She’s stunning.

My eyes don’t wanna break free. A prisoner fallen for its captor.

Come on, man, don’t do this. Don’t you dare fall head-over for another southern belle.

Gramps and Nana advised me to come clean. Tell Lauren I’m Jaxson and not Jack. Remove the sunglasses and hat—find out if she remembers me from the airport.

But I don’t want to. Not yet, anyway. I’m still diggin’ the vibe of being this nobody. A driver enchanted by the beauty of his client.

They make movies about this kind of shit. I’m just living it out in real time. Welcome to my unscripted reality show.

The Jax Show.

Despite the gray sky and cooler temperature, Paris streets are bejeweled with folks of all types, all seeming to have the same pleased with life glow about them. Sidewalk cafés, boutiques, flower shops, are all a buzz. Paris is euphoria topped with finesse and savoir faire. A symphony of superlatives.

Plus an enormous presence of dogs. It seems everyone owns a pup—small, large, young, old—and businesses welcome each pooch as if they too are adored patrons.

I need to get one of my own. You know, to fit in. Besides, with Nana and Gramps moving soon, I’ll need a companion at the villa. I still can’t believe they are leaving for a life in the South of France. Nana showed me some of her artwork last night. Man does she have some skills. I would kill to have been blessed with her creative genes. They’ve got grandiose plans to open an art gallery; Gramps will run the business side of it, while Nana does her thing with the paintings—mostly abstract. The movers are clearing out most of the villa this week. Gramps and Nana will be officially out this week.

“What’s his name?” I ask, glad to have a reason to strike up conversation.

Icy Hot Princess peers up from her phone. “I’m sorry?”

“Your dog. What’s his name?”

She chuckles. “Oh, my dog. Truffles. His name is Truffles.”

Cute name. Cute dog. But mine would have to be larger.

Her eyes snap back to her phone.

“Were you able to think of a designer to pitch?”

She nods. “Yep, I sure did. And I meet with him in an hour. Will I make it there? To my office before an hour? I know you tend to drive slow and all.”

Sarcasm. My aphrodisiac.

And since less is more, I offer no reply.

When we come to a stoplight, Truffles barks and before I know it, he leaps to the front of the town car, plopping right onto my lap.

“Truffles,” Lauren shouts, “get your butt back here right now.” She leans forward in her seat and pats my shoulder. “Jack, I am so sorry. He never does this. I’m not sure what’s come over him.”

I lift the little guy off my lap and pass him back to his mom before traffic moves again. “It’s fine. Really. I guess he likes me.” I let out a hint of a laugh.

“That’s the thing. Truffles only likes three men. My daddy, Jules, and André. Every other member of the male population, he avoids like the plague.”

“Maybe Truffles knows the good guys from the bad ones,” I say, wishing I had better control of how quickly my thoughts break free from my mouth.

“Well, come to think of it, he didn’t seem to enjoy the last guy I dated. But he didn’t shy away from Simon last night. So perhaps you may be onto something.”

Wait. Who the fuck is Simon?

“Simon? Is he your boyfriend or something?” I ask, after the lump of disappointment eases down my throat.

Figures. Why would her beautifulness not have a boyfriend. Still a boyfriend doesn’t always mean taken. Single is single until someone puts a ring on it.

“Mmm no,” she replies. But he is this gorgeous hunk of a man that moved in across from me. I met him yesterday after you dropped me off. The two of us rode the elevator up to my floor and he was looking fab in one of my designer suits. He knew who I was right away. Then, he told me his name and seconds later, the two of us realized we are next door neighbors. Anyway, fast forward to later last night when Truffles and I got locked out. Dreamboat Simon rescued us, sort of, and then asked me out. Truffles didn’t flinch the entire time Simon and I were chatting”—she pauses and takes in a deep sigh—“so he must be a good guy. Thank God.”

“So, you said he asked you out? When are you going out with him?”

“Tonight. But it’s just for coffee. I can’t wait. He’s got this charming British accent. I have a thing for accents.”

Yep. So do I.

She shoves her phone in her purse and massages Truffles’s ears as he cuddles in her lap. Then she fixes a hearty gaze onto my face via the rearview mirror. “Do you have a girlfriend, Jack?”

My gaze leaves hers as I focus on the road, “No. Not anymore.”

Quiet spills into the town car, as Icy Hot Princess eases her head on the headrest and shuts her eyes. I am dying to learn more about her, and feel robbed of the opportunity driving the short distance from her house to HC Headquarters. What brought her to Paris? Why does she hate flowers and candy? Does she know how to drive? And why hasn’t the right guy scooped her up and whisked her off to happily-ever-after-ville?

Damn. What if this Simon dude is her right guy? And if he’s not, would she go out for a coffee with me? Or am I not good enough for her now that I’m a nobody?

#YouAreJustTheDriver.