Page 85 of The Good Girl Effect

For the next four or five hours, Julian and I map out an entirely new plan for the club. We don’t leave the room once, and we finish the bottle of whiskey.

To my surprise, we don’t fight as much as I expected. We still disagree and call each other names, but we get the job done. In fact, it's a relief to be able to speak my mind with him and understand him better.

By the time we come out, it’s early afternoon, and we break the news to the rest of the team. We’re not opening tonight. We offer severance to the staff, send them home, and then bring the rest of the owners in to hash out the plan.

It takes hours, day creeping into night. And as I watch the clock march steadily toward midnight, I know it’s time to cut it off.

By the time everyone leaves, there is a new energy in the group. Even Elizabeth looks happy, smiling at me for the first time in what seems like years. It feels amazing, but I can’t enjoy it without the harsh, stinging guilt that it should have happened sooner. It’s my fault that I couldn’t do this for them months ago.

I apprenticed under Matis and Ronan for years. I knew better. I had the keys to making this place succeed all along, but I was too stubborn to make it happen.

But for now, I do my best to shove those feelings aside. We close up the club, turning away the angry partygoers who usually come in around this time.

I stroll alone up the street toward my apartment with my jacket hanging over my arm. I hear the click of heels on the pavement as Phoenix rushes to catch up to me.

“Should I even ask?” she says as she strides up beside me.

“Ask what?” I reply.

“What changed your mind.”

“Can’t I just be in a good mood?” I say, glancing sideways at her with a smirk.

“You?” she asks, aghast. “No.”

“Well, I am,” I reply casually as I walk.

“West said he saw you with a new girl in the club last week. Does that have anything to do with your good mood?” she asks, bumping my side.

“Maybe,” I reply without looking her in the eye. Phoenix wasn’t there that night because she was with Bea, and Phoenix is the only person, aside from my sister, who would recognize Camille as my nanny. And my sister doesn’t walk around the club, thankfully. It’s not the kind of place you want to run into your sister. If she is there during opening hours, she stays backstage with the performers.

When Phoenix doesn’t respond, I glance her way to find her smiling softly next to me. Out of the blue, she wraps her arm around mine and rests her head on my shoulder.

“What’s up with you?” I ask.

“It’s good to see you smiling again, that’s all.”

My chest warms, hearing her say that. I haven’t always been a broody asshole. Before Em got sick, I didn’t haunt every roomI stepped in with gloom and melancholy. I was livelier and happier.

“It’s good to be smiling again,” I mumble as I squeeze her closer.

Rule #29: Sex makes everything more fun.

Camille

Idon’t know if I should be on my knees or not. Part of me wants to, knowing that that’s how he might want me. But then another part wants to watch him walk through that door. I want to be standing, watching his expression as we face each other for the first time since last night.

Pacing the room in my robe, I wait for the sound of the door, reliving every moment of last night in my head for the thousandth time today. I’ve read his letter enough to have it memorized.

It feels daunting—to have my heart growing so attached to him but knowing that it can never be anything more than physical. It’s still so early. Too early to make commitments and change the dynamic of our relationship.

If I tell Jack how I feel and he feels the same, what happens to poor little Bea if things don’t work out?

If I tell Jack how I feel and hedoesn’tfeel the same, could I still work for him?

We are already pushing the boundaries and playing with fire. But if we can promise to keep things like this and have fun in our free time, then we might actually be able to make this work.

Suddenly, the door opens downstairs, and I freeze. Standing in the middle of the room, I watch the door, listening as he crosses the living room and climbs the stairs.