She doesn’t remember me. The guy she bumped into at the airport.

Why are you even surprised, dude?

I mentally put my conscience in a choke hold.

After I removed my sunglasses, Icy Hot Princess didn’t flinch. Not one bit. Apparently I’ve been wasting time trying to shield my identity from her. Because to her I still don’t really exist. She didn’t even seem impressed about me being me—Jaxson Malone.

Whatever.

I’ve been playing up this role as driver so well, I’ve even convinced myself.

Who the hell are you, dude?

Maybe I should sell this limo business. Call my agent back. See what kind of work he can line up for me here in Paris.

Hell, maybe I should just go back to New York.

Nah. I like Paris way too much.

Gramps and Nana will officially be moving the last of their things out of the house today.

Before I drove back here to HC Headquarters, I was back at the villa working in the office, occasionally peering out the window, watching the truck being loaded up. The house is practically empty now, waiting for me to spruce it up. Jaxson style.

I’ll leave the guest apartment as is—for guests. Not that I’ll ever have visitors anytime soon. Making friends lately has been a slow process for me. My only best friend for years, since grade school, passed away a few years ago. Motorcycle accident. He was like a brother to me. Since then, I haven’t really let anyone in. Until Dixie Lane. I spilled everything out to her. My hopes, dreams, failures, successes. Oh yeah, I suppose I spilled all of that to all of America too.

Anyway, with the house practically empty, I’ve ordered a ton of furniture. King-sized bed. Couches. TVs. Maybe, I want to paint it. Brighten it up. No offense to the grandparents, but I plan to make it more hip. Young. Me.

“Hey there, sorry I kept you waiting.”

It’s Icy Hot—just now getting into the car, carrying a box full of little teddy bears. An hour after our lunch conversation ended.

“No worries. Are you going straight home?”

She nods. “Yes. I have that date tonight.”

Oh yes, her date. Yippee-fucking-do.

“Cool. I hope you have a superb time.”

Liar.

As soon as I pull onto the road, she seems to slip deep into thought, her eyes fixed to all the things out the window.

I can’t help but wonder if I would have run after her that day at the airport, would things be different? Would I be the one she’d be going out on a date with?

“Jaxson, tomorrow morning I’ll be working from home, so no need to pick me up. I just thought I’d let you know so perhaps you can schedule in another client.”

Another client? I roll my eyes.

She is the only one I drive around. And quite frankly I can easily assign someone else to do that now, while I focus on running the business. Chad. Miguel. Steven. Any one of those dudes should work.

Besides, I was driving her around as a favor to Gramps. But Chic Limos is my business now. If I assign another driver she doesn’t like, then she can go elsewhere.

I don’t care.

“Sounds good,” I reply, my voice calm, masking that I’m really fuming inside.

Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, albeit only for a moment, before she shifts hers back to the scenery out the window. It’s dark now, the lights from the city bouncing off the pavement. Since I arrived, I haven’t even been to the Eiffel Tower. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow. Now that my schedule has been cleared.

I roll to a stop in front of her place. “Have a great evening and a wonderful day tomorrow. I’ll most likely be out and about running errands tomorrow, but here’s my cell number. Call me if you need to go into the office.”

Lauren takes the card from my hand and while avoiding eye contact, says, “Thanks, Jaxson. Enjoy your evening.” Then she steps out, with the box of teddy bears propped up against her hip.

And when she closes the door to the car, I speed off.

Feeling down, I decided it was time to step out. Be a Taylor and shake it off. Do something to cheer me up. So I showered, shaved that horrific beard that has been bugging the hell outta me, put on some Jaxson Malone style threads and hopped on an Uber to the car dealership.

That’s right. It’s time to dip into my bank account and buy a flashy car. I’m kinda missing my Porsche. It was a sweet ride, you know.

When I arrive, the dealer is glad to give me a private showing of the cars he has in stock.

“Monsieur, quelle voiture aimeriez-vous? Audi’s. Benz’s. Porsche’s? Which do you prefer?” asks the salesman.

All of them look pretty sweet, but after perusing over the options presented, I decide to go with another Porsche. 718 Cayman. Sex on wheels.

I pay cash, making all of the paperwork a breeze to get through. The salesman hands over the keys and says, “Ce fut un plaisir de faire des affaires aver vous. Enjoy your new ride, Monsieur.”

I take off, my new car hugging the curves of the Paris roads like they are his bitch.

I feel free. And most of all, I am feeling like me again.

My phone chimes. I take a peek. It’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.

I pull off to the side of the road to read it. Can’t text and drive. Not even in Paris.

I think it’s a text from Icy Hot Princess.

LB: Hey Jaxson it’s me, Lauren. I know it’s kind of late, but I was wondering if you can come pick me up? I would drive myself, but I really hate driving. If you’re busy, I understand. I’ll call an Uber. Never mind. That’s what I’ll do. Thanks.

Why is she texting me? Isn’t she supposed to be on her date?

Me: Hey there. I thought you were on a hot date…

A few seconds later she replies.

LB: Yeah, well, he never showed up. I can’t let my outfit go to waste. Plus, I’m hungry.

Her Mister Right is really Loser Prick. Gentleman rule number one: never stand a lady up.

Me: Okay, I’ll come get you. But, you’ll have to sit up in the front with me.

LB: Why?

I beam.

Me: Because tonight I’m Jaxson Malone. Not your driver. And I wanna take you out on the date you deserve to be out on.