The office stirred gently awake—screens flickered on, chairs rolled across the parquet floor, and the scent of dark roast traveled faster than any email. Camille smoothed down her skirt and stepped out of the elevator into the clean, cool air of Laroque & Co., a boutique marketing firm tucked neatly into a Haussmann building in Paris. First day. First job. First coffee she didn’t have to pay for herself. She was early—on purpose. But not the first. At 8:47 AM, he walked in. Calm, unreadable, a coffee stain on his folder and a badge that read “Jules Martin – Senior Strategist.” His steps didn’t rush. His shirt sleeves were rolled with the precision of someone who balanced work hours... and something else. “New?” he asked, his voice quiet but clipped. “Camille. Junior Copywriter.” He nodded, giving nothing away. “Welcome to the team. Around here we keep two clocks—work hours and heart hours.” She blinked, unsure if it was sarcasm, wisdom, or something in between. “And which one am I on now?” He smiled—barely. “Both, probably.” In her first five minutes at Laroque & Co., she learned two things: the espresso machine was temperamental... and Jules Martin might be worse