Page 25 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Camille

My good girl,

I’m sure I would have liked him. He raised a headstrong woman, and I can’t imagine that was easy.

Especially not with you.

I can tell by the way you reacted to my restrictions tonight that you didn’t like it. But rules are easy to follow when it’s something you want to do. The harder the restriction, the stronger you are for sticking to it.

The more of a good girl you are.

Here is the good news. If you do obey, then you will be rewarded.

And it will be more than just some light praise. I’m not sure yet what your reward will be, but I’ll be sure it’s something you want. I’ll make sure you enjoy it.

Thank you for letting me tag along today. I’ve been so busy with work lately.

Bea’s mother was usually the one to organize outings like that.

I’m glad you’re here.

How do you feel about going to the club tomorrow night? It’s your night off, isn’t it? I can arrange for Phoenix to stay with Bea. You deserve to be shown off a little.

Let me know what you think.

Your Sir

L ast night was grueling. I woke up in the middle of a sexy dream covered in sweat and practically crawling out of my skin, but I made it.

And this letter from Jack is reward enough. The idea of going with him to the club has me practically jumping out of bed.

Not only is today my day off, but his sister Elizabeth has agreed to watch Bea during the day. Which means I’ll have a chance to talk to her about ballet lessons.

I get Bea ready in the morning and prepare her a bag with everything she might need for the day. Jack is still upstairs, probably sleeping, when the door buzzes.

“Let’s go, Bea,” I say, ushering her out the front door. When she and I appear on the front steps of the building, Elizabeth looks surprised.

“I was hoping we could talk out here. Can I walk with you?” I ask.

Elizabeth looks confused before hesitantly nodding. “Sure.”

Bea walks in front of us as I talk to Elizabeth. Unlike the last time I saw her, her long black hair is down, and she’s wearing a red wool coat and high black boots. She really is stunning, and it makes me feel immediately inadequate in my joggers and T-shirt.

“So,” I say as we walk. “Beatrice has mentioned wanting to take ballet lessons.”

Elizabeth turns toward me in surprise. “And Jack said she could?”

I wince. “I haven’t spoken to him about it.”

She lets out a sigh. “He won’t change his mind.”

“But what about what Bea wants?” I argue, trying to keep my voice low.

“It’s not up to us,” Elizabeth replies.

“I just don’t understand why,” I say.

When we come upon a small market, Elizabeth stops. She fishes in her pocket for some coins and hands a few of them to her niece. “Bea, will you go inside and pick yourself out a treat? I don’t have any good snacks at my house.”

“Can I get candy?” she asks excitedly.

“No,” I say, but Elizabeth answers at the same time.

“Yes.”

When I glance at her, she shrugs. “Auntie privileges.”

“Fine,” I say, and Bea cheers before rushing into the store.

Once we’re alone, Elizabeth turns toward me and says, “When I was sixteen, I came to Paris for a ballet program, and I lived with my brother. Emmaline was one of the teachers in that program.”

“That’s how they met,” I say with a subtle gasp.

“Yes. After a year, she had to move home to Giverny, but Jack was already in love with her. He begged her to come back to Paris. So she did. Within a year, they were married, and Bea was born. That’s when she found out she was sick.

I stayed with them through it all. She fought for three years, but the cancer wouldn’t go away. ”

Tears prick my eyes as I turn to see Bea still perusing the candy section in the shop. Poor Emmaline. Poor Jack. Poor Bea. Poor Elizabeth. One cruel disease left so much despair in its wake.

“Em never danced after she came back to Paris, and my brother blames himself for that.”

“So he won’t even let Bea take lessons?” I ask.

“Jack won’t do anything that reminds him of Emmaline. I’m still in shock that he hired you.”

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because you’re French.”

My lips part, and I stare at Elizabeth as everything suddenly makes sense. That’s why he won’t let me speak. He can’t bear to hear my accent.

It feels like something in my heart both shatters and expands at the thought of my presence bringing Jack any pain. When did I start to care for him so much that the idea of hurting him hurts me ?

Bea comes bounding out of the shop a moment later, and I’m still reeling from this revelation.

“Listen,” Elizabeth says with a sigh. “I can take Bea to the studio with me on my days with her. I’ll give her lessons. But you can’t tell Jack.”

“Okay,” I say excitedly. “Thank you so much.”

She looks down at her niece with love in her eyes. “I just want her to be happy.”

“So do I,” I reply.

With that, Bea waves goodbye as she and Elizabeth walk away together. On my stroll back to the apartment, I can’t stop thinking about Jack.

This whole time, I’ve watched the real Jack come out of his shell, and my suspicions were correct.

He was never truly as cruel and cold as he let me believe.

He was just protecting himself. Closing off the rest of the world so he never had to feel that pain again.

And the distance he puts between himself and his daughter isn’t neglect. He’s protecting her.

