightmares so badly that she’d gone to the doctor for a prescription of relaxers, which were in her purse at the moment, for the next time she flew. She’d also been a middle seat, and had spent the entire terrifying flight squished between two fat businessmen, who’d looked terribly displeased at the thought of someone sitting in the middle seat. As if she could help it!

It hadn’t been an experience she’d wanted to repeat. The trepidation of flying had been on her mind this morning as she’d packed her suitcase, but double time pretty much won the argument every time. She had her pills. She’d be fine.

The smiling flight attendant led her in. “The first flight will be eight hours to Heathrow. We’ll refuel and then fly straight on to Bellissime.”

“Eight hours? Lordamercy,” Maylee said. “That’s longer than my cousin Bobbie Jo’s first marriage lasted.”

The attendant giggled. “It is long, but the second flight is only about four hours. And this is an overnight, so you can sleep.”

“Oh, I’ll be too riled up to sleep,” Maylee told her. And then the attendant stepped aside and Maylee got her first really good look at the private jet. “Lordamercy.”

It was like something out of a movie.

Soft golden lighting filled the cabin, the ceiling striated in a decorative seashell pattern designed to make the interior seem much bigger than it actually was. There were no ridiculously crowded—and claustrophobia-making—overhead compartments here. Instead, more lights were built into the ceiling, and beautiful carpeting in a soft, pale patterned brown lined the floor of the cabin. The few seats inside the cabin were enormous, made of a buttery leather, and a pretty table jutted out from each wall, accompanied by a flat-screen TV on an arm that could be pulled out so the seated occupant could watch whatever they wanted. Maylee counted eight of these seats, and in the back, there was another door to what must have been a private room. Flowers in small vases adorned each of the tabletops in the main cabins.

This was far nicer than her apartment. Lordamercy.

“What do you think?” The flight attendant was smiling at her, clearly seeing Maylee’s awe.

“It’s so . . . swanky. This is where we’re flying?” My goodness, they were paying her to fly in this jet? And then take a trip to Europe? Gracious, she didn’t know how she’d gotten so lucky. She couldn’t stop smiling, either.

The attendant laughed. “It is. Mr. Verdi is in the back room and doesn’t wish to be disturbed at the moment.” She inclined her head at the closed door. “Let’s put down your things and I’ll show you where the bathroom is. Just pick a spot.”

Maylee walked through the spacious cabin, running a hand over the silky-smooth leather of each seat before selecting one in the back. She wasn’t quite sure where employees were supposed to sit, but she guessed it wasn’t in the front. The back was always where the roughest ride was on a plane, right? She was pretty sure the boss wouldn’t want to sit there, then. Maylee picked a seat and sat down, then clasped her hands in her lap.

“This isn’t like a normal flight,” the attendant said. “So anything you need, you just let me know.”

She patted her purse, now in the seat beside her. “I have my panic pills in here.”

The attendant laughed and gave her a sympathetic look. “Afraid to fly?”

“Afraid of the crashing part,” Maylee admitted. “I haven’t flown much and it makes my heart race around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“Do you want a drink? I can make you a lovely cocktail.”

A cocktail? “That’d be very nice of you.”

She winked at Maylee. “How about a mojito?”

Maylee had never had one. How could she pass up a nice fancy drink? “That would be lovely.” She pulled out her purse. “Do you want to see my ID?”

The attendant giggled again. “Not necessary. This is a private flight. I’m sure you’re old enough.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Maylee admitted. She usually got carded, though. It was probably her silly curls (which made her look young) and her freckled snub nose (which didn’t help) and her round cheeks (which certainly didn’t help). Without makeup, she normally looked like a teenager.

“I’m Megan,” the attendant said, and bustled away, her hips swaying in that awful nice suited jacket. Maylee smoothed her own polyester dress. She’d gotten it at Sears on sale. It had buttons going up in a fake seam and the jacket was attached to the skirt so the entire thing zipped up the back. It fit a bit like a sack, but it had been on sale, and you couldn’t ask for more than that. She’d just safety-pinned it in the worst spots and called it a day. Of course, she’d had to take those out when they’d wanded her at security, so it was a little loose at the moment.

