Jean-Pierre's roguish grin widened at my stunned silence. "Ah, forgive me, ma chérie. My forwardness appears to have rendered you speechless." He took a step closer, invading my personal space in that distinctly French way that somehow made the offense seem charming.

"Perhaps it is my accent zat has so captivated you, non?" he murmured teasingly. "I have been told it can be...most distracting when I wish it to be."

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling unbearably dry as I struggled to formulate a response to his shameless flirting. The French Adonis's unrepentant gaze caught me off guard, making my pulse quicken. His intense blue eyes seemed to see right through me.

"I...that's not..." I faltered, my gaze straying helplessly back toward Max's silent office.

What was I even trying to argue? That I wasn't the least bit affected by Jean-Pierre's attractive charm and undisguised pursuit? That would be an obvious lie. The man exuded sensual appeal like a force of nature.

And yet, no matter how disarming Jean-Pierre's attentions were, they simply couldn't compare to the raging inferno Max Pemberton had sparked within me. A fire that still burned hot and restless beneath my skin, smoldering with unspent desires and unanswered questions.

Perhaps Jean-Pierre recognized the preoccupied yearning in my expression, for his handsome face sobered somewhat. "You know, for what it's worth..." He paused, holding my gaze in an unexpectedly earnest look. "I do not pretend to understand whatever...complexities exist between you and Monsieur Pemberton. But I cannot fathom any man possessing ze utter insanity it would require to dismiss a woman like you."

The unexpected vulnerability in his tone threw me, cracking the veneer of humor and allowing a deeper sincerity to bleed through. Before I could formulate a response, Jean-Pierre had stepped fully into my space, his clean, woodsy scent enveloping me as he murmured close to my ear.

"If he cannot see ze exquisite treasure before him...zen he is a fou, and I shall endeavor to make you see reason, ma chérie." His breath danced warm against my neck, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

Then, just as quickly as the moment had begun, Jean-Pierre drew back, his carefully curated mask of easy charm slipping back into place. "Ah, but where are my manners? I am keeping you from your work, and I have not even been properly introduced to ze great Maximilian Pemberton."

With a roguish wink and a dramatic flourish, he inclined his head toward the unyielding slab of Max's office door. "Shall we?"

I could only gape after him as he strode ahead, leaving me to catch my breath and steady my whirling emotions. Just when I thought I had a handle on the bizarre storm of feelings Max Pemberton had brought into my life, in walked Jean-Pierre Duvall as an entirely new complication.

Smoothing my hands over my skirt, I mustered what dignity remained and followed after the incorrigible Frenchman. Whatever storm awaited behind that office door, I could only hope I was prepared to weather it.

Jean-Pierre didn't wait for me to collect myself, instead striding straight toward Max's office door with his usual brazen confidence. Before I could even protest, he rapped his knuckles against the frosted glass in a quick, decisive pattern.

"Just a moment," I hissed, hurrying up behind him. The last thing I needed was for Max to witness the ease with which the charming Frenchman had flustered me. I smoothed my hands over my hair self-consciously. "Jean-Pierre, I really don't think this is a good time—"

The words died on my lips as the door swung open, revealing the last person I expected to find on the other side. It wasn't Max's towering, imposing frame filling the doorframe, but rather a strikingly beautiful woman with chiseled cheekbones and long, honey-blonde hair.

"Can I help you?" Her cultured tone held an undercurrent of frost as she raked an assessing look over both Jean-Pierre and myself.

Ever unflappable, Jean-Pierre recovered quickly with a roguish grin. "But of course, ma belle." He swept an exaggerated bow, his gaze sweeping over her with unabashed admiration. "I am Jean-Pierre Duvall, recently acquired by ze esteemed Monsieur Pemberton to assist with its latest...ventures."

A delicate mahogany brow arched as the woman met his overt flirtations with patent disinterest. "Is that so? How...quaint."

"And you must be ze beautiful creature I've heard so much about," Jean-Pierre pressed on cheerfully. "Monsieur Pemberton's newest friend, non? His...how do you say...bienfaiteur?"

At that, the woman's full lips finally curved into the barest hint of a smile, though her grey eyes remained as frigid as ever. "I am indeed, Mr. Duvall. I'm Mr. Pemberton's new... benefactor." Her gaze slid toward me, sharp assessment glittering in those striking eyes. "And you are...?"

The benefactor's steely gaze locked onto mine, her expression unreadable. "Charlotte Bennett," I supplied, hoping my voice sounded more confident than I felt. "Executive Assistant to Mr. Pemberton."

"Charmed," she replied, her tone suggesting anything but. "I do hope your...personal entanglements won't interfere with the success of the Sakura Project." Her gaze flicked pointedly between Jean-Pierre and myself.

