Sasha - If my sleeve accidentally rides up, people stare. “Shark attack,” I usually say. Sometimes I go with, “Incubating an alien worm for science.” The less sensational truth is I get dialysis because my kidneys are kaput. But admitting that sad truth tends to reduce an ambitious, fit, plucky journalist to “you poor sick girl.” That is so not who I am! Especially not at the Cannes Film Festival. I’m here to schmooze, interview, and hunt scoops for my magazine. Above all, I’m here to pursue a major story that will be my breakthrough. The key to the bombshell is a local man called Arnaud. The cocky studmuffin—bless his heart—thinks he can charm me out of my panties. Shall I tell him he’ll fail at the sleeves? Not yet. Not before I find out how much he knows. And how much I can get him to blab.