Page 7 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
“The F. Does it stand for Franchesca?”
She glanced over, clearly offended. “Do I look like a Franchesca? Plus, I told you my name. Piper.”
“I once dated a Franchesca. Senior year of college. She was an Italian exchange student.”
“Lucky you.”
He laughed. “Okay, not Italian then. And if not Francesca, maybe Frenchie?”
“If I told you it stood fornone of your effingbusiness,would you kick me out of your car?”
He burst out laughing. It wasn’t often that people put him in his place instead of kissing his ass. The title Assistant District Attorney commanded respect and his last name made him an instant celebrity in most people’s eyes. She didn’t know either, but he didn’t think it would matter. She didn’t seem to be easily impressed by accolades.
“Well played,” he said.
“Easy target.”
“Thanks for the honest feedback.”
“How long have you been a chauffeur?”
“What?” Josh’s fingers stilled because, suddenly, so much of the past few minutes started to make sense. Piper had made an assumption—a very logical assumption—when he’d pulled over that he was her driver—likely sent by Jillian. That assumption gave her the security to climb into his car.
Making him the ass in this situation.
He needed to clarify some things before her real driver pulled up and she discovered Josh was, in fact, the eldest offspring of Satan’s Keeper. Even worse, he was one of those lawyers she loathed so much.
“To be honest, you’re my first ride,” he began.
“It’s my first day too,” she interrupted. Hands pressed to her sternum to hold the dress in place, she twisted to look at him over her shoulder. “Never in a million years would I have imagined seeing the title wedding photographer and my name in the same bio, but if tonight goes smoothly, I’ll have to order new business cards. And maybe a bottle of champagne to celebrate some long overdo steady work. God, I could really use some steady right now.”
“It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be,” he said because his world was steady all the time. In fact, driving around strangers seemed like a hell of a lot more fun than being another cog in a machine that was severely damaged. Especially if his fairs looked even half as good as this one.
Piper shifted, the movement causing the fabric to do some shifting of its own.
Eyes up, eyes up, eyes up…
Except his eyes drifted down with the dress, lower and lower until he caught a glimpse of bright pink lace with black hearts. That answered that.
“You done?” One brow rose in reprimand. “Or am I back to wielding the tire iron?”
He removed his hands. “Done.”
“Then, eyes forward or lose them.”
He laughed. “You’re the one stripping in my back seat.”
“It’s called looking professional. And every time your gaze strays, there goes ten bucks off your tip.” She snapped her fingers to demonstrate just how fast his money would disappear. Without another word, she ducked down to retrieve something from her bags on the floorboard.
“So you’re a professional?” he asked, pulling onto the road amid the rustling coming from his back seat. “Maybe I should be tipping you.”
Her head popped up. “You couldn’t afford me. Plus, I’m already late, I can’t show up lateandcovered in mud.”
Her dress flew over the passenger seat, landing on his shoulder and partially covering his head.
“What the hell?” He glanced in the rearview mirror and caught a flash of skin before she squeaked.
“There goes another ten.”
