Chapter 4
Present
Heart pounding,I stroll among the passersby. I bump into someone, but before I can apologize, I find myself on the ground. A searing pain overwhelms me, leaving me stunned for a few seconds. It takes me a moment to gather my senses.
Damn it! I got hit by a pole.
A few people come to check on me before leaving. Once I”m back on my feet, I continue my way. I might as well avoid having a seizure or breaking something.
I rub my forehead as I walk toward the restaurant where I”m meeting my neighbor. He can”t stand people who are late, or who cancel at the last minute. To tell the truth, I doubt he”s the only one who doesn”t tolerate it. Problem is, he”s friends with me. This month, I”ve been late four times and stood him up twice.
I”m the worst.
This morning, I promised myself it wouldn”t happen again. Especially not today. A sigh of satisfaction escapes my lips when I see Corentin standing in front of the little brasserie. As if sensing my presence, he raises his head in my direction. His eyes widen at my disheveled appearance. Walking past the store windows, my reflection catches my attention. Stray strands of hair escape in all directions, framing my face like a wild halo. I attempt to tame the unruly mess with my fingers, but it”s a futile effort. A red streak, likely from a collision with a pole, mars my brown skin, drawing attention amidst the chaos. Adding to the disarray, a stain tarnishes the pristine white of my dress. Despite my unkempt appearance, I continue forward with determination, approaching him.
I look like a mess.
“Who did this to you?” he utters in a cold voice, scanning our surroundings.
His hand gently caresses my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. As he presses a kiss to my forehead, I can”t help but feel a warmth spreading through me.
Before I can say a word, a waiter comes over to seat us at a table. He remains professional, but a gleam of amusement flashes from his eyes. We take our seats on the terrace, and after ordering, I go to the bathroom. A coat of gloss on my lips, I grab my curly hair for a quick bun.
When I come back, Corentin fills my glass and his with red wine. I position myself in front of him.
“What do you think?”
His eyes widen in astonishment as they meet mine. “You”re beautiful, but I think you”re going to have a bruise,” he says, pointing to my mark.
I rub my forehead, as if rubbing would make the pain go away.
“Great. I should have used foundation. Beginner”s mistake,” I say, settling down to face him.
“Would you mind telling me what happened? Did you have a fight with Cécile?”
He remains stoic, but I think I hear pride in his voice. It might be a figment of my imagination because he wouldn”t express pride in me fighting with someone. On the other hand, if I managed to defend myself with words, he”d be pleased. Not to the point of smiling, but almost.
A smirk?
I”d love to see him crack a smile, even a tiny one. Unfortunately, it”s an impossible feat for him. And it”s not for lack of trying.
“If I did, would you be my lawyer?”
He pretends to think, his gaze intense. “Why not, but it won”t be free.”
I open my mouth, falsely surprised. I know he”s joking because we”ve had this conversation before. Ending up in prison is not on my agenda. However, I wanted to know if he would represent me in case I ended up in front of a judge.
A wry smile spreads across my face.
“Do you accept payment in kind?”
He nearly chokes on his wine, making me laugh. His cheeks flush and I wish I could immortalize the moment. There”s nothing like watching him break out of his elusive persona. There”s something childlike and innocent about him when he lets himself go. I”ve only seen him like this once or twice in a year. It”s as if he”s been forbidden to have any feelings, happy or otherwise.
Where does this habit come from? And why?
“It”s so cute, your face is all red.”
He regains his seriousness. “Florence.” He sighs.
“Sorry, it was too tempting. Cécile didn”t put me in the state, but a pole did.”
“Did you hurt yourself?”
I put it into perspective with a wave of my hand.
“Don”t worry about me. Aside from embarrassing myself and hurting my ego, I”m fine. I”m tough, don”t forget.”
“Never. Next time, make sure to focus on what”s ahead.”
“I was in such a hurry to see you; my mind was elsewhere.”
This sentence makes him frown. “Thank you, that”s flattering. However, you say it as if we don”t see each other. I remind you we live in the same building. I gave you a ride to work this morning.”
I roll my eyes. The waiter arrives with our dishes, and we thank him. As he leaves, I continue. “I didn”t want to be late.”