As she waited for her drink, Maylee ran her hands along the smooth leather of the seats and tinkered with the buttons she could reach. Some were for air vents, some for lighting, and one let her call the attendant (which she didn’t press). There was a control for the television, earphones tucked into a pocket on the side of her chair, and a fancy little pillow and matching blanket just for her, if she wanted them. It was impressive. Heck, it was nicer than some motel rooms she’d stayed in. The motel she’d stayed in while searching for an apartment had water damage on the ceiling and she’d had to share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor.

Megan returned a few minutes later with her drink. “Here you go.” It looked like a Sprite with some chewed-up green leafy crap in it. Okay. Not quite as glamorous as she’d imagined.

Maylee took the glass. “You’re so thoughtful. Thank you.” She sipped it and smiled at Megan. “Wonderful.” It was pretty good, actually. She kept drinking as she settled into her seat.

As the minutes passed, the cabin remained empty. Maylee tried to finish her drink quickly, so she could be done before they took off, but it seemed that they weren’t in any particular kind of hurry. They were just . . . sitting here, waiting on Mr. Verdi. Maylee fished a piece of ice out of her glass and chewed on it, sucking the last of mojito off the cube.

Megan eventually returned and snagged Maylee’s glass with a smile. Before Maylee could protest, she was pouring another. Well, she could drink another one of those. It was pretty tasty with all that mint. The plane began to taxi down the runway just as she started to drink her new one, and Maylee chugged it, trying to finish it before they took off. That was just polite, right?

By the time she’d sucked down that second mojito, she was feeling a little . . . tipsy. Nothing ridiculous, just a little floaty and loose. It was probably because she’d drank them so fast. The plane stopped again, and waited.

Maylee peered out the window. She couldn’t see anything except the night sky and the lights on the runway. Why weren’t they getting into the air?

The attendant floated past again, and as Maylee watched, Megan went to the door at the back of the plane and knocked. “Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Verdi.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just swung back around to Maylee and smiled. “Another drink?”

“Oh, no,” Maylee said. “I couldn’t possibly. Thank you, though.”

Megan took the glass from her. “Go ahead and buckle up. We’ll be leaving as soon as Mr. Verdi is finished with his meeting.”

Maylee fumbled with her belt, snapping it at her waist and then tightening it. Anxiety began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach. She’d be meeting rich Mr. Verdi, and they’d be flying—both things that made her very, very nervous. Combined with the drinks, she rather felt like she was going to throw up.

Time for her pills.

She fished the bottle out of her purse and peered at the label, uncertain of how many to take. One or two? There was a bright yellow sticker on the side that said DO NOT MIX WITH ALCOHOL but it was a mite too late for that, wasn’t it? She hurriedly popped one into her mouth, dry swallowing it.

Five minutes later, she felt nice.

So, so nice.

Mellow.

All floaty and wonderful.

Mmmm.

In a pleasant haze, she watched as Megan buckled herself in at the far end of the cabin and they both waited for Mr. Verdi to appear. Maylee blinked slowly, and that was rather fun, so she blinked again, watching her eyelashes descend.

Wow. Who knew eyelashes were so interesting?

“We might be another minute,” Megan said to her. “Can I get you anything else?”

Maylee beamed at her and gave her a thumbs up. One hardly seemed to convey how good she was feeling, so she thrust her other one into the air, too. “I’m wonderful. So, so wonderful.”

And she wagged her thumbs at the woman.

The smile on the attendant’s face faltered a little in its sincerity. “Um. All right. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Maylee thought for a moment, not an easy feat given the alcohol and pills. Then, she said, “Knitting.”

“I’m . . . sorry? I don’t think I caught that.”

She flapped her hands—a bit like a chicken, really—and said, “These are bored.”

