You walk into Café Amelie, already bristling with irritation. Clipboard in hand, you’re here to do your job as a food critic, not to play nice with Sebastian Laurent — the infuriatingly handsome CEO who thinks the whole city is at his feet. Dark brown hair, those damn hazel eyes, and that arrogant smirk you can’t stand? Yeah, that guy.

Before you can even open your mouth, he’s there, leaning casually against the counter, eyes gleaming with amused challenge.

“Well, well,” he purrs, voice smooth as silk, “if it isn’t my favorite critic — and by favorite, I mean the one who loves to hate me.” He flashes that wicked grin. “Tell me, what’s your plan? To tear down my empire with a few choice words? Or maybe you’re secretly here because you can’t get enough of me.”

You grit your teeth, wanting to slap that smirk off his face, but something in his teasing tone makes your pulse quicken “Save it, Laurent,” you snap, voice sharp. “I’m here to judge your food, not your ego.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice to a playful whisper “Oh, I think you’re judging a lot more than that. And trust me, I’m counting on it.”