Page 16 of The Good Girl Effect

“I’m sorry,” I stammer in English.

He settles his enraged eyes on me. “It’s only your first day, and you’re trying to burn our apartment down. I’m starting to worry that you can’t be trusted.”

I square my shoulders, my brows knitting together. “We were dancing, and I got distracted.”

I stare defiantly up at Jack. He’s tall, but he doesn’t intimidate me. I tip my chin up to try and make myself taller, but it’s no use. For what feels like an eternity, we do nothing but glare at each other.

“This isn’t a game, Miss Aubert.”

I catch a hint of grief in his dour expression, and I realize as I stare at him that he’s not just a cruel, angry man. There is pain there. I want to dislike him for the frigid, bleak exterior he presents to the world, but I’m too intrigued.

This is not the man in the photo. This is not Emmaline’s husband.

“I know it’s not a game,” I say, challenging him.

I’m being obstinate. I know that, but I can’t stand the thought of yielding to his irrational mood. It’s bad enough that he won’t even let Bea speak her mother’s language in their home.

“Please don’t make me regret hiring you,” he commands softly.

As his gaze moves away from my face, it travels down to his daughter as she stands hesitantly near the counter. I watch the way he regards her, remorse etched into his features.

With a sigh, he turns his back on us and leaves the kitchen. His footsteps echo through the apartment as he climbs the stairs to the second floor.

After a moment, I reach for the speaker and turn it back on, clicking the volume button until it’s low. The music begins to play again, and I turn toward Bea with a forced smile plastered on my face.

“Still hungry?”

She nods.

“You like burnt rice?”

She giggles.

Smiling down at her, I walk over to the sink, scrub out the blackened saucepan, and prepare it for another batch. The entire time I work, I can’t stop thinking about Jack and the way he stared at me. Like we could speak a language with our eyes alone.

I wish I could tell him what an ill-tempered, miserable grump he is. He’d probably tell me what a foolish, immature brat I am.

So I guess in that case, we really shouldn’t talk to each other at all.

Rule #5: Don’t go poking around where you’re not supposed to.

Camille

The next day, I don’t see Jack at all. He’s reclusive in his own house, but with that sour attitude of his, that’s just fine with me. I don’t need his broody, menacing eyes watching everything I do, barking orders in that cruel tone of his. I can do my job just fine without him around.

I take Bea to school in the morning and then take my grocery list to the store to restock the pantry with the money Phoenix left me for food and supplies. After putting Bea to bed last night, I spent hours meticulously making a routine, planning meals, and making lists.

Getting back to the house with heavy paper bags under each arm, I hoist them onto the counter and glance toward the stairs for signs of Jack. I hear nothing, so I assume he’s gone. Being alone in the house has me on edge. Not knowing if he’s really up there or not. Not knowing if he’ll just come down and berate me for something else I’ve done wrong.

After picking up Bea from school in the afternoon, I hear him up there, secluded to one floor of his own home. And as curiousas I am, I follow Phoenix’s strict orders never to pry or go poking where I don’t belong.

Then another day goes by without seeing him.

And another.

And another.

His relationship with his daughter is nonexistent. That’s the most bizarre part. If they pass each other in the house, he’ll greet her coldly, but there is no affection. No tenderness. No relationship between them at all.