Page 36 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Jack

“ H ow many membership applications are we currently at?” I ask, glancing across the table at Phoenix.

She scans her computer before looking back up at me. “Just over two hundred,” she replies.

“It’s too low,” I grumble.

“I agree,” she says.

“We have to make it clear to them that we’ve changed. The clientele we need doesn’t want to be associated with some trashy nightclub.”

“I’ll get Amelia on it,” she says, standing up and walking away.

I’m sitting at the conference table alone when I notice my sister walk past the open doorway. After briefly drumming my fingers on the table, I stand up and follow her down the hall.

“Elizabeth,” I call. She pauses before realizing it’s me and continuing on.

“What, Jack?” she replies coldly.

When she slips into her office, I follow her. She won’t look up at me as she stands behind her desk, sifting through papers in her hand.

“The new stage design looks great,” I say, starting with a compliment.

“Thanks,” she snaps, “but it was mostly Amelia’s work.”

“I know,” I reply, “but I also know you had a hand in it as well, and it looks great.”

She lets out a sigh before looking up at me. “Anything else?”

God, she hates me. My sister has grit. She gets it from our mother.

Her ability to hold a grudge is astounding.

Of course, I’m glad she’s like that. She doesn’t take shit.

She doesn’t give second chances when they’re not deserved, and she has no problem walking away when someone does her wrong.

All qualities, I think, that are paramount for a woman in her position, but as her brother, someone who has done her wrong, I wouldn’t mind a little grace.

“Actually, yes,” I say with a sense of unease. “Camille and I are taking Bea to Disneyland next week for her birthday. I thought you might like to come.”

All the contempt in Elizabeth’s features melts into compassion. “Really?” she asks. “And you’re going?”

I nod with a sigh. It stings to hear her ask that, rightfully so. “Yes, I’m going.”

She watches me, studying me as if I’m a new foreign creature. “Has this new nanny put a spell on you or something?” she asks.

Shuffling my feet and clearing my throat, I put my hands in my pockets as I lift my chin. “Maybe. Is it that bad?”

“No,” she replies. “I quite like it. Let me check my schedule,” she adds, “but I would like to go.”

Inside, I’m practically screaming. An entire day spent in close company with my sister after two years of the silent treatment. This feels like a miracle. I ran a club with her in hopes that I could get this much, and all I had to do was offer to take her to Disneyland.

“Excellent. Beatrice will be thrilled,” I say, trying to keep my cool. “I will, uh, I’ll get you a ticket then.”

“Okay,” she replies.

With that, I walk out of her office, feeling a bit more hopeful than when I walked in.

Bea is wearing a long-sleeved auburn corduroy dress with a tweed coat and a black bow in her hair—and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face.

Pinned to her dress is a massive round button proclaiming that it’s her birthday.

Emmaline was always so meticulous about Bea’s style, even as a baby.

She must have had hundreds of dresses for her before she even turned one, far more than she could wear.

Somehow, that affinity for fashion stuck with our daughter, even after Em passed. At only five, Bea picks out her own clothes and dresses herself every day. I’m not sure she even knows this is something she inherited from her mother. Regardless, it warms the hell out of my heart.

As we walk through the park, she swings between me and Camille, gripping our hands like a small monkey. Elizabeth is staring, and I know how it looks. I glance down at my daughter, and she beams back up at me. Who am I to push her away? Especially after two years of doing it every day.

Admittedly, theme parks and Disney attractions are not quite my style. This is definitely something Em would have pushed us to do, though. I probably would have agreed to it begrudgingly.

But I have to say, something about it reminds me of my childhood. Time spent with family, even when it was just me and my mom. A time when things were simpler and gray clouds didn’t hover over even the happiest of days.

Bea seems so happy, and I’m envious of her ability to put the sadness aside to make room for the joy. For me, it feels like every ounce of my joy tastes bitter and undeserved. Why do I get these moments while Em does not? How can I smile if she’s still gone?

“Can we go on the merry-go-round?” Bea pleads while simultaneously tugging us toward the ride.

“Of course,” Camille replies, smiling down at Bea.

“Will you ride it with me?” Bea asks.

“Yes,” Camille says as she glances up at me.

I release Bea’s hand, and the two of them walk briskly over to the line, leaving Elizabeth and me alone. We hover near the outside of the ride, standing in tense silence as we watch them.

When Camille helps Bea climb onto one of the horses, they both wave to us, and I wave back with a grin. Suddenly, Elizabeth glances my way. I catch myself smiling too brightly, so I clear my throat and press my lips together.

“I like her,” Elizabeth says flatly as she glances back at them when the carousel slowly starts to spin.

“She’s good for Bea,” I reply without emotion.

Elizabeth nods. “I think she’s good for everyone.”

Should I feel bad for hiding the fact that Camille and I are also fucking like animals every night after she puts my daughter to bed? It’s just sex. It doesn’t get in the way of her job at all.

So it’s no one’s business.

Of course, I’m also harboring the fact that I do really like this woman.

I love the way she challenges me and isn’t afraid to stand up to me when I need someone to argue with.

I like that she puts my daughter first in every scenario.

I even love those little fucking drawings I find all over my house.

I like the way it feels to stare into her deep blue eyes and know that I can be at ease with her. And the way I can speak to her without the weight of judgment or condemnation.

Sex doesn’t complicate things. These feelings are what complicate things.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“I think you know what it means,” she replies. “I mean…sure, you hired a nanny for Bea, but I think you both need her around.”

“It’s not like that, Elizabeth,” I reply, clenching my jaw. “And it isn’t easy, watching someone else take care of my daughter.”

“No reason to get defensive,” she argues. “I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m saying it was a good move.”

Though I don’t reply, my expression begins to grow tighter and tighter.

Suddenly, a soft hand lands on my arm. “Hey,” she mumbles softly. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean anything, Jack.”

“I know,” I reply raspily as I run a hand over my face, trying to relax the grimace.

She’s still watching me, but I keep my eyes trained on the spinning ride, forcing myself not to grow too agitated. I don’t want to ruin Bea’s day with my mood.

“And for the record,” Elizabeth adds quietly. “If there was anything more between you two?—”

My head snaps in her direction. “Drop it.”

“I’m just saying…”

“I said drop it,” I grit through my teeth. I just want her to stop talking. Stop saying what I know she’s trying to say. It’s all too much, too hard, too painful.

“That would be okay too,” she whispers, finishing her sentence.

I open my mouth to argue when I hear my daughter giggling. “Papa!” she calls.

Quickly, I turn my attention back to the carousel in time to see Bea and Camille go around again. Forcing a big fake smile on my face, I wave to them.

Elizabeth doesn’t say anything else as we watch the ride come to a stop and the girls climb off and run over to us.

“I want to ride another ride, Papa!” she squeals.

“Okay,” I reply with a lopsided grin. “Whatever you want. It is your birthday after all.”

The four of us take off toward another ride, and it’s hard not to feel a sense of peace.

For now, I can shove aside everything Elizabeth was saying.

I know what she was implying is true, but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

I know I can move on after Em’s death. I know I can find love again, but at what cost?

Especially when all I’ve really wanted is to leave Paris and take Bea back home, where we belong.

That is what I still want, isn’t it? Everything feels so convoluted now—with the club and with Camille.

It’s not as black-and-white as it once was.

Maybe once we’re in California and the memory of what we lost isn’t hanging over us like a dark cloud, things will feel clear again.

As we walk, I glance over at Camille and realize just how attached to her I’ve gotten already.

Which means…that if I do go back home and try to move on, it won’t just be Em that I’d be trying to move on from.