Page 5 of How Jenna Became My Dilemma

“So?”

“So I think we should pull over and help her.” He points to the side of the highway so my driver knows.

“Now we have time to make a stop?” I glance out the window to the shoulder of the road. “Taco Bell was out of the question because we’d be late, but punctuality doesn’t matter when we’re helping someone?” The second I say it, I know how I sound. I’m all for helping people. Really, I am. And maybe afterward, we can get a taco party pack to celebrate our impromptu kindness.

We slowly pass a red BMW with a woman standing in front of a blown tire. Stopping twenty feet ahead of where her car is parked, Dallas looks at me expectantly.

“Oh, you want me to be the one who gets out and changes the tire? All the grease and dirty tire stuff. You want me to do that?”

“Yes, so I can film you helping and then leak it to the press.”

And there goes the impromptu kindness.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No.” He fumbles with his phone like he’s getting it ready. “My job is to change the narrative around you. We have to go from Hollywood’s playboy to a mature, upstanding adult. So go fix the tire, and whatever you do, don’t flirt with her.”

“Why would I flirt with her?”

Dallas’s eyes narrow in a don’t-try-my-patience kind of way.

“Fine. I won’t flirt with her. Geez.” I step out of the car, not missing his warning glare.

I walk toward long, slender legs; blonde, wavy hair; flawlessly tanned skin; designer sunglasses; and a lot of natural perkiness under her white t-shirt.

Is this some kind of test?

Did Dallas plant the gorgeous woman with “car problems” just to see if I had it in me not to flirt? I wouldn’t put it past him. When it comes to my image restoration, he’s all in—much to my annoyance.

“What seems to be the problem here, ma’am?” My six-year-old self smiles at how much I sound like a police officer, and the added ma’am ticks off the no-flirting clause. You don’t use ma’am when you’re trying to impress a woman.

She turns, and her mouth hitches into a surprised smile. “This works out perfectly.” She gestures to me. “It’s you!”

I drop my chin in feigned modesty. “Yeah, I know. I get recognized a lot.”

Her surprised smile morphs into something more akin to a frown. “I bet you do.”

Since I can’t flirt with her, there’s no point in dilly-dallying, especially when I’m already running late. I crouch in front of her rim, giving Dallas his picture-perfect moment. “Looks like a blown tire.” I glance up at the woman. “Do you have a spare?”

Light-brown eyebrows drop below the rim of her sunglasses, hiding from my view, but I still register the confused expression on her face. “You’re going to try and fix it?”

“Yeah.” Why do people think movie stars are incapable of doing normal things? Hasn’t she seen the magazine spreads with pictures of famous people grocery shopping or cleaning up their dog’s crap with the title ‘Celebrities are Just Like Us’?

“Instead of taking the time to fix it, why not just give me a ride?”

“Uh.” I laugh at her forwardness, adding a touch of a flirty smile—just a touch, but if Dallas has an angle, it’ll be enough to make him upset. “I don’t usually pick up women off the side of the road.” I wink at her. “Safety reasons.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“You can’t trust everything you read online.”

She scoffs as if she doesn’t believe me.

“Since stranger danger is a concern, let’s just fix your tire.” Can you imagine how angry Dallas would be if I brought the woman back to the car? Something like that goes way beyond flirting.

“Stranger danger?”

“Yeah.” I shrug innocently, but secretly, I’m proud of my charm.

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