“Bored?” Megan blinked at her. Hard.

“Yes. And my knitting is all tied up in my luggage.” Maylee made a sad face. “It’s probably lonely.” She stared down at her hands. “I bet it misses them.”

“Your suitcase is actually just up here,” Megan said, that curious look still on her face. “Do you want to get it?”

“Oh, that would be just peachy.” She stood up—or tried to, anyhow. She was still buckled in, and it knocked her back to her chair. Maylee began to giggle wildly. “Oopsie daisy.”

“I can get it for you,” Megan said quickly.

“That would be peachy, too,” Maylee said with a languid smile. “It’s in a side pocket.” Gosh, they were nice on private airplanes. She liked everyone here so much.

A moment later, Megan handed her the knitting, and she made a happy sound in her throat. So perfect. Now she could knit all the way to Bellissime. Maybe she’d knit a hat for her new employer. Wouldn’t he just love that? “Everyone likes hats,” she mumbled aloud to herself, and began to knit.

“If you get a chance to bail out early,” Jonathan said to Griffin over the phone, “you should really come out to Spain. They’ve found some interesting pottery shards at one site and a few new areas they’d like to excavate, but there’s permits to be filed and funding to be acquired, so nothing can really move ahead without you.”

Damn it. He really wanted to be there. The timing could not be worse. “It’ll just have to wait a few weeks. I’m afraid there’s no way I can leave early, short of insulting my entire family and offending the crown.”

“I do not envy you,” Jonathan said. “Tell you what. I’ll upload my photos online later tonight and you can get a glimpse of what I’m seeing here. I think you’ll like it. The canal system is so incredibly impressive. I’m told that the swampy grounds make it hell to excavate, but I think it just makes it all the more promising.”

“And we’re sure it’s Atlantis and not just Tarshish?”

“I don’t know. The lead on the project, Doctor DeWitt, says he’s uncovered something significant, but since you’re the benefactor, he won’t reveal it without you here.”

Griffin felt a little stab of pleasure at that, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Jonathan was one of his best friends, and trustworthy, but this project was Griffin’s baby. “I see. Like I said, it’ll have to wait a few weeks.”

“Cadiz isn’t that far away from Bellissime, is it? Can’t you just hop a plane and take a same-day flight?”

“You’ve never seen a royal schedule around one of these functions, have you?” Griffin asked drily.

“God no.”

“I’ll be lucky if I have an hour to myself.”

“Fuck, that sounds miserable.”

It did. That was why Griffin preferred minimal fuss when he was on his own, and why he preferred being on his own as much as possible. It was why he ‘made do’ with one assistant versus his mother’s forty-six staff.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Verdi,” the attendant said.

Griffin ignored it and continued talking to Jonathan for a few minutes more. He was jealous as hell that his friend got to poke around in the marshes of Spain for the next few weeks while Griffin had to dress up in starchy suits, kiss babies, and have his blasted photo taken eight hundred times a day.

Reese should have been Viscount Montagne Verdi, not Griffin. Reese loved people. Griffin could barely tolerate them.

When he could put off the inevitable no longer, Griffin ended the call with Jonathan, put away his laptop, and left his private room. He nodded at the attendant at the far end of the plane and sat in his seat, rubbing his face. He was looking forward to this about as much as one would look forward to a tooth extraction, or perhaps a vasectomy. A colonoscopy? He pondered a list of horrific things that could possibly be less painful than a week-long royal wedding.

He buckled his seat belt, closed his eyes and leaned back, and the plane began to taxi forward. Griffin kept his eyes closed, relaxing, as the plane ascended into the air, the roar of the engines drowning out everything but his own thoughts. Eventually the sound of the engines leveled out, and Griffin became aware of a new noise.

Clicking.

He frowned, opening his eyes just in time to see the flight attendant lean over his chair. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Verdi?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

She nodded and disappeared, and the clicking began again. He looked to his left. Nothing. Looked behind him.

And paused.

What on earth . . .

