When Jean-Pierre cornered me in the breakroom, his roguish grin set to full wattage, I knew I was in trouble.

"Mademoiselle Bennett., ma chérie," he purred, invading my personal space in that distinctly French way. "I was hoping you might join me for dinner tonight. I know a delightful little place zat serves ze most divine bouillabaisse zis side of Manhattan."

I arched a brow, trying to ignore the flutter of anticipation in my stomach. Great, now I have to fend off French Casanova in the middle of my coffee break. "I don't know, Monsieur Duvall. Mixing business with pleasure seems like a recipe for disaster."

His grin only widened. "Ah, but who said anything about business? Can't two colleagues simply enjoy a lovely meal together?"

Colleagues, sure. And next, pigs will fly. I snorted. "With you? I highly doubt it." But even as I said it, I could feel my resolve wavering. Come on, Lottie, stick to your guns.

After the tumultuous hot-and-cold routine with Max and the icy dismissal from his so-called benefactor, I was feeling reckless. What was the harm in a little dinner and flirtatious banter? Besides, how often does a girl gets wined and dined by a living and breathing French Adonis?

"Oh, what the hell," I said, throwing caution to the wind. "Why not? But you're buying, Frenchie."

Jean-Pierre's answering smile was blinding. Oh la la, what did I just sign myself up for?

The restaurant was every bit as chic and intimate as Jean-Pierre had promised. As we settled into our candlelit table, I couldn't help but admire the way the soft light played over his chiseled features. Damn, there was not denying that the man was ridiculously attractive.

Over the next hour, we fell into easy conversation, our witty repartee flowing as smoothly as the rich Bordeaux. I discovered there was far more to Jean-Pierre than met the eye. Beneath his polished charm, there was a keen intellect and a surprising depth of emotion. Who knew Mr. Suave had a soul?

He spoke of his childhood in Aix-en-Provence, painting vivid pictures of sun-drenched lavender fields and lazy afternoons spent in his grand-mère's kitchen. There was a wistfulness to his tone that hinted at old heartaches and hard-won wisdom. Not just a pretty face, huh?

As Jean-Pierre told me a story about the time he and his childhood friends decided to turn his grand-mère's garden into a "lavender-themed amusement park," I couldn't help but laugh.

"We set up a makeshift rollercoaster using an old wheelbarrow and some wooden planks," he said, eyes twinkling. "It was all fun and games until grand-mère caught us and chased us around with a broom, shouting curses in Provençal. She was a tiny woman, but she had ze heart of a lionne."

I laughed, picturing the scene. "And what did she do when she finally caught you?"

He leaned in, his expression playful. "Ah, she made us replant every single lavender bush we had trampled. It took us zhe entire summer, but we learned our lesson."

I shook my head, still chuckling. Grand-mère sounds like a real force of nature. "But I doubt you learned the lesson, seeing how you're incorrigible, Monsieur Duvall."

"Indeed," he replied with a roguish wink. "But it's zose incorrigible moments zat make life worth living, n'est-ce pas? Tell me, Charlotte, have you ever done something just as reckless for ze sheer zrill of it?"

I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. "Well, there was that one time I decided to sneak into a closed exhibit at the museum with a couple of friends. We ended up triggering the alarm and spent the night hiding from security."

Jean-Pierre laughed, the sound rich and infectious. "Now zhat is a story worth hearing more about."

Great, now I'm spilling my guts to the French Casanova. I mentally chastised myself.

We spent the next hour exchanging tales of youthful indiscretions, our laughter mingling with the soft murmur of the restaurant. There was an easy camaraderie between us, a natural rhythm to our conversation that felt both exhilarating and comforting. Who knew being reckless could be so... fun?

"You know, ma belle," he said, swirling his wine thoughtfully." In my experience, life is too short to waste time on regrets or what-ifs. We must seize our opportunities when zhey arise, non?"

His words struck a chord within me. Seize the day, huh? Maybe he's right. Here I was, wasting so much energy agonizing over the convoluted tangle of my feelings for Max, when there was a whole world of possibilities waiting to be explored.

Emboldened by the wine and Jean-Pierre's infectious zest for life, I leaned forward with a coy smile. "Speaking of seizing opportunities...I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me in on the Sakura Project, would you? I have a feeling my skills could be a real asset."