“It”s not a big deal. Annoying, sure. But if it only happens once, it doesn”t matter,” he says, shrugging.
“We both know this is a recurring habit.”
He cuts into his steak, while I try to figure out how to tackle my burger. It”s too big to fit into my mouth. With my food suspended, I suppress an amused expression.
At times, my mind is in the wrong place.
“Why do I get the feeling you”re more upset about this than I am? You don”t hear me making a big deal out of it.”
“Liar!”
My exclamation stops him dead in his tracks. A few customers turn toward us, surely expecting an argument. The scowl on the lawyer”s face prompts them to resume their activity. I wish I had the power of persuasion too.
“So,” he begins, trying to get my attention. “Can you list the complaints I”ve made? I”m curious to hear them.”
Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, he analyzes me attentively. I search my memories, but nothing comes to me. Of course, it”s when I need it, I have a memory lapse.
Unless those memories don”t exist, my conscience intervenes.
“I don”t have any right now, but I will.”
“That”s what I thought,” he retorts, raising his gaze.
I let out a soft, “Hey,” causing him to lift his head from his plate, eyebrows raised. Leaning on the table, I inch closer. “Don”t you remember the trainee? He had an interview with you and because he was ten minutes late, you told him to go home. We both know you hate that. I don”t want to take your wrath. I”ve had enough of Cécile.”
Between the two, I prefer the redhead”s reproaches. My manager”s no angel, but Corentin would destroy me in seconds. The power he wields over me is as terrifying as it is fascinating. He could destroy me with a few words, and as much as I hate having given him all the cards to break me, Corentin remains my light in the darkness. My lifeline when I”m drowning in anguish. He”s my midnight sun.
Furrowing his brow, he sets down his utensils with determination, his expression shifting to one of seriousness.
“We had a business appointment. When you want to join a company, you make an effort to be on time. Or give notice if something unexpected happens. I gave him time, which he didn”t bother to take. That wasn”t the way to get me to accept him into the family firm. However, you?—”
He”s getting closer. His face is a few millimeters from mine. I swallow, unsettled by this sudden proximity. The minty scent of his breath mingles with the fruity notes of the wine. The green of his eyes becomes darker, more intense. Powerful. So much so my body is invaded by a gentle warmth. My belly flares up painfully as he tucks a lock of my hair back behind my ear.
“You”re different,” he continues, his hand still in contact with my skin. “You”re Florence. My Florence.”
As if to emphasize his words, he doesn”t take his eyes off me. My heart skips a beat—or two—or three. It races, overwhelmed by the sensation. It”s too much for me. I get lost in his eyes. There”s only us, far from the outside world.
You”re Florence. My Florence. Those few words. Those simple words set off a storm in my chest. A swirl of butterflies dance in my stomach, so much so I dread opening my mouth and letting them out. This isn”t a movie-style declaration, it”s much more. They mean I have a crucial place in the heart of this man for whom imperturbability seems to be the only emotion. My face on fire under his gaze, I struggle to regain my equilibrium after this emotional volcano.
“Anyway. Don”t bother with it anymore and eat before it gets cold.”
Clack! All gone. As if on cue, he settles against the back of his chair. I do the same, trying as best I can to regain my composure, while he effortlessly slips back into being the Corentin I know. Yet his gaze is different, as if he”s crossed an impassable line. Part of me wants to dig deeper, to try and understand what”s going on behind those hypnotic green eyes. Yet I know it would be a wasted effort. He”s done enough, and if I push too hard, he”ll clam up.
“You”ve got sauce on your dress.”
Everything has evaporated.
I force my heart to calm down and retrieve a napkin. I hope to clean the stain, but instead it spreads. I can”t go back to the office like this; I have nothing to hide the disaster.
“Here.”
I glance up at Corentin as he hands me his jacket. With a grateful smile, I express my thanks as he returns his attention to his meal. Despite any misconceptions, deep down, this man is a romantic. Whether it”s his upbringing or the countless romantic comedies I”ve dragged him through, it”s hard to say for sure.
Clearly, it”s the first option, but I like to believe the opposite and throw myself a curveball. Speaking of movies, I wonder what tonight”s program will be.
