Page 30 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Camille

J ack goes straight upstairs when we get home. It bothers me so much, but I can’t say anything. Not around Bea.

Although it’s technically my day off, I spend it with her. We play in her room and cook dinner together, and the whole time, I just keep thinking about the brooding man upstairs.

When I lay Bea down in bed at the end of the day, she asks me to stay with her. So I do. Sitting on the chair next to her bed, I softly brush her hair until she closes her eyes.

After a yawn, she whispers, “I wish you were my maman.”

She clutches my hand in hers, and emotion stings in my throat. Leaning toward her, I softly whisper, “No one could ever replace your maman.”

“But you can,” she says, and I quickly shake my head.

I wish I knew the right thing to say, and it’s very likely that I’ll mess this up somehow. No one trains you for moments like this. And maybe there is no right thing to say.

Moving toward her side, I sit on the edge of her bed as I stare down at her, fighting back tears.

“I’m sorry that your maman got sick. I know she would want to be here with you more than anything.

And no one else could possibly replace her, but you have so many people who love you just as much as she did.

You have your tante Elizabeth. And your papa. And me.”

“And my grand-mère,” she says sweetly before continuing to rattle off grandparents and aunts and uncles, making me smile.

“Exactly.” Leaning down, I press my lips to her forehead. “Bonne nuit. Fais de beaux rêves.”

“Bonne nuit,” she mumbles sleepily.

Leaving the room, I turn off the light and shut her door. Once I’m alone in the downstairs level of the apartment, his presence upstairs calls to me. I already know Jack is the type to bottle up his emotions and hide. He doesn’t want confrontation or to actually face those feelings.

But that’s not me. I can’t just bury this guilt and pretend it doesn’t exist.

I try to busy myself for a while, cleaning the kitchen, doing dishes, prepping meals for the week. But none of it is a true distraction because he’s still there at the forefront of my mind. It’s like I’m waiting for him to come down and give me a piece of his mind, but it’s futile. He’s not coming.

Nearly two hours after I put Bea to bed, I decide I can’t take another second, and I march right up those stairs. I refuse to let him crawl back into the shadows and be a moody phantom like he was when I first arrived.

He’s not in his office or in his bedroom, so I barge right into the bondage room and find him winding ropes and putting them away in the wardrobe. My eyes catch on the gold band on his finger, lancing me with a yearning I can’t stand.

“No session tonight, Camille,” he says with his back to me.

“I’m not here for a session,” I argue.

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Then you should get to bed.”

Stomping over to him, I grab his arm and force him to face me. There’s grief and pain in his eyes, and it both kills me and angers me. Why is this man so intent on enduring this agony alone? Why does he punish himself like this?

“You’re mad at me,” I say through clenched teeth. “So tell me. Yell at me. Scold me or punish me or something.”

“Go to bed.”

“No,” I argue. “How can you live like this? This anger and pain eats at you like a cancer.”

The moment the word leaves my mouth, I wince. It was a slip of the tongue.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I stammer, “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”

“Good night, Camille.”

My eyes pop open to find him walking away, and I quickly grab his arm to haul him back. “What? Stop!”

As he turns on me, I see the struggle in his expression. The excruciating conflict. “You think I want to be angry at you?” he snaps. “You are the last person I want to be angry with.”

“It doesn’t matter if you want to. You are . So tell me.”

“Fine,” he growls painfully as his expression morphs into contempt.

“You want to hear how mad I am?” He corners me into a wall with a sneer.

“You didn’t just disobey me. You betrayed me.

And not with just anyone but with my daughter .

You knew I didn’t want her taking those classes, but you did it anyway. ”

Even though it hurts to feel his wrath, I love it. I want more. Seeing the anger on his face only fuels mine more.

“Well, then maybe you should come down from this room once in a while and actually talk to us. Then I could have spoken with you about it. Show you care!” I argue, moving to my tiptoes to get into his face.

“You think I don’t care? You have no idea how much I care about her,” he bellows with a pained expression.

“Then let her take ballet lessons!”

He growls angrily as he paces away. “You’re overstepping. You are not her mother.”

“You don’t think I know that?” I fight back.

“So you have no say in what she does or doesn’t do,” he barks.

It’s strange, but hearing him fight for Bea feels oddly satisfying, even if I’m the one he’s fighting with. And even if I know I’m right.

“I don’t care if I’m not her mother,” I say, standing tall. “I’m going to do what’s best for her no matter what.”

When he turns back toward me, glaring through rage-filled eyes, I keep my chin held high. He huffs, exhaling hard through his nostrils and pressing his lips together. “You are too stubborn,” he grumbles. “Too strong-willed. And you don’t know your place.”

“I don’t care,” I declare.

“I should fire you for this.”

I have to remind myself to breathe and not to cry as I stare back at him. I don’t want him to see me react to that.

“Are you?” I reply, feeling the threat of tears. I don’t know what I’ll do if he does.

With an exhale, he turns away, keeping his back to me. “No.”

After a long, tense moment, I ask, “Why not?”

Maybe it’s foolish of me, but I want to know why he would keep me after I distinctly disobeyed his orders. I don’t deserve this job anymore, but in my heart, I hope he’s keeping me around for more personal reasons.

It’s a foolish thing to wish, especially when all our boundaries are getting blurred. If I can’t do my job well, then what am I here for? What am I to this family?

“Because she wanted you today,” he mumbles under his breath.

The tears I’ve been trying not to cry suddenly brim in my eyes, and it only takes one blink to make them spill down my cheeks.

“Is that all?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns toward me and sees the moisture on my face, reacting with a pained flinch.

“I don’t think we should do the bondage anymore,” he says with a heavy sigh.

I have to bite my teeth together tightly to keep from hiccupping with a sob. Even though I know he’s right. We can’t cross these lines. There are no lines anymore. We’ve obliterated them. It all just hurts too much.

No matter how much I try to hold back my emotions, they still keep spilling over. I’m not strong enough to keep them in.

“Fine, Jack,” I reply with a shaky voice. “Let’s just go back to the way things were before when you hated the sound of my voice, and you never came out of your room, and you lived like a shadow in your own house. Back when you hated me. It was much easier that way.”

With nothing left to say, I turn on my heels and rush out of the room. I don’t even make it to my room before I lose it. Sobbing in my hands, I close the door behind me and throw myself into my own bed, crying against the pillow.

Today was a testament to the truth. Jack and I can’t have a physical relationship and keep things professional. We can’t separate our work from our feelings. We can’t have both.

Because at the end of the day, I know that if I had to choose between having him or having her, I have to choose her. Every time. And I know he feels the same.