I do not own Hetalia, La Grenouille, or the State of New York.

"To recap – sexual harassment is defined as?" Arthur groaned inwardly as he rubbed his thin fingers along the bridge of his nose. Two hours he had been sitting in a cold metal folding chair, listening to their trigger-happy head of security drone on about the State's revised sexual harassment policies. It had something to do with the rise of sexual harassment in the workplace or some bullshit like that. A case like that hadn't happened at Kirkland Enterprises except for once, and the Head of Security nearly killed the employee due to the fact that the victim was his little sister. Word got around quickly that the Swed was more than happy to shoot someone in the leg and no one dared to cross him.

Emerald eyes lazily roved over the room as he tuned out the bored voice of the speaker, watching each of his employee's reactions to the seminar. Someone in the back had fallen asleep, but seeing as they were sleeping quietly, no one had bothered to wake them up. The Heads of the Accounting were sitting on either side of Jones with Kiku Honda looking poised and quiet though he occasionally glanced over at the American who would just shrug. Gilbert Beilschmidt, the other Accounting head sat on Jones' opposite side and would occasionally say something under his breath to Alfred who in return would grin and stifle a laugh.

On the most recent thing that Gilbert said, the American's cheeks turned pink and his bit into his lower lip as he tried not to snicker at the comment, which Gilbert seemed so proud of. Arthur couldn't help himself as his eyes raked over his assistant, locking onto his lips as he chewed them into a plump pink. Oh the things those lips could do…those hands too. His mind whispered, images of his daydreams coming back with a force.

Suddenly those blue eyes were looking into his own with an arched eyebrow, a silent 'you okay?' on the young man's face. The Briton tore his eyes away from the other's face, staring ahead at the speaker as he was finishing his presentation, cheeks burning scarlet to his ears.

"That's all everyone. Any questions? No. Thank you for sitting in on this State-mandated seminar. You're all dismissed."

Chairs scraped across the floor without hesitation as the employees fled from the room to head to their respective departments. A clock over the door read that it was 11:30, giving the various workers time to finish their reports before leaving for their lunches. In a mass exodus, Mr. Kirkland found himself flowing with the crowd out of the doors and down the hallways towards his office. The pale blonde found himself only stopped twice to be asked a question or his opinion on a legal matter before he found himself in front of the glass doors that lead into his assistant's little room before his own.

As he opened the door, he was honestly surprised to see the young American already at his desk, neatly organizing some paperwork into stacks. Neatly as in his desk was utter chaos and he was holding a paper in each hand trying to figure out where it would go. The door shut behind Kirkland as he stepped into the room, doing his best to give his assistant an acknowledging glance on his way to his own office.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

Damn. "Yes?" He asked, spinning around to look at the other man, his hand placed gently on the door to his own office.

"Don't forget that you're having lunch with the designer from France." The blonde said, looking down to shuffle through a stack of papers before he held up a small packet that was already stapled together. "Here's the contract if you decide to allow him on, and this-" he added, picking up a smaller packet of paper, "is what he's proposing. I've already put it all together so you can review it and have an idea of what he's wanting."

"Thank you Alfred," the Englishman murmured as he made the few steps towards the American's desk to take the papers. Glancing through the assortment of papers, he listened to the other shuffling through more papers that covered his desk. "Have you read through his proposal?"

"Yes sir."

"And what do you think?"

"Uh..well..I think it's a decent offer. It would probably sound better explained rather than just as bullet points. I think what he's asking for is high, but it's ultimately your decision."

"Why don't you come along then?" The words were out of Arthur's mouth before he could stop himself. A moment of internal panic flooded over the Brit as he looked down towards his assistant who looked as confused as he was by what was just offered.

"…excuse me?"

"To help me keep track of what the Frog is offering. You already know what it is that he's offering, and I agree that he's asking for too much for what's on here." Mr. Kirkland began, his voice slowly trailing off as his mind began to race about all of the implications of what he was asking. No, he's my assistant and I need him. This is a professional business lunch and I'm asking him to come to lunch with me on a purely professional basis.

Glancing at the papers on his desk, Jones sighed and shrugged his shoulders slightly as he moved the papers to the side. "Alright then… Um… You're supposed to meet him at La Grenouille at noon… So I guess we need to go?" The blonde offered as he fished his phone out of the side drawer in his desk. Arthur nodded briefly as he handed the papers back to his assistant and strolled into his office. After grabbing his own personal phone and a small briefcase, he returned into the other room to find Alfred waiting patiently by the doors. A leather book bag slung across his body and texting rapidly on his phone; the American chuckled momentarily before noticing his boss and pocketing the phone.


The car ride in Kirkland's private car was a bit uncomfortable, as the two men didn't have much to say to each other. Arthur still reminiscing on the memories from a few nights ago and Alfred busy texting someone on his phone. Though the car was spacious, Alfred had incredibly long legs that seemed to endless brush against Arthur's own. It wasn't that the Englishman had minded, but the constant stream of apologize from his assistant had begun to grate on his nerves.

At last, they had arrived to the restaurant, an over-the-top kind of place that served French cuisine and only that. Mr. Kirkland scowled as he looked over the decorations, which earned a chuckle from the larger man beside him. An obnoxiously French waiter who spoke so rapidly that the two blonds had to constantly ask for him to repeat himself showed them to their table, collecting their drink orders before prancing off towards another table.

Oh, how Arthur hated the French.

Sitting at the table across from them was a lovely woman with long flowing blonde hair that fell into gentle waves to his shoulders, lightly gracing the stubble on her cheeks… Bloody hell, that's a man. The man wore a purple silk shirt and black trousers that looked impossibly amazing on him. A simple combination that anyone could wear, yet the man looked as if he had just stepped out of a photo shoot.

