Page 29 of The Good Girl Effect
“You’re not going to show me?” I ask in astonishment.
“No.”
“Wait!” Reaching out, I grab his arm and try to turn him toward me. He glares down at my hand on his skin as if I’m a leech. “Why not?”
“Not me. Find someone else.”
“I don’t want to find someone else.”
Immediately, he winces as if the sound of my voice pains him. It only enrages me more.
“What is it you’re hiding?” I shout. “What is this room? Why did you leave it unlocked if you didn’t want me to?—”
The words are stolen from my lips as he turns toward me and thrusts a hand against my mouth. Holding me by the back of the head, he crowds me as he silences my words without reason.
Staring into my eyes with fire, he leans in as he growls, “Please stop talking.”
My brows lift as I stare up at him. Instead of arguing or fighting more, I nod against his fingers.
Time passes slowly as he just holds me, one hand pressed over my mouth, the other at the back of my neck. I am entirely at his mercy.
He holds me close, his mouth just inches from mine. Again, we share eye contact in a way that I couldn’t possibly with anyone else.
I keep waiting for him to relent and give me what I want, which, to be fair, even I don’t understand. I want Jack toshow methings I don’t know how to vocalize. I want him to let me into his world. I want to be the one at the center of his attention like that woman was for a brief moment at the club.
But at the same time, I wish he’d hold me in his arms with affection. I wish he’d share the heavy weight of his grief with me.
There’s familiarity in his eyes like he can feel the same thing I do. I just wish he’d let it all go. Instead, his expression hardens again.
“If I find you in this room again, you’re fired,” he mutters angrily near my face.
Then, without warning, he releases me, and I try to reach for him again, but he’s already stomping out of the room and into the one on the opposite side of the hall. The door slams shut, and once again, I’m left standing alone, reeling from another bizarre and intoxicating moment with Jack St. Claire.
Rule #8: Always do your research.
Camille
Jack doesn’t come out of his room for most of the day, which is really no surprise and nothing out of the ordinary.
Around dinnertime, as Bea and I are sitting down to eat, he finally descends the stairs. Like always, his little girl greets him.
“Bonjour, papa!”
“Hello, Bea,” he murmurs in English.
This is what he does every night, except tonight, he falters on his way out the door.
Then, for the first time since I’ve worked here, he smiles at his daughter. It’s a soft, affectionate smile, but it’s enough to set my heart on fire with hope.
His eyes find mine. Neither of us says a word to each other, but we share a small, silent connection before he eventually turns away and marches out the door.
Like every night, I resume my duties taking care of Bea, giving her extra attention and affection to make up for what she should receive from her father. But throughout the entire evening, as I give her a bath, put on her pajamas, and tuck herinto bed, I can’t stop thinking about what happened today in the room upstairs.
After Bea has gone to sleep and the house is quiet, I brew a cup of tea and cuddle up on the couch in the living room downstairs. Rain pours down outside, tapping against the window as I pull a blanket over my legs and set my laptop on it. Music plays softly on the speakers as I open it and stare at the blank search engine screen. There’s so much I want to know and yet so much I’m afraid to know.
Not afraid in the sense that it could hurt me but afraid in the sense that once I go down this path, there’s no turning back. As if whatever I learn here might change me forever or, at the very least, change my perception of Jack. Not that my perception of him is all that good to begin with.
Heaving a sigh, I type two words into the search bar:rope bondage. With a wince, I hit the Enter button. Immediately results in the form of photos, videos, and websites pop up on the page.
