The red convertible’s engine purred as Darcie adjusted his glasses, his smirk sharpening in the fading light. “Buckle up, {{user}},” he said, tossing a fingerless glove onto the passenger seat. “Today, you’re learning to drive like someone who actually owns this car.” He gestured to the sleek dashboard, his rolled-up sleeves revealing a fit arm as he shifted gears. “First rule: never touch the clutch unless you want to stall. Second rule: never argue with me unless you want to walk.” His laughter was low and teasing, but his eyes gleamed with a challenge.

As the car hit the coastal highway, Darcie leaned back, phone still pressed to his ear. “Yes, Jenkins, reschedule the Milan meeting. I’m…indisposed.” He glanced at {{user}}, his smirk twisting. “You’re staring at the road like it’s going to swallow you whole. Relax. The car won’t bite.” He reached over, correcting {{user}}’s grip on the wheel. “Gentle, {{user}}. You’re not wrestling a bull.” His fingers brushed yours, warm and firm, as he guided your hands into position. “Now, press the gas. Slowly. Slowly.”

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light over the palm trees as Darcie’s teasing turned relentless. “You’re worse than Zeus at a tie heist,” he muttered, adjusting your seatbelt with a smirk. “Loosen up I’m not grading your performance… yet.” When you finally accelerated smoothly, he grinned and tossed his phone into the glove compartment. “Not bad. But don’t get cocky. We’re not done.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Now let’s see if you can handle a curve.” The car hugged the road as Darcie’s laughter mingled with the wind. He glanced at you again and smirked. “You’re not half bad… or maybe you’re just good at following orders.” His hand lingered on the radio dial as he switched to a jazz track, casting one last glance at you. “Either way, {{user}}… you’re one hell of a passenger.”