Haute Couture

by Joslyn Westbrook

  He cocks his head and licks his lips. “Really? Just beginning to like me?"

  “Jack.”

  “First of all, my name isn’t really Jack.”

  Oh crap, is this where he tells me he’s some murderer on parole or something?

  I put my spoon down.

  He goes on.

  “My name is Jaxson. Jaxson Malone. I, uh, came here to help my grandfather with the limo business—”

  “Wait. You’re Peter’s grandson? That actor / model he’s always bragging about?”

  He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Yep, that would be me. I-I didn’t know my grandfather spoke about me. My career.”

  “Every chance he got.”

  He flashes a grin. “Anyway, like I was saying, I came here to help Gramps with the business. Turns out they want to move to the South of France so Nana can pursue her art career. And I want to forget everything that happened back in the states.”

  “You mean that witch who broke your heart on TV? Yeah, I heard about that from your grandpa too. I myself have never watched that show…what’s the name of it again? Marry me after—”

  “Date Me, Then Marry Me,” he clarifies with a soft chuckle.

  “Yep, that’s the one. Anyway, were you talking about her? You know, when you said you came here to forget?”

  “Yep. Believe it or not, I really loved Dixie Lane. But she used me to get ahead in her career. And I lost out on my chance of finding a wife.”

  I push my bowl of soup aside, this conversation the only sustenance I need right now. Besides, I can eat later when Simon takes me out.

  “Jack—I mean Jaxson, why didn’t you tell me who you are?”

  “I came to Paris wanting a different life. A new me. No more actor, no more guy who got dumped on TV. No media reporting about my love life. I came here and was—still am perfectly happy just being the driver. Although, the business is actually mine now so I guess I’m technically a CEO now.”

  We both laugh. He removes his sunglasses.

  And I nearly faint.

  Those dark and mysterious eyes have been embedded in my brain for the last two months. I had just dropped Arabella off at the airport departure gate area. I was wandering, my mind on God knows what. My phone rang. It was Arabella complaining the line was about eighty years long. We chatted for a bit, then hung up when she said the line began to move. I kept walking and was about to place my phone back in my purse when bam.

  A human-to-human collision.

  The wreck sent my phone flying out of my hand as I crash-landed onto the carpeted floor. Feeling a little dazed, a gorgeous man lifted me up, his arms so firm and strong. I just gaped at him like a crazy woman, mesmerized by his looks, his eyes, so dark and practically hypnotic placing me under some sort of spell. Words wouldn’t come out of my mouth; all I could do was stare. Heat rushed throughout my entire body. Embarrassed, I let go of his manly arms, reached down, scooped up my phone from the floor, and dashed out of there without looking back. I think I heard him yell something about my scarf, but there was no way in hell I was going back. I thought for sure I’d never see him again.

  Until now.

  Chapter 18

  Jaxson

  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.

  Chapter 19

  Lauren

  “Girl, you look hot,” Arabella squeals through the screen of my phone. “I can’t believe the jerk stood you up. Who the hell does that kind of crap anymore?”

  My bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “I thought Simon was perfect.” I dab my eyes with a tissue.

  Was is the operative word. There is no coming back from this. Unless he was in some sort of an accident—which I secretly hope is the case.

  “Honey, no”—she waves her finger at me—“you better save those tears for someone who matters. He doesn’t matter.”

  A snort-y sniff escapes me. “Maybe he got into an accident? Or maybe he’s holed up in his apartment, injured, and can’t even make it out the door?”

  Arabella stares and blinks about twenty-two times. “Uh, no. You forget about him. Jaxson Malone is about to take you out. And”—she fans her face—“he’s the him from the airport.” She squeals, her voice raised about five octaves. Like Mariah Carey back in the day. “What can be more serendipitous than that? Seriously. ”

  I still haven’t wrapped my head around that whole thing. I mean, when Jaxson took off his shades, revealing those dreamy dark brown eyes, I swear to God, my mind, body, and soul went on auto-possum-pilot—I froze. Didn’t even as much as bat an eyelash. There was no freakin’ way he was going to know I just about lost my mind that day at the airport.

  And he never will.

  “It may be serendipitous”—I roll my eyes—“but that doesn’t mean he’s the one. I still think Simon has a good reason for…disappearing. He sent me a dozen teddy bears, Arabella. Does that sound like a man who stands a woman up?”

  Her pink lipstick-covered lips flatten before she says, “Apparently so.”

  “Well, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s what before you head out to work. I’ll FaceTime you when I wake up,” I say, blowing a kiss into the screen.

  “Bye, bye love. And have fun tonight. I’ve seen that Jaxson Malone guy on TV and on the cover of magazines. He’s super delish. And an almost bad-boy.”

  After ending my call with Arabella, I look at my reflection in the floor-length mirror behind my bedroom door. I’m wearing a long-sleeve maxi dress with a subtle plunging neckline along with strappy heels. Funny, the color I chose to wear is black. Totally appropriate since I’m mourning the act of being stood up. I might as well wear a black coat too.

  “Mama will be back later, sweet boy.” I kneel down to kiss Truffles who is pretending to be asleep. The brat opens one eye and wags his tail.