I bristled at the insinuation, but before I could formulate a response, Jean-Pierre interjected smoothly. "Ah, ma chérie, you wound me! I assure you, my focus is entirely on ensuring zhe triumph of our shared endeavors."

I straightened my spine and met The Benefactor's assessing stare head-on. "Speaking of which, is Mr. Pemberton available? We have some...time-sensitive matters to discuss."

She regarded me through narrowed eyes for an extended moment, as if sizing up my worth. When she spoke again, her tone remained clipped and inscrutable. "I'm afraid Mr. Pemberton is preoccupied with other obligations at present. But I'm sure he can make time for whatever...delicate matters need addressing at a later time."

The underlying condescension in her words wasn't lost on me. Or the way her gaze slid pointedly toward Jean-Pierre. A muscle ticked along my jaw as the unsubtle dismissal began to ignite a slow simmering of irritation. Just who did this woman think she was, speaking about me and my reasons for being here in such a derisive fashion?

Squaring my shoulders, I lifted my chin in a move of quiet defiance. "Please inform Mr. Pemberton that I'll be awaiting his availability in my office. I'm sure he understands the...importance of keeping open lines of communication."

Beside me, Jean-Pierre remained silent, though I could sense the undercurrent of his amusement like a physical force. No doubt he found the entire exchange more humorous than I could appreciate at the moment.

For her part, The Benefactor's expression didn't so much as flicker, though her stare became somehow more intensified and penetrating. As if she could see straight through the bravado I struggled to maintain.

"Of course, Miss Bennett," she said at last, in an infuriatingly placating tone. "I'm sure Mr. Pemberton will reach out just as soon as he's able." Her tone held a subtle rebuke as she looked between us with mild curiosity. "I don't mean to be rude, but him and I have significant matters to discuss and very limited time. If you'll excuse us?"

But Jean-Pierre merely offered her a sardonic smile, hitching an arm around my shoulders in a show of cavalier disregard. "But of course, mademoiselle. We wouldn't dream of keeping you from your...responsibilities a moment longer."

He spun us both away from The Benefactor's glowering stare, tossing a wink back over his shoulder. "Until next time, ma chérie!"

My heels clicked hastily against the marble floor as I headed back to my office, my steps feeling heavier with each stride. Inside my workspace, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. I felt entangled and off-balance, grasping for clarity.

Who was this Benefactor, really? What was her relationship with Max? Her casual dismissal made my skin prickle with embarrassment and indignation, as if I were a silly girl playing at games far beyond my understanding.

A harsh rap at my office door had me jolting upright with a startled grimace. I cleared my throat and called out a terse, "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal Jean-Pierre lingering in the frame, regarding me with half-lidded eyes and an indulgent curve to his full lips. "You know, ze way she spoke of our esteemed Monsieur Pemberton...it really was quite fascinating, was it not?"

I bristled at his probing, fiery tone. "I'm not sure I like what you're insinuating, Jean-Pierre."

He lifted one broad shoulder in an elegant shrug, not backing down. "Merely an observation, ma chérie. Zough I imagine it must be...discomfiting to be kept so obliviously in ze dark about certain aspects of your association with zat man."

My jaw clenched hard enough to make the hinges creak. As much as I wanted to deny the truth in Jean-Pierre's astute words, a part of me knew he spoke with rare candor. Because as confident and self-assured as I aimed to be, there were entire layers to Max Pemberton's world and motivations that remained an impenetrable mystery to me.

And as unsettling as that reality was, the most disquieting question of all still loomed...did I even want to unravel the secrets of what existed between Max and this elusive Benefactor? Or would pulling at that thread only serve to unravel me in ways I couldn't fathom?

With a protracted sigh, I settled onto the edge of my desk and pinned Jean-Pierre with a searching look. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to simply mind your own affairs, would you?"

Jean-Pierre's roguish grin stretched a touch wider as he took my response as the invitation it was. Crossing the room in a few decisive strides, he leaned one hip against the desk beside me, the coppery strands of his tousled hair catching the filtered sunlight in a soft burnished glow.

"And miss out on all ze delicious intrigue?" He clucked his tongue in an exaggerated tsk. "Where would be ze fun in zat, ma belle?"

Despite my frustration, I couldn't quite smother the reluctant curve of amusement that tugged at the corners of my lips. Perhaps there was a strange sort of comfort in Jean-Pierre's easy charm after all.

Because for as much as I tried to make sense of the mercurial forces swirling in Max's orbit, one grounding truth remained—I would not simply be brushed aside, damn it. Not by some cold, superior snake in Louboutin stilettos. Not when I had willingly subjected myself to Maximilian Pemberton's outrageous "punishment" and all the humiliating stunts it entailed.