Page 81 of The Good Girl Effect

Last night, I told you you were too strong-willed, and I was wrong. I like your strong will. I like how stubborn you are. I like that you fight with me when I’m wrong.

It makes your submission that much sweeter.

I hope you still want to continue with our lessons upstairs. I know we crossed a line last night, but I don’t care. The view from this side of that line is exquisite, and I’m not ready to go back.

I know we’ve said it before, but I mean it this time. We can maintain our professional relationship. And have our fun off the clock.

I’ll be good if you can be good.

What do you think?

If you’re in, then I’ll see you at midnight.

Your Sir

PS: You’re cute when you come.

With a smirk, I fold up the letter and set it on her nightstand with her name written across the front.

On my way back to my room, I stop at Bea’s door again, peeking in on her. I’m instantly assaulted by guilt as I watch her sleep.

When I look at Bea, I see Em. I see the way she held her after we brought her home from the hospital. I see the way she sang songs with her at bedtime. I see all the beautiful dresses Em would put her in and obsess over, a trait even Bea has held on to. And all it makes me feel is sad that she’s not here with her daughter anymore.

I’m selfish to be moving on so quickly. All I have to do is keep my word to Camille—no relationship. Just sex and work, and that’s all.

I can’t give her my heart, not yet. No matter how much I want to.

It still belongs to my wife.

When I wake up, my phone screen is riddled with messages. The fiasco in the club has caused a rift in the team, and I’ve been putting it off for too long.

I know it’s up to me to bring the team together for one last attempt to make this work. But I’m stuck, lacking the drive to swallow my pride and work with the one person I do not want to work with.

I climb out of bed, ignoring the messages as I shower and get ready for a busy day. The entire time, I’m not thinking about work, though—I’m thinking about last night.

How good it felt when she leapt into my arms.

How delicious her cunt tasted.

How she had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming.

I wish I could relive last night over and over instead of going into work today, but life is unfair, and I can’t.

After I’m dressed, I move toward the door, ready to leave, when I notice the letter lying on the floor, waiting for me. With a grin and far too much foolish hope, I pick it up and read it.

Sir,

You already know how good I can be.

See you tonight.

Your good girl

I bite my bottom lip, my cheeks straining with a smile as I let out a groan. Can I really make it to midnight? I’m counting down the seconds already.

Placing the folded letter on the dresser, I wish I had time to write her back, but I don’t. I’m already late as it is. Besides, there’s not much to say, and if someone gave me a pen and paper right now, all I would do with it is lay out in explicit detail exactly what I’d like to do with her.

I’d rather just show her tonight.