Page 30 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

My chin lifts. “I did.”

“You still are, even though it’s not just us who suffers the consequences.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice. It’s not an attack, just a simple statement of fact. One that I can’t argue with.

“I’m not going to tell anyone it’s you, because I understand the harm that would cause. Not just to you, but to our friends. My wife.” He lets the words linger in the air. He knows that Maura is one of the most important people in the world to me, my dear, gentle, non-judgmental friend.

Automatically, my eyes flit over to the gold and jade green painting on the wall. Nobody would suspect that it’s real gold and real jade in the painting, crushed and mixed in with the pigments. A gift from Maura. Now that her gallery shows have been so successful, she doesn’t need to sell her work at the Copper Cup anymore. The painting was a gift for me, because I liked it.

James might deserve my venom for what he did, but I never meant for Maura to become collateral damage. The righteous, justified anger that made me pick up a pen in the first place has curdled into something meaner over the years. Deep in my heart, I know that. I took things too far, writing about people I genuinely care about—Pippa, Cat, Maura.

Those same women fell for the boys who humiliated me, who made me feel like a small, pathetic joke. Because those boys grew up and became completely different men. They’re not those teenage assholes anymore for the most part. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven them. I don’t know if I ever can. But slowly, I’ve been forming unspoken truces with each of them as they’ve proven to be the sort of men worthy of the love of her friends.

James finally relaxes back against the chair, his posture losing some of its stiffness. He looks at me like he might actually understand.

“You really won’t tell Maura?” I mumble.

James shakes his head. “My silence comes with conditions, though. You need to stop. Stop posting about any of us. The investigation is real now. Luke is bringing in professionals to look for Peppermint. If you don’t stop, I won’t be able to protect her—and neither will anyone else. You’re not just risking yourself. You’re risking your friendships.”

“I know.” Regret and shame drip from the words. “I might write a few more articles, just so the timing doesn’t raise suspicion, but I’ll cool it on any articles about the group.”

James nods. The look in his eyes isn’t warm, but it’s not hostile, either. James never apologized to me for what happened, but I know the man he is now would be ashamed of what he did. I have a feeling that we both wish we could unmake some choices.

After a moment, he pushes to his feet. “I believe that’s all,” he says. “Take care.”

Silently, I follow him to the door to lock it behind him when he leaves. Once I’m alone, I lean back against the locked door and let out a heavy sigh. Normally, I love being alone in the shop after it closes, soaking in the success of the business that I built. I’m proud of what I created in the Copper Cup.

Right now, though, all I can feel is fear and shame. I was careful about protecting Peppermint’s identity, but the guys have more resources than me. Maybe one of their PIs will catch some clue I didn’t realize I left. I told James I would taper down Peppermint slowly, but maybe it’s smarter for me just to quit while I’m ahead, before anyone else gets hurt.

I should go back to my apartment and meet up with Eden like I promised, but there’s something I’ve been avoiding for far too long.

A small door behind the café counter leads to the Copper Cup’s back office. Most of the room is taken up by boxes of books, waiting to be restocked. The actual office portion of the room is shoved into a small corner. My desk is a cheap folding table, and I only have a nice office chair because Beau gave me his old one when he moved.

I take a seat and open my work laptop. The Toronto Tea dashboard is open, showing all my old articles. I haven’t actually published anything in weeks. Granted, with Nate, James, and Ryan all married or committed, there hasn’t been much to write about. Even though I’ve published articles about other public figures before, the Black Card Gallery has always been my beat.

In the corner of the screen, a red notification bell alerts me to a new message. I let out a long sigh. Even before I read it, I already know who it’s from.

I don’t know the editor’s name, since we’re all anonymous, even him. We all just call him “The Earl.” As far as I know, there’s no rhyme or reason to the name.

Subject: New Posts

Peppermint,

Amazing news—just in case you missed it, one of your old articles went viral. Tons of clicks, so you can expect a larger payday next month. Just checking in to see if you have anything new on Toronto’s favorite billionaire shitshow. Did anything go down at the wedding? Any break ups? I’ll take whatever you’ve got.

Thanks,

The Earl

The reminder that I’ll be paid for the story only makes my stomach sink more. It’s not like the Toronto Tea pays my bills, but we always get paid a little extra when something goes ultra viral.

I bite the inside of my cheek, considering his request. I could give him some harmless detail about the bridesmaid’s dresses or Ryan and Pippa’s terrible dancing. Maybe that would help throw off suspicion, since nobody close to the bride and groom would report anything so mundane.

Or maybe it would narrow down the suspects to the people in that room.

Maybe I should walk away right now, tell The Earl I quit, and pretend the whole thing never happened.

The cursor blinks in the reply space. I don’t type anything. But I don’t close the laptop, either.