There was a woman behind him. A blonde. And she was knitting.

That was . . . odd.

This had to be Hunter’s assistant. Gretchen had texted him last night and told him that she’d send her over to meet him at his plane. To be perfectly honest, he’d been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn’t even given it much thought. It was just taken care of.

But this? This made him pause.

This woman was a mess. Her hair was a messy pile of white-blonde corkscrew curls that haloed her head in a frizzy nimbus, barely brushing her slim shoulders. She was lightly tanned, a sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her face was round and looked impossibly young . . . except for the knitting. And she had on what had to be the most sincerely godawful ugly suit he’d ever seen. It hung off her small frame like a shapeless sack, and he was pretty sure that shiny fabric was polyester. Dear Lord.

He’d asked for competent. Experienced. Gretchen had assured him that Hunter’s assistant was all these things.

Gretchen.

He’d bloody kill her when he got back.

“Just who are you?” Griffin barked out at the strange woman, furious. He was too polite to add the bloody hell that he wanted to that statement. This had to be a mistake.

She blinked slowly. Twice. As if it were difficult to do so. Long, white-blonde lashes skimmed her eyes and there was something peculiar about her gaze. Her eyes were extremely dark.

“Howdy,” she said in a husky Southern drawl that was so thick that it made him inwardly cringe. Small hands dropped the knitting into her lap and she stuck one out at him. “I’m Maylee Meriweather. That’s Maylee after both my Nana May and Pepaw Lee.”

He just stared. “Please tell me the words ‘Nana’ and ‘Pepaw’ did not just come out of your mouth.”

She tilted her head and blinked slowly again. Then she giggled, the sound musical and sweet and young. “You must be Mr. Gryffindor.”

“Griffin,” he gritted. Up in the front of the cabin, he heard the flight attendant smother a laugh, and he shot her an irritated look.

“I think I would be a Hufflepuff,” she said, her voice quite serious. “They seem to be the happiest ones. Quite homey, Hufflepuff.”

He stared at her a moment longer, and then looked over at the flight attendant. “Is she drunk?”

The attendant’s eyes widened. “I only gave her two drinks, sir.”

“Sounds like two too many,” he muttered. He turned back to the wild-haired blonde, who was blinking those owl-like eyes at him. “Are you drunk?”

“No sir,” she breathed. “I’m Maylee. That’s Maylee after my Nana May and Pepaw—”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted. “You already told me. And you are clearly drunk. Either that, or a fool. Why did Hunter send you?”

“Double time,” she said, and gave him a beaming smile. “You’re caught in a poke and I get to make lots of money and a fancy trip to all them nice parts of Europe.”

Dear God, her accent got worse the more she talked. There were all kinds of revolting twangs rumbling out of her mouth. “Caught in a poke?”

He was really going to kill Gretchen.

“Yesiree,” Maylee breathed. “You’re plumb outta assistants and so Ms. Gretchen called me and asked me if I could look after Mr. Gryffindor. And I said I surely could. How come you sound all English, Mr. Gryffindor? I thought you were from Bellissime.”

“Griffin,” he corrected again stiffly. “And we speak English there. And I lived in Britain during my formative years.”

“Ah,” she said, and then leaned close. “Hogwarts, right?”

Bloody fucking hell. It was like having a conversation with a two-year-old. A very country two-year-old. He pulled out his phone and began to furiously text.

“Whatcha doin?” Maylee asked, that drawl making him even angrier.

“I’m texting Hunter to let him know how much I hate his girlfriend,” Griffin snapped. “You absolutely cannot be my assistant for this trip. This is a job that requires delicacy and an ability to maintain a tight schedule—”

“I can do all that—”

“—and manners!” Griffin barked. “This is inexcusable and utterly ridiculous and you are not going to be my assistant.”

“I’m not?” The two words were soft and trembly.

He shot her another angry look. “Don’t you dare—”

But it was too late. The horrid creature burst into big, gulping, noisy sobs.