“How about a documentary, horror or music evening?”
“None of the above. I”m going back to London.”
I furrow my brow. “Another case?”
“If only, but no. Family obligation, impossible to miss.”
Corentin is the youngest in a line of lawyers, wealthy people with influence. Naturally, given where he comes from, it wasn”t difficult for him to fit into the world created around him. Apart from knowing he has an older sister, Clara, and his mother is no longer around, I barely know my neighbor. There is Jackie, whom he considers a member of his family, despite her status as an employee.
“You got back recently.”
He sighs. “My sister wants us to get together to tell us some news. As if telephones don’t exist,” he says, annoyed.
I frown. “How long will you be staying there? So I can enjoy our last meal together.”
He rolls his eyes at my drama queenside.
“Our last meal? Don”t you think you”re exaggerating, Florence? I”m usually away for weeks at a time. This is only a day or two.”
“It”s still torture. When I miss you, I”ll squat in your apartment.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think I”m going to leave you my keys after last time?”
“I promise, it won”t happen again.”
I make eyes at him, and he cracks up after a few seconds. We resume our meal, but when it”s time for dessert, Corentin brings up the subject that”s been bothering him.
“Have you spoken to Cécile?”
Anything but that.
I bite my lower lip. Can”t say I”ve tried. I don”t dare go and see her. This woman intimidates me too much; I avoid her office unless it”s absolutely necessary. I dread the words she utters. It”s unpleasant to admit, but I feel like a nobody when she”s around.
“No.”
“And élise?”
“Even less so.”
“You have to talk to her if you want to prove yourself. Take action.”
“Out of the question.”
This option isn”t even conceivable, and he knows it. The idea of using my influence to secure a place is not in my plans. I”m aware some of my colleagues can”t stand the fact I”m here because of connections. Despite my efforts to keep my link with élise a secret, it didn”t work. While some, like Manille, don”t care, others, like Cécile, don”t accept it. For them, my position is not deserved. Nevertheless, it”s tough to swallow, and I share the same opinion. So, I don”t intend to use élise”s intervention to gain to progress. I”ll have to prove myself.
“There”s nothing wrong with using connections,” he interjects.
“Speak for yourself. I”d feel like an imposter if I did.”
“Because you think that”s my case?”
I stick out my tongue. “Of course not. And I”m sure your clients feel the same way. Unlike me, you”ve worked hard to get where you are. You didn”t use your last name to advance.”
He furrows his brow. “You work hard too. You put in endless hours to make everything perfect.”
I roll my eyes. He”s trying to reassure me, nothing to be ecstatic about.
“It”s proof I can”t get things done on time.”
My neighbor frowns, irritated by my attitude.
“Is this coming from you or Cécile?”
“A bit of both. But it”s still true.”
“If only you could see yourself through my eyes, Florence. You would see how exceptional you are.”
I smile at him, and we finish the meal in a lighter atmosphere, avoiding touchy subjects. When the waiter wants us to settle the bill, I offer to pay. Corentin protests, but the firmness in my gaze leaves no room for doubt.
In the end, I can be discouraging.
It”s silly, but I don”t like him using his money. A small voice whispers he might think I”m only interested in him for it. It”s certain all of this is in my head, but the doubt lingers. I fear he might also realize I”m not worth it and he”s better off without me.
Everyone is better off without me.
We leave the restaurant, and Corentin envelops me in his arms, instantly making me forget my doubts about our friendship. My joy takes over at the warmth of his embrace against my skin. How will I manage without him around?
When we part ways, I stand there for a moment like a fool on the sidewalk. Only when raindrops fall on my face do I start walking again. The rest of the day goes smoothly. After work, I make a detour to the gym to blow off steam. Nothing like a workout to clear my mind. As soon as I get home, I head for the shower before the space is occupied. A relieving sigh escapes my lips as the water relaxes my muscles.
When I come out of the bathroom, I”m greeted by the smell of vegetables cooking.
“I made a quiche with bacon and broccoli,” Charlotte shouts.
With a towel around my damp body, I hurry toward the queen of the ovens in our trio. Without Charlotte, it”s certain Manille and I would be spending our time eating frozen food or takeaway. A diet that”s neither healthy nor varied.
