Chapter 1
Amira
For almost four years, each of my mornings has started on the endless avenue that leads to the law firm where I work. I hardly pay attention to the daily noise of my pair of heels on the London tarmac anymore.
With the phone pressed against my cheek, I ignore the few curious people watching me from their car, trapped in the morning traffic. And what a stupid idea to drive so close to the city center at such a crowded time.
My burgundy veil highlights the light tone of my skin while a fitted black dress disappears under a matching blazer. Discreet makeup completes this beauty look which took me more than forty-five minutes.
My adage: Always remained elegant even on days when I was late. Or almost every morning.
I end up slipping my phone into my jacket pocket, vowing to listen to the rest of my big sister's vocals during my lunch break. She tends to make long audios since she was a stay-at-home mom.
A glance at my chrome watch confirms that I'm in trouble. At least five full minutes. And my fifty-year-old boss, Jonas Campbell, who is very tight on schedule, will certainly hold it against me. But I'm, as one might say... used to it.
— All because of a Chelsea bun! I whispered, squeezing the small paper bag held in my right hand.
Another morning when I couldn't resist in front of the well-stocked window of the bakery on the corner of Charlotte Street. The sweets of Fitzrovia. And anyone who knows me knows that this English specialty flavored with cinnamon is my favorite among all.
When I finally push open the thick varnished wooden door of the law office, I take a deep breath to encourage myself to receive Jonas' wrath.
Maybe I should let him bite into my Chelsea bun to make up for it...
I climb the three floors, taking the steps two at a time. The strap of my leather wallet rests on my shoulder while a tiny YSL handbag is held between my fingers. He is only there for stylistic effect. I barely have room to fit a lip gloss and some hijab pins.
When I see my reflection through the windows of out-of-service elevators, I have the impression of looking like a Londoner in a hurry, disorganized, but above all incapable of slowing down.
Out of breath, I reach the door leading to my floor.
“It’s about time this elevator was repaired,” I cursed, appearing in the hallway.
To my great relief, Jonas is not around. So I quicken my pace, sneaking to my office. I take care to enter without making the slightest noise, place my things on the huge oak secretary, before spreading out on the leather seat.
Head back, I try to catch my breath. I had a nice escape!
Amira 1 and Jonas... 186.
— A cardio like crustacean, I muttered to myself before standing up.
My laptop starts up while I stretch. A mountain of files already sits on my desk, fairly orderly without me dreading work.
On the contrary, I feel an almost ferocious impatience as soon as I put on my lawyer's uniform.
And over the years, my passion for my profession and my inexhaustible motivation have been true allies. Thanks to them, Jonas Campbell always ends up turning a blind eye to my repeated lateness and my rough organization.
And despite his legendary demands, which frighten my colleagues, Jonas knows my loyalty and my sense of work. He knows who to entrust with last-minute files or those that no one wants to collect. Those that involve liters of coffee and sleepless nights by the dozen.
“There is not a file that passes through your hands without you making it a success. The Campbell house certainly owes you its
renamed Amira. » he said at the beginning of the year in front of all our contributors
It's well past nine in the morning, without Jonas knocking on my office door to add to this pile of business that never really diminishes.
— Perhaps he is absent? It would be a good first time...
Driven more by curiosity than by worry, I leave my seat to take a look outside. I tiptoe across the corridor leading to my colleagues' offices. At the bottom, that of the boss. The door is closed, strangely.
At this time, Jonas leaves it ajar in order to monitor the morning arrival of the staff. A smile slips onto my lips when I recognize my superior's voice from inside the room.
“This morning meeting saved my life,” I said, smiling, victorious.
I will be able to go and enjoy my Chelsea bun in complete peace, without offering Jonas a single crumb.
I'm already turning around, my mouth almost watering, thinking of this sweetness that sits neatly on my desk. Suddenly, Jonas' door opens. His sparkling, honeyed gaze meets mine and pins me to the spot.
— Oh there you are! This is good.
My smile freezes, caught in the act.
—Here I am, in fact... I respond, spontaneously, with a tense face.
— Please come in. I will need you for a file.
With bitterness, I immediately regret being there. Paying the price of a suicidal curiosity which will have the taste of an additional matter to deal with.
Wait for me Chelsea Bun... still remains so melting... for me.
Rid of my blazer, I infiltrate the office. A woody scent, different from Jonas's, hits me first, then I waver. My legs become like cotton when my eyes meet those of a man whose return I no longer expected.
Un regard pour lequel j'étais prête à tout... et pourtant celui qui m'a blessé commenoneautre.