When I walk in the door of the apartment, I expect it to be empty. But when I turn a corner and see Jack standing in the kitchen, I freeze.

Neither of us say a word as we just stare at each other. For the first time, we are alone—truly alone. And it feels like a test.

I promised I could keep things professional. Those were the rules.

Suddenly, the thought that Jack and I could do whatever we want, and I know how much we both want to, seems so tempting it hurts. But I intend to prove to Jack that I have a strong will.

So head held high, I walk into the kitchen without a word. His eyes are on me as I pass by him and go to the fridge, pulling out a carafe of juice and placing it on the counter. When I open the cabinet and reach up to retrieve a glass, I feel him step up close behind me.

His body brushes against mine, and for a moment, I think he’s trying to taunt me or even may be about to break the rules. Instead, he pulls down one of the glasses I can't reach and sets it on the counter.

“Merci,” I whisper quietly before wincing at the reminder of what I learned today.

“You’re welcome,” he replies before pulling away.

I pour myself a glass of juice and lean against the counter as I drink it. He sips his coffee while we both stand in comfortable silence. Finally, he’s the first one to break it.

“Phoenix will be here at nine. I don’t want to be seen leaving together, so I’ll be at the club already, waiting for you. Understand?”

I nod, holding my glass to my chest. My teeth pinch my bottom lip as I think about it, being back there and with him this time.

He used the phrase showing me off , and something about that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

I’m not sure if it’s about how good I look in the ropes or if it’s about how well I behave for him, but thinking about either one makes me feel the same way I do when he calls me his good girl.

Like for the first time in my life, I know exactly what I have to do.

I have someone who appreciates me and values me. I’m not alone.

It’s foolish, but I can’t help it. I love the idea of belonging to Jack in some way.

I wonder if he feels the same. Does he like the idea of belonging to me?

Maybe we don’t express it in the same way, but this is a two-way street.

If I am his, then he is mine. And not romantically or with any sort of commitment, but we share something that binds us.

It’s in the way we can stare into each other’s eyes.

The way he knows what I’m thinking without me having to speak a word. The way we trust each other.

He seems to notice my contemplation because he sets his mug down and approaches me. Staring down into my eyes, he tugs my lip from between my teeth softly with his thumb.

“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs quietly. “You are perfect.”

All the air in the room is suddenly gone, and it feels like I forgot how to breathe. He reaches up and tucks a stray curl behind my ear.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

It takes everything in me not to crawl into his arms and hold him tight. I’d like to bury my face against his chest or in the crook of his neck and just squeeze away all his pain after learning what I did today.

I nod, but it makes his eyes narrow, and I worry that I did something wrong.

Then he utters the two words that strike me.

“Say it,” he whispers.

He wants me to speak? Why now?

Now that I know my voice and my accent bring back harmful memories for him, I can’t find it in me to hurt him. And yet he’s asking me to.

Gazing into his warm green eyes, I gently reply, “I trust you.”

The muscles of his face relax as he nods. “Good. Then I’d like to blindfold you tonight. If that’s okay with you.”

How can something so simple and so innocuous feel so monumental? The idea of putting one more ounce of control in his hands excites me more than I would have expected it to.

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I want you to.”

“I hope you know that I do want more,” he adds with a wince of pain in his expression.

“You have no idea how much I want. But I don’t trust myself.

Because once I go further, it will be a slippery slope.

First, I’ll touch you. Then I’ll taste you.

Then I’ll fuck you. And all the rules we set out will be for nothing.

We just have too much at stake. I’m sorry. ”

“We can have both, Jack,” I plead. “If we make it just physical, I know we can keep things just like this. In the daytime, I’m your daughter’s nanny. At night, I can be more. I can be so much more, Jack.”

Eyes narrowing, he clearly considers this. Touching my cheek, he gently strokes it with the pad of his thumb. Then without responding to my idea, he adds, “I would never hurt you. I hope you know that.”

“I know that.”

When he stares at me like this, like I mean so much to him, it makes me wonder if he still sees her. Do I just remind him of his late wife, or has Jack started to see me for me?

“I meant what I said in that letter,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The moment is delicate and breakable. One small gust of wind could shatter it into a million pieces. So neither of us moves.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” I reply softly.

I watch his face for a reaction, a sign of pain or grief, but there is none—only intimacy and warmth.

I have no experience with being a nanny, but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be like this.

This is more than crossing the lines with what we do upstairs.

This is different. I meant what I said—I am glad that I’m here.

This home feels like my own now, and it probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.

“Perfect,” he whispers again.

My eyes watch him intently as he pulls away, leaving me feeling breathless and hot. And a little confused.

“Nine o’clock,” he says as he moves toward the front door. Before disappearing through it, he turns back to me and adds, “Don’t be late.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone.