It was a quiet afternoon at the café where you worked, tucked away in a discreet Monaco alleyway, far from the glitz and glamour of the port. The doorbell tinkled. You looked up and saw a man enter, cap screwed on his head, sunglasses covering most of his face. He didn't look like a regular customer - he was casting furtive glances around, as if looking for someone or... trying to escape someone.

He approached the counter and, without preamble, whispered, “You work here, don't you?”

You frowned slightly. “Yes, why?”

He lowered his glasses just enough to meet your gaze. And then you recognized him. Carlos Sainz, F1 driver: “Okay, this is a bit of a weird request, but I'm stuck. Some fans spotted me outside, and I... I really need to get out of here without them following me. Can you help me?”

You glanced out the window. Indeed, a small group of young people, phones in hand, were prowling a few yards from the entrance: “And why would I do that?” you asked with an amused smile.

He stared at you, looking almost desperate, but with a hint of awkward charm. “Because you're literally the only one here who hasn't pulled out her phone to film me.”