Page 55 of The Good Girl Effect

This is what she does to me. This is the mess I’ve become because of that one woman.

But even if I knew that firing her and cleaning my life of her would solve all my problems, I'd never do it.

I’m only a man after all.

Rule #18: Never turn down a day in Paris with the handsome man you work for.

Camille

The very last thing I wanted to find this morning was a written response from Jack slid under my door. But the moment I woke up and noticed the humiliating rough draft of my own letter gone and saw his, I was filled with mortification.

He must have snuck into my room in the middle of the night to take it. The thought of him sneaking into my room should probably bother me a lot more than it does, but I’m too distracted by the memory of what I wrote in that letter.

Now, as I stand in the kitchen, watching Bea color at the table, I’m remembering everything I said and wanting the earth to swallow me whole.

It’s bad enough that I shared something so personal with him, like my father’s death, but then I had to make it worse by telling him how much I want to be?—

“Can we do something fun today?” Bea asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Of course,” I reply. “What would you like to do?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

It’s Saturday, and since I’ve been here, Bea’s routine has been nearly the same every day. We haven’t done a single thing out of the ordinary.

“What if we take the Métro into the city?” I ask. “We can go to lunch and see the big park.”

“With the boats in the fountain?” she replies excitedly.

“Yeah. We can see the boats.”

Paris is beautiful in the fall, especially now that the leaves have started to change. And since we have a respite from the rain on this late September day, it feels wise to take advantage of it before it grows too cold outside to enjoy a sunny day in the park.

Bea wiggles excitedly in her seat. Instantly, my thoughts go back to Jack. He should really be the one to spend time with her today. I wish he’d come with us. I know how much she’d love that.

I pull the letter from my back pocket and read it again.

My good girl,

I think this was my favorite letter from you. You seemed to have forgotten to deliver it to me, so it’s a good thing I found it on your desk.

I’m sorry to hear about your father. That must have been difficult. And I understand the resentment you feel toward the one who left you. Being the survivor is incredibly unfair.

I’ve read this letter nearly a hundred times since I found it only an hour ago. And that line strikes a nerve every time. Here’s a man so torn up by his grief that he can hardly look at his own daughter, and yet he’s suddenly baring his soul in a letter to me.

How did this happen? And how do I protect it so that I might be able to hear more from him?

Your reactions and reasoning about the bondage are perfect. I’m glad you like it.

And I’m glad you trust me. That is the most important part.

Don’t give that to just anyone. Make them earn it.

As for that last part of your letter…

I wince, biting my lip and remembering what I wrote. The filthy, dirty words thatno onewas supposed to read.

I wish that person could be me, but we have to show our restraint. There are rules to follow and lines we cannot cross.