Page 145 of My French Love Affair

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small smirk that tugs at my lips as I step out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind me.

Chapter Forty

Poppy

The evening air is warm as I step out of the hotel lobby, my heels clicking lightly against the polished stone as I make my way towards the sleek black car idling at the curb.

The driver is already waiting, standing by the open door, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle," he greets me smoothly.

I glance up with a polite smile as I step towards the vehicle, about to thank him -

And then I frown.

Iknowhim.

It takes me a second to place where from, but the moment it clicks, my lips part in pure disbelief.

No fucking way.

He dips his head slightly, still waiting for me to climb inside.

"Are you ready to go, mademoiselle?"

I stare at him. Then at the car. Then back at him.

And that’s when it fully sinks in.

"You," I breathe, my eyes widening. "You were the driver who took me from the airport."

He chuckles, his expression entirely too knowing.

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"You -" I shake my head, apparently losing my ability to speak. "You were there. Whenhe-"

His lips twitch in amusement. "Yes."

I inhale sharply, suddenly needing a second to process this.

"You’rehisdriver?"

He nods.

"Oui, mademoiselle."

I climb inside the car, feeling slightly dazed.

He closes the door behind me and moves to sit in the front seat, my brain going into overdrive the entire time.

Hisdriver.

As in, Frederic Moreau’spersonaldriver.

I sit completely still as the car glides away from the curb, my mind running a thousand miles a minute.

"Wait -" I lean forward slightly. "When you say you’re his driver, you mean…?"

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