Page 29 of Good Girl

I snort a laugh. Does Darcy draw? She’s lucky he hasn’t turned up the last two days covered with some sort of artistic medium splattered all over his clothes or under his nails.

Darcy smiles at Emmy. “I do. I sculpt and paint as well, but drawing is my preference.”

And he is equally good with each. The galleries who fight for his latest collections can attest to that.

Darcy takes another step back, and Emmy tracks him with her eyes. I watch her intently as she brings a hand to her mouth and nibbles at the side of her nail.

Does she not want him to leave, or is it something else?

“You still have one more reward of your choosing. Do you want to go with Darcy to the art supply store?”

Her gaze snaps from Darcy to mine, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and wonder. “I can buy art supplies?”

Something twists in my chest. “Of course, you can. It’s your reward. You get to choose whatever you want.”

“And you won’t take them away from me at the end of the weekend?”

That twisting sensation turns into a red-hot poker. I had suspicions last night after seeing the state of her backpack and the few belongings she’d tucked away in there. Her reaction to the backpack this morning also firmed up those suspicions.

I don’t think Emmy’s life has been as easy and bountiful as we’d like to imagine.

“No, we won’t take them back from you. Everything you receive this weekend is yours to keep,” I reply, but my voice is rougher than I’d like. “Why don’t you go with Darcy, and we'll put all your bags into the car, and then we can meet up for lunch?”

When she hesitates, Derek makes the decision she so clearly wants to make for her. “Go on, baby. Darcy will help you pick the things you want.” He lets go of her hand and gives her a gentle push in Darcy’s direction, who is holding out his hand to her.

With one final glance, she takes his hand, and they head off in the direction of the art supply store.

“She’s off-balance,” Derek comments, a small smile on his face.

“Mmm,” I agree, still feeling a pinch of concern. “Lunch is going to be interesting.”

“I think we might need to do a little interrogating over lunch,” Xavier rumbles, his voice barely above a murmur.

I nod. Yes, we definitely need to find out more about her.

And I know exactly how we are going to do it.

Chapter 15

Emery

Lizzote’s turns out to be an old-school Italian restaurant, with low lighting, exposed brick, and real candles in tiny lanterns. The scent of garlic wafts to me as the hostess shows us to a rounded booth at the back, and I’m ushered into the center, with Derek and Darcy to my left and Xavier and Hudson to my right.

If a mafia gunfight breaks out while we eat lunch, I won’t be surprised. That is the vibe this place gives off.

As soon as my ass hits the overstuffed leather of the circular bench seat, I’m reminded that I have a vibrator jammed into my pussy. My breath hitches as the rough spot grazes over my clit. Every time I scooch farther into the booth, the damn thing rubs shooting sparks of pleasure all through my body.

Xavier took my backpack and the bag containing my haul from my trip to the art supply store—a set of charcoal pencils and a sketch pad— promising he would keep it safe for me beside his seat on the outside of the booth. I tried to hide my discomfort at having my things so far away from me, but I’m not sure I fooled any of them.

I’m honestly surprised by my behavior. I’ve never been territorial over my shit before. Not that I’ve ever had anything that was still in its packaging and specifically for me. Maybe that’s it?

Am I freaking out over not having my stuff with me because, for the first time in my life, I have stuff that is actually mine?

Fuck.

I want to smash my own head against the table with all of this psychoanalyzing I’m doing. Who gives a shit why I’m like this? Not these men. Yeah, they’ve spent all day spoiling me, but really, they owe me. It was a part of the rules. If I have to follow the rules, so do they.

“Hello, can I—oh! Hi, Master Derek,” a perky voice greets, my attention swinging from the red and white check pattern of the tablecloth to the woman only a few years older than me. Her insanely high blonde ponytail bounces as she greets the other men as well. “And Masters Darcy, Hudson, and Xavier. You were all missed at last weekend’s event.”

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