Page 58 of His Good Girl

Jules:Ah.

Me:Ah?

Jules:He’s trying to be good.

Me:So am I.

Jules:How’s that going?

I stared at the message for a long time. Then I sank down onto the edge of my bed, still in the dress, still wearing Jules’s heels, and looked toward the window where the city lights blurred softly beyond the glass.

Me:Poorly.

Jules’s reply came almost immediately.

Jules:Get some sleep and reassess in the morning.

I laughed, but it came out shaky. I put the phone down and reached for the knot at my waist. The dress loosened with one pull, soft fabric giving way under my fingers, and for one wild second I imagined Callum’s hands there. I imagined his mouth at my throat, the low sound of his voice against my skin, how he might tell me to be still. Need moved through me again, deep and insistent, and I stood abruptly.

“No,” I said aloud.

The word sounded small in the room.

Wanting my new boss was stupid. Wanting my godfather was worse. Wanting the man who had just handed me a chance to rebuild my life was selfish, reckless, and probably the kind of thing that ended in tears, scandal, and Benjamin Mercer appearing at my door with a confidentiality agreement and a shovel.

So I changed into pajamas. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and set an alarm for six-thirty, then seven, then seven-fifteen, because hope was not a time-management system. I hung Jules’s dress carefully on the back of the closet door and touched the sleeve once before stepping away, as if it were evidence from a crime I had not committed but had very much considered.

In bed, I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, I would go to Rowe Tower at nine. Well, 8:45, because Benjamin. He would consider on time to be inexcusably tardy. I would read policies, learn systems, take notes, and become the serious employee I had promised Callum I could be. I would keep my distance. I would not look at his hands. I would not think about his mouth on my neck. I would not let onedinner and one brief touch at the small of my back turn into a fantasy I could never have.

I would be good.

The thought sent a final, humiliating flutter through me.

I turned onto my side and pulled the blanket up to my chin, furious with myself, already knowing sleep would be difficult. I closed my eyes and desperately tried not to think about Callum Rowe.

I failed spectacularly.

CHAPTER 7

Callum

I watched Avery disappear into her building and kept the car at the curb until the lobby door closed behind her.

That was the sort of thing I could still justify to myself. Waiting until she was safely inside and not driving off while she fumbled with the unreliable lock. Making sure the hallway light came on. These were ordinary, decent considerations. They were simple enough to be honorable if I did not look too closely at the rest of it.

The trouble was I had spent the whole evening looking too closely.

At dinner, I had done my best to be her godfather.

I had. That mattered to me, though I was not sure it would matter to anyone else if they could have been inside my head. I had told stories about her parents because she needed them and because I had them to give to her. I had asked about her old jobs, listened to her tell me about her life, let her turn pain intocomedy and then gently let her know that I was there for her. I bought her dinner. I had kept my hands to myself. I had not touched her knee under the table, had not let my hand linger at the small of her back, had not said, “Lovely” in the tone my body wanted me to use.

I had been careful.

And somehow, every careful thing had made it worse.

The car pulled away from the curb. Her building slid out of view, replaced by wet pavement, passing headlights, and the dark rhythm of the city moving through itself after rain. I sat in the back seat with one hand resting against my thigh and the other curled loosely around my phone, which I did not look at because I already knew Benjamin had probably sent three messages and at least one calendar invitation. When I moved my hand to where she had been, the leather seat still held the faint warmth of where Avery had sat beside me. The air still carried the soft trace of her perfume, which felt too intimate in the enclosed space.