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.”

He gave her a curious look, then reached for his glasses and put them on, studying his expression in the mirror. “I look like I belong in a boy band.”

She laughed. “No, you don’t. You look very handsome. And I’ll have you know, this is how Luke Houston’s hair was done in his last movie.” She’d seen a picture of it in one of the magazines at the hair salon and was inspired. “Trust me, you look like a young, dashing viscount instead of like my Pepaw did your hair for you.”

He still looked uncertain, touching one of the spikes. “And you like this?”

“I love it,” she enthused. He did look incredibly handsome this way. It took his look from slightly too nerdy and scholarly to a bit more devilish.

Griffin nodded, and then reached for his shirt. “Very well, then. We should get going.”

“All right.” She averted her gaze so she wouldn’t watch him dress—because really, if she was caught staring at her temporary boss, that would embarrass both of them—and concentrated on taking off the borrowed robe and then replacing it in the closet. Her hand smoothed down the soft fabric of the robe. It had smelled like his soap, and it was odd how reluctant she was to part with it. Party dress, she reminded herself. You’re wearing the prettiest party dress ever. You can’t wear a bathrobe over that, no matter how good it smells.

But, she had to admit, it did smell mighty nice.

When he put his jacket back on, it was safe for her to turn around, and she watched him put on his cufflinks with long, elegant fingers, and then held the tie out for her again. She fixed him up, and then gestured at the door. “Shall we go?”

Griffin smoothed his jacket one last time in the mirror, and she realized he was nervous. It made her feel a little better about tonight. Heck, she was nervous, too, and no one was really expecting much out of her.

“I have something for you to wear with your dress,” Griffin said.

“An employee badge?” she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. “Not a badge. A necklace and some earrings. They belong to my title.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t know that I could, Mr. Griffin.”

“Well, I certainly can’t,” he said, fidgeting with his tie. “They’d clash terribly with my cummerbund.”

Maylee’s voice rose in a hysterical giggle. “I’m picturing you with earrings on and it’s kinda funny.”

He grinned over at her, and she felt like she always did when he smiled—genuinely smiled—at her. Like she’d been gifted a present. “I’m more of a brooch man.”

“Stop it,” she said with a laugh, pressing her hands to the front of her gown. “You’re going to make my boobs pop out of this dress.”

“Heaven forbid,” he said in a dry voice that implied he wouldn’t mind that so much, and it made her flustered all over again. And she could have sworn he glanced down at her boobs.

They did look pretty nice in this dress, if she said so herself.

He picked up a small case off the top of the dresser and opened it, then showed her the jewels. Big, square unadorned emeralds hung from two earring posts, and the necklace consisted of glittering diamond ropes twisted together, with three more square emeralds dangling from the center.

“Oh, lordamercy, that looks rather expensive,” Maylee breathed.

“It is.”

“Oh, dear.” She touched an earring and winced. It was heavy. “What happens if I lose one?”

“I sue you for three hundred thousand Bellissime notes.”

Maylee felt sick. She dropped the earring back onto the velvet tray. “Really?”

“No. It’s just an earring. And it’s insured. Don’t be so nervous.”

“What happens if I barf on it?” she asked as he picked up the necklace.

“Is that likely?” He indicated she should turn around.

“Pretty likely,” she admitted, turning around. Lordamercy, this was just like something out of Pretty Woman, except she wasn’t a hooker. Maylee frowned at the thought. “Do you normally buy girls’ clothes?”

The cool chain of diamonds slid over the base of her throat, and then she felt Griffin’s hands brush against her nape as he did the clasp. “I can say with perfect honesty that you are the first one I have ever purchased clothing for.”

For some reason, that made her feel better. She patted the necklace and then picked up the first earring. To her relief, it had two backings—one that was a normal gold clasp, and the other a wax ball that would prevent the post from slipping out of her ear. Thank goodness. Maylee put both earrings on and gave her head a little shake to test them. “How do I look?”

“Quite elegant,” Griffin said.

“So in other words, nothing like myself.”

“Nothing like yourself,” he agreed, that odd look on his face.