Chapter 13
Jaxson
She’s stunning.
My eyes don’t wanna break free. A prisoner fallen for itscaptor.
Come on, man, don’t do this. Don’t you dare fall head-over for another southernbelle.
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 theairport.
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 hisclient.
They make movies about this kind of shit. I’m just living it out in real time. Welcome to my unscripted realityshow.
The JaxShow.
Despite the gray sky and cooler temperature, Paris streets are bejeweled with folks of all types, all seeming to have the samepleased with lifeglow about them. Sidewalk cafés, boutiques, flower shops, are all a buzz. Paris is euphoria topped with finesse and savoir faire. A symphony ofsuperlatives.
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 adoredpatrons.
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 thisweek.
“What’s his name?” I ask, glad to have a reason to strike upconversation.
Icy Hot Princess peers up from her phone. “I’msorry?”
“Your dog. What’s hisname?”
She chuckles. “Oh, my dog. Truffles. His name isTruffles.”
Cute name. Cute dog. But mine would have to belarger.
Her eyes snap back to herphone.
“Were you able to think of a designer topitch?”
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 andall.”
Sarcasm. Myaphrodisiac.
And since less is more, I offer noreply.
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 mylap.
“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 overhim.”
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 alaugh.
“That’s the thing. Truffles only likes three men. My daddy, Jules, and André. Every other member of the male population, he avoids like theplague.”
“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 mymouth.
“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 ontosomething.”
Wait. Who the fuck isSimon?
“Simon? Is he your boyfriend or something?” I ask, after the lump of disappointment eases down mythroat.