"Bonjour," the man purred as he arose from his chair, reaching over to take Mr. Kirkland's hand in a way that seemed to pour forth seduction yet, seemed innocent enough. Furrowing his brows, Arthur answered with a curt "hello" and immediately moved to his seat. Green eyes glanced at his American counterpart to convey certain distrust, but he was met with a hard glare from the American. The glare however was directed at the Frenchman who seemed to ponder momentarily as he continued to grasp Alfred's hand before realization crossed his handsome features and the designer smirked deviously.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," the Frenchman said as he looked between the two blonds, eyes wrinkling at the corners before he sat down and draped himself over his chair. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Francis Bonnefoy, chief designer for La Petite Lapin." He said with a coy smile. Is it just me or does this man just drip with sex?

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Bonnefoy. If you don't mind, I would like to keep this meeting brief. I have many other clients to see." The words were crisp and professional, but the tone was lacking in any real concern as the CEO of Kirkland Enterprises said them. Alfred fished out the documents from earlier and handed them to his boss while keeping a cold stare upon the designer who just ignored the American as if he was nothing. Taking them gently, Arthur muttered a 'thanks' as he looked over the documents once again.

The waiter appeared finally with drinks – scotch and water for Mr. Kirkland, a glass of Merlot for Mr. Bonnefoy, and a dry whiskey for Jones. The orders were brief as their French acquaintance took the liberty of suggesting the "La Paillarde de Poulet au Thym et Citron" for Alfred and "Bass a la Barigoule d'Artichauts" for Arthur while he himself ordered the "La Sole Grillee". To Alfred, the prices were simply outrageous, but his face never betrayed anything other than obvious disdain for their business partner.

Once the waiter had left, the conversation returned to business. Francis Bonnefoy smiling smugly and sitting in a way that would make him look absolutely flawless in the lighting. A leg kept brushing against Arthur's own and at first he had dismissed it as Alfred's legs that were bouncing beneath the table, but the sultry glide down his calf signaled alarm bells in the Englishman's mind. Had it not been a business luncheon, the Brit would have deftly kicked the Frog in his calf and proceed to curse him out with a vocabulary fit for a sailor.

Needless to say, the look of pain that crossed the designer's face as a swift kick met his shin provided all of the satisfaction that he needed.

"I do apologize, I thought there was something on my leg. Now, I have read over the documents that you sent us. However, I would like you to explain your offer and we can possibly come to an agreement by the end of this lunch."

"Ah, yes. In short, I wish to use your company as financial backing as we expand La Petite Lapin to the States. The people here are in such dire need for good fashion that I cannot resist their cries!"

"I see. And what do you have to offer us?"

"Fashion, mon cher. We are a highly regarded company in France and Italy. Why, even Chanel has used our designers to help produce ideas for their designs! We can bring French fashion to the American people. The streets will be filled with so much style that the Americans will not longer be laughed at… for their fashion choices." On the last statement, a sly smirk shone through the Frenchman's face as he glanced over the American at their table, his eyes pointedly roving over the stone-faced blonde.

"Though… you American's do have excellent models." Mr. Bonnefoy added with a exaggerated wink towards Alfred who frowned at the remark. "I would love to have you model for my clothing line once we come to America, Mr?"

"Jones."

"Mr. Jones… And the same goes for you Mr. Kirkland. You two men are quite the specimen of looks." Cheeks flushed scarlet and eyes widened at the comments. As mouths opened to retort to the blatantly flirtatious remarks, the food arrived with flourish before them. Steaming plates of chicken, fish, and sole were laid out before them.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence except for the occasional passing remark made from Francis about how his line would be the greatest investment that Kirkland Enterprises could ever make. However, the opposite end of the table was entirely silent as they ate their food in appreciation. Though neither blonde would admit it, the food was phenomenal. Cooked to perfection and spiced in a subtle way that allowed you to taste your food without being overwhelmed.

When the trio of men finished their food, Alfred being the first and waiting patiently for the other two though Mr. Bonnefoy seemed to enjoy taking his precious time, savoring each and every bite with 'oohs' and 'aahs' of how delectable French cuisine is.

"Well Mr. Bonnefoy, we have taken your offer into consideration. I will take it back to our Accounting and Financial departments and have them run the numbers and see what we can do. Financing your business could be a risky move and we will look more in depth into your line and see if it is something that we have interest in." Standing from his seat, Mr. Kirkland smiled politely as he held out his hand to shake the Frenchman's. Instead, his hand was collected in a exuberant sweep and kissed passionately as the Frenchman bowed towards him. He pulled the American assistant's hand towards himself as well, doing the same with a wink towards the blue eyed male.

"Au revior mon cher. I look forward to hearing from you soon!" Francis fanfared as he walked them out of the restaurant, making a point to hold the door of their company car open for the two men. The designer was met with silence and cold glare from the large American who smiled sweetly before slamming the door shut.

As the door shut, the green-eyed Brit found himself chuckling softly as a stream of curses flew from the American's mouth as he sat in the other seat like a pouting child with his arms crossed over his chest. Though Arthur had all desire to question as to why he assistant behaved so coldly towards their potential business partner, he couldn't bring himself to question the other's obvious disdain as it reflected his own.

"Fucking French."


A/N: La Paillarde de Poulet au Thym et Citron is Grilled Chicken Pailliard with Thyme and Lemon, La Sole Grillee is Grilled Dover Sole, and Bass a la Barigoule d'Artichauts is Bass with Artichokes. That is actually from the menu from LA Grenouille which is a real restaurant in New York. The plates are $40 and up for lunch.

It's been a while hasn't it? I've been writing and rewriting this chapter. It's a bit slow and a bit rushed but more will come later.