  When I open my door, I instinctively look across to 11B and glare, wishing I was a Marvel hero with laser-beam eyes.

  Simon’s door.

  Should I knock? Place my ear against the door, listen for signs of life? Huff, puff, blow the fucking door down? Excuse my language. Lord knows I try not to cuss, that much.

  How could he stand me up? Was last night’s date a farce? And what about the teddy bears?

  I sigh when last night flashes before my eyes. He even kissed me. Ugh. Enough of pondering over Simon Grant.

  Done. Over. Out.

  I button my black coat, tuck my black handbag under my arm, and look up at the numbered digital display as the elevator descends to the lobby.

  Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Ding.

  Chapter 20

  Jaxson

  I’d say I’ve been waiting in the lobby of Chateau De Grenelle for a good seven minutes.

  Palms sweating. Heart beating out my chest.

  I check my reflection in the glossy elevator doors as I stand here, waiting for Lauren to step out.

  Then I fidget with my hands.

  What the hell do I do with them? Let them dangle at my sides?

  Dude, that doesn’t even look remotely cool.

  I shove them in my pockets.

  Yeah man, that’s better.

  I hear the sound of the elevator coming down.

  Brace yourself. Here she comes.

  And when the door slides open, I finally understand what she takes my breath away really feels like.

  Euphoria times infinity brushed with, wait, what?

  “Hi,” she mutters, her smile all warm and beautiful.

  We walk toward each other, meeting halfway, now standing close, her eyelashes fluttering as those baby blue’s peer up at me. Even in her heels she’s a petite princess with endless curves in all the right places.

  “Hi,” I grin, unashamed of how happy I am to see her.

  “You shaved your beard,” she says, a soft pink tone creeping up her face.

  It feels hell-a good to know I can make her blush.

  I rub my naked chin as I peer down at her. “You like?”

  “It works.” She giggles and I wish I could kiss her all over that sarcastic lip gloss-coated mouth.

  Take it slow, man. You let her get away from you at the airport. Don’t you dare let her get away now.

  “You ready to go?”

  Her tongue swipes her lips. “Mmmhmm.”

  We walk to my car, arms and hands close enough to brush.

  She pivots to face me. “A Porsche?”

  “Uh yeah. A little toy I bought this evening to cheer me up.”

  I open the door and she slides into the seat, a whiff of her signature perfume striking my senses like, oh my God.

  We ride in silence, both of us presumably taking in the City of Lights, absorbing Paris, allowing it to pour into our souls.

  One thing I can’t deny, Lauren is a charismatic combo of beauty and sexy—the reason why a word like bexy may be coming to a dictionary near you.

  “Where are we headed?” she asks, crossing one leg over the other.

  “A place my Gramps suggested.”

  * * *

  About thirty minutes later we pull up to Shagri-La Hotel. Lauren whips a set of speculative eyes on me.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure you know they have a few good restaurants here.”

  A smile creeps up on her face, washing away all the doubt she was showing. “Of course.”

  The valet takes my keys then Lauren and I walk up a small set of steps, to glass sliding doors that open as soon as we draw near. Our shoes hit the marble floors while overhead glass chandeliers illuminate the walkway as I lead Lauren to a restaurant my Gramps says will sweep her off her feet.

  And when we arrive to Shang Palace, Lauren’s eyes gleam. “Jaxson, you brought me to the only Chinese restaurant in all of Paris? I could just hug you.”

  I wish you would.
>
  Once we are seated I admit, “I’m sure glad you like Chinese food.”

  “I have been craving it, truthfully. André had Thai delivered for lunch today. Not the same,” she says, accepting a menu from the server.

  We order the chef’s special: wonton soup, fried rice with barbecue pork, and braised lobster with spring onions. Along with sparkling water and green tea.

  Lauren admits she doesn’t prefer to drink alcohol. I don’t dare push. Besides, I don’t think I could handle liquor anyway.

  Lauren alone is intoxicating.

  “Thanks for picking me up Jaxson. Especially on such short notice.” She opens her napkin, resting it on her lap.

  “My pleasure. I was out for a leisure drive, you know, taking my Porsche out for a maiden voyage.”

  “You only just bought it today?”

  I chuckle at her innocent amusement. “This evening. I was a little down and needed a pick-me-up.”

  The waiter drops off a small kettle of green tea along with our bottles of sparkling water, then gives a slight bow before walking away.

  Being the gentleman I was raised to be, I pour tea into a cup for Lauren, then pour some into a cup for myself.

  “Thank you,” she says. “Why were you a little down?”

  Her blunt-force inquiry doesn’t catch me off guard. “You really want to know?”

  She sips some tea. “I asked, right?”

  Resting my cup of tea on the crisp linen-topped table, I cock my head to the side, looking right into Lauren’s eyes and say, “You. You had me a little down.”

  One eyebrow raised, she says, “Me?”

  “Yes. I guess I was down because when I came clean about who I really am, you didn’t even seem to care. Then you gloated about your date tonight. A date I wished you’d canceled.”

  “And why is that?” Her cheeks brighten.

  “You really need to ask that question, Lauren?”

  She observes me for a few tense seconds before a smile slowly dances on her lips. The absence of words over her actions expresses more than she’ll ever know.