Her dreadlocks pulled up into a high bun, she enters the salon wearing a Mickey Mouseapron.
A smile graces her lips as she observes my outfit from the corner of her eye.
“Planning to eat in a towel?”
“No, but I couldn”t resist the delicious scent.”
“You better get ready quickly because I won”t hold back for long,” warns Manille.
Without a word, I hurry into the bedroom. I slip on a pink oversized T-shirt and grab Lola to take a selfie, which I send to Corentin. In the caption, I write:
Lola misses you. She needs her favorite neighbor.
His response is immediate.
Corentin: I miss her too. And her mistress.
With a smile from ear to ear, I join the girls at the table. This day has turned out more fantastic than I would have thought. I enjoyed my time at the gym, chatting briefly with Lucas before he got busy with colleagues. Anyway, our conversation wasn”t the most exciting, but it was still a good time. I”m not sure where all this is going, but?—
“So, what’s going on with you and Corentin?”
I snap out of my reverie, my eyes lost, hearing Manille”s question. Charlotte pretends not to follow the conversation, but I know she”s all ears. It”s the kind of thing she loves. Manille, on the other hand, watches me with a teasing expression.
Why do I feel like I”m about to undergo an interrogation?
“Nothing special. He went back to London to see his family.”
Charlotte pouts. “Darn. I wanted to give him a slice of quiche. Next time.”
If Manille loves joking about the lawyer”s personality, Charlotte finds him fascinating. They don”t talk to him much, but there”s no doubt they appreciate him.
“Did anything else happen?” Manille asks, her eyes filled with mischief.
I knew it.
“No, nothing happened,” I reply, a bit annoyed.
“Seriously? Honestly, what”s the point of leaving you alone if you don”t do anything? Are you waiting for marriage to fill the golf hole?”
The golf hole? As surprised as disgusted, my eyes dart between the two women.
“What are you talking about? And what”s this about leaving us alone? Are you intentionally leaving when he comes?”
Are they joking?
Manille remains silent, while Charlotte shoots her a disapproving glare for revealing their secret. I have my answer. This time, I”ve had enough. I”ve accepted a lot of things, but this is ridiculous. I put my cutlery on the table, louder than necessary. I hate playing tough, but I want them to leave me alone with this.
Is it too much to ask?
“Okay, girls, you”re bothering me with these innuendos. How many times do I have to say he”s just a friend? Can you drop it?”
My tone is cold. The girls exchange a glance, realizing they”ve crossed a line this time. The cup is overflowing. Though I dislike coming across as rude, there”s a sense of relief in speaking my mind. They straighten up, their brows furrowing and their eyes widening in distress.
“I”m sorry, Florence. Lately, I”ve been binge-watching friends-to-lovers stories and I want to see the same thing in real life. Right, Manille?”
She nods. “Yes, you can count on us to stop all this harassment over Corentin. Especially since it”s Charlotte”s fault. She brainwashed me.”
Charlotte widens her eyes. “Of course, it”s my fault,” she responds ironically. “Anyway, know I love your relationship. You”re adorable, but not in a romantic way.”
“Thank you.”
“By the way,” Manille starts repositioning herself. “What if we go to the fair and then to a bar?”
I widen my eyes like Charlotte.
“But Manille, come on. It”s Wednesday. And since when do we go out during the week?”
She shrugs. “I don”t know, but I want to have fun tonight. Come on, girls,” she begs. “Florence, it”ll be my treat to make up for it.”
She tilts her head slightly, her eyes wide and innocent, silently pleading with us like a puppy. After a brief exchange with Charlotte, we agree to this unconventional idea. These girls would get me to do anything it seems. They push me beyond my comfort zone, which is not easy, but I find it endlessly rewarding. Having them in my life is a joy.
“Thanks, girls. Let”s get ready now.” She rushes into our room, not giving us the opportunity to say anything.
“What wouldn”t I do for her,” Charlotte sighs and finishes her meal.
Upon hearing her say these words, I think she”s right. I would do anything for them. They”re not only my roommates, they”re my best friends.