“Did you go to the police?”
“I went to my landlord,” she admitted, looping her yarn around one needle as she spoke. “He told me that since he was only charging me three dollars a square foot, I shouldn’t expect much. So I just had him fix the door and I got myself a baseball bat, but it was scary for the first few days.”
He was silent. She looked over from her knitting to see him frowning at her.
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know what part of that story is the most ridiculous. I’m trying to decide.”
“I can’t help if I was scared,” she said defensively. “It was the first time I’d ever left home, and then someone came through and raided my stuff. It was rather alarming for a girl from Arkansas.”
“I would suppose so.” He sat up and leaned against the headboard. “That’s not the ridiculous part. You’re being charged three dollars a square foot?”
She nodded at her knitting. “It’s a room in Bushwick. No windows or anything, which makes me sad, but I’m told it’s quite a steal at $450 a month.”
“A flat in Bushwick, Brooklyn? That sounds horrific. I think my closet is larger than a hundred and fifty square feet.”
She laughed. “I don’t doubt that, Mr. Griffin.”
As she glanced over, he rubbed his chest idly. Oh, that bare chest with all those muscles. She needed to quit peeking over or she was likely to get herself into trouble.
“Just call me Griffin if we’re going to sit here in bed together,” he mused, rubbing his chest. “Feels weird otherwise. So you’re renting a hole of an apartment in a terrible part of the city. Does Hunter not pay you very well?”
Oh, dear. “Mr. Hunter pays me very nicely, sir. I just try to live frugally so I can send money home to Mama and them.”
“God, your language is appalling. Mama and them, indeed. That’s not English.”
“It is.”
“Really? Where in the grammar books do you suppose they cover ‘and them’? Who, pray tell, is ‘them’?”
“My sisters and my Nana and my Pepaw—”
He waved a hand. “You know what? I’m sorry I asked. Never mind. Please, continue with your horrific tale of woe.”
Maylee was silent. He was mocking her, wasn’t he? She couldn’t exactly tell him off, so she just said nothing at all.
He sighed and rubbed his face. “So you send money home? Why not get a job closer to where you were?”
“Mama wants me to be successful,” she said softly, and was surprised by the ache of homesickness that swelled in her. “She said all the truly successful, dynamic people live in the big city, and that I should go there. She said I was such a good daughter that I didn’t deserve to end up stuck in the backwoods with a bunch of hillbillies for the rest of my life.” Tears pricked Maylee’s eyes. She loved those “hillbillies” and would have stayed with them forever, if they’d have let her. “Plus, I have two younger sisters and I’m trying to set a good example for them, so I can’t come home with my tail tucked between my legs the first time someone breaks into my apartment, you know? I’m a Meriweather, and we don’t give up.”
“Two younger sisters? I shudder to think what their names are.”
Maylee giggled at his snotty tone. “One is Alabama, and the other is Dixie.”
“Dear God. Of course they are.”
“I’m the oldest, so I got the honor of being named after Nana and Pepaw. After that, my daddy sorta ran out of names, so he went with songs.”
“And what does your father do?”
She sobered and made a quick, sloppy sign of the cross. “Daddy died ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” His snotty tone was gone and it kinda sounded like he meant it. “I lost my father at an early age, too.”
She looked over at him and put her knitting down, a bit surprised. “Oh?”
“When I was sixteen. Boating accident.”
She reached across the pillows and touched his arm to comfort him. “I’m sorry. It’s hard when you’re that age. I wish I’d been younger so I wouldn’t have so many memories.”
He looked surprised that she touched him, staring down at her hand.
Oh, had she messed up? “Sorry,” she said, drawing back. To lighten the mood, she added, “I promise to behave for our little slumber party.”
He snorted again.
“So what about your family?” she asked, picking her knitting back up again. “Are you the oldest?”
“Thank God I am not,” Griffin said. “I have an older brother, George. He is the official duke. Since I’m the younger son, I am a mere viscount.”
She blinked in surprise and looked over at him again. “Your brother is a duke?”
“My mother is the younger sister of the queen,” he admitted. “That’s the reason why we’re going to be hounded night and day while we’re here.”
“Oh. Wow.”
She had just asked to share the blankets with royalty. Lordamercy. No wonder he was so starchy all the time. He was probably appalled by her. Maylee swallowed hard. “I thought you were fancy, I just didn’t realize how fancy.”
He groaned. “Please, please, never refer to me as ‘fancy’ in front of anyone.”
Her eyes widened and she put down her knitting. “Why?”
“Because I’m not g*y?”
“I didn’t mean that you were g*y! Just, you know.” She waved a hand at him. “Fancy. With your hair and your bow ties and stuff.”
“Ah yes, my ‘spackled’ hair.” His cool voice actually sounded amused for once.
She laughed at that. “Who said it was spackled?”
“You did. On the plane. And then you asked me for a hug.”
Maylee sucked in a breath and tried not to giggle. “Oh, lordy. I’m so sorry. How did you not fire me on the spot?”
“Because I am stuck. And because you are good with bow ties.” With that, he set his book aside and flicked off the light. “Good night.”
Maylee fumbled to collect her knitting in the dark, then placed it carefully on the bedside and slid under the blankets. She fluffed her pillow and stared into the darkness at the pillow wall separating them. “Good night, Mr. Griffin,” she said softly. “And thank you for being so kind.”