Jean-Pierre's brows shot up in surprise. "Ma chérie, you know zat's highly confidential. Max would have my head on a platter."

Come on, Frenchie. Don't let me down now. I trailed a finger along the rim of my glass, shooting him a heated look through my lashes. "Come on, Jean-Pierre. Live a little. Where's that rebellious spirit of yours?"

He shook his head, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips. "You, ma chérie, are a dangerous woman." But I could see his resolve was still strong. Alright, time to turn up the charm.

"Think of it this way," I pressed, leaning closer so our faces were just inches apart. "Max brought you on for your strategic expertise. Surely part of that is recognizing untapped potential?" I let my voice drop to a whisper, my breath warm against his ear. "You know I'm more than capable of contributing something valuable."

His eyes darkened, his resolve visibly wavering. Almost there.

I reached out and placed my hand over his, letting my fingers gently stroke his palm. "I promise, I will make the risk worth it. Just think of what we could accomplish together."

He studied me for a long moment, his expression conflicted. "You certainly drive a hard bargain, coquine."

Got him. "And you, Monsieur Duvall, are the perfect partner in crime."

He sighed, his resistance finally breaking. "Very well. I will speak to Max about bringing you onto ze project - but on one condition."

"Name it," I said, triumphant. Please don't let it be something too crazy, I silently prayed.

Jean-Pierre's eyes gleamed wickedly in the candlelight. "You let me take you out again. And zis time...it will most definitely be a date."

My heart skipped a beat as I held his heated gaze. "You've got yourself a deal, Frenchie."

We clinked our glasses in a toast, sealing our pact. The evening had turned out better than I had expected, and I couldn't wait to see what opportunities this new alliance with Jean-Pierre might bring.

I couldn't help but feel a curiosity nagging at the back of my mind. Don't chicken out now, Lottie. "Jean-Pierre," I said. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

He turned to me, his expression inquisitive. "Oui?"

"What's the real reason behind your arrival at Pemberton Financial? Max isn't exactly known for being a team player. Why bring in a consultant?"

Jean-Pierre's eyes flickered with a hint of something unreadable. Come on, spill the beans. "Maximilian and I have history together," he said slowly. "We met a long time ago, under... interesting circumstances. Let's just say zere's more to our relationship zan meets ze eye."

"But how did you meet?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued.

Jean-Pierre shook his head with a smile. "Zat, ma chérie, is a story for another time. For now, let's just enjoy ze evening."

I nodded, though my mind was spinning with questions.

As the evening wound down, Jean-Pierre insisted on driving me home. And here I thought chivalry was dead.

The drive was filled with more light-hearted banter and shared stories. When we finally pulled up to my apartment, Jean-Pierre turned to me, his expression sincere.

"I had a wonderful time tonight, ma belle. Zank you for saying yes."

"I did too," I admitted, feeling a warm blush creep up my cheeks. "Thank you for the dinner, and for listening."

He leaned in, his gaze locking onto mine. "And remember, our deal. I'll talk to Max about ze project."

"I'm counting on it." I replied, giving him a small kiss on the cheek.

"Bonne nuit, ma chérie. Until next time."

"Goodnight, Jean-Pierre," As I opened the car door and stepped out.

I watched as he drove away, a feeling of anticipation buzzing through me. Yep, life is about to get very interesting indeed.

Max's Mini POV

I couldn't believe my eyes. As Duvall's car pulled up to Charlotte's apartment, I watched from my own vehicle parked discreetly across the street. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, the bouquet of roses on the passenger seat beside me feeling more absurd by the second.

I had spent the entire drive rehearsing my apology, envisioning her surprise, maybe even her smile. But now, as I watched Charlotte laugh and exchange a playful kiss on the cheek with Duvall, a searing wave of jealousy crashed over me. My chest tightened, a raw mix of anger and regret taking hold.

She stepped out of the car, her laughter lingering in the air, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside me. I had come here to bridge the gap between us, to lay bare my feelings. Instead, I was faced with the harsh reality of another man bringing joy to her life, fucking Duvall out of all men.

His car drove off, and she walked towards her apartment, blissfully unaware of my presence. I sat in my car, the roses now a cruel reminder of my own foolishness. What was I even doing here?