Chapter 9 – Brinley
brINLEY
E den’s hazel eyes flit back and forth between James and I, like she’s watching a silent, motionless tennis match.
“You’re Maura’s husband, right?” she says after a moment. “I saw you in the pictures from Cat’s wedding.”
James gives her a curt nod, not bothering to introduce himself. Here’s his chance to lower the tension, and he’s not taking it. Not a good sign.
“Why don’t you head home, Eden?” I suggest. “I was about to close up, anyway. I’ll be right behind you.”
Any brightness in my voice sounds just as false as it is. Eden hesitates, reaching toward her handbag on the counter but not grabbing it. I shoot her an encouraging smile, a silent plea to pretend with me that everything’s fine.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” Eden says finally. “It was nice to meet you, James.”
I follow Eden to the door and switch the open sign to closed. Technically, we don’t close for another five minutes, but if this conversation is about what I think it is, I don’t want anyone around to listen. James settles at a table while I lock the doors and draw the blinds.
He sits up ramrod-straight in the chair.
He knows how to use his posture as a weapon, intimidating his opponents with his height and rigidity.
He examines me through cool blue eyes, and I square my own shoulders.
I’m the one who named the Villain of Sequel in the first place.
This is my shop, and I don’t have to cower to him.
“Can I get you a coffee or anything?” I ask finally.
James shakes his head. “Sit,” he says, gesturing to the seat across from him. Like he owns this place and I’m the patron.
My legs feel like they’re made of water as I stride across the room and slide into my seat. James folds his long-fingered hands together and stares at me for a moment.
“I know you’re Peppermint,” he says finally.
This is it. My nightmare has come true. If I could have picked the worst person to discover Peppermint’s identity, it would have been James. I know he’s brutal and merciless with two things—business and Maura. Peppermint threatened them both.
I summon every crumb of acting skills in my body and force a laugh. “I’m who?”
He ignores that. “I’ve known it was you for a few months.”
“I don’t know what you’re?—”
“Don’t deny it,” he says flatly. “I’ve had my best people looking into it since the articles you wrote about me during the engagement period with Maura, when the contract between Pages and Sequel was on the line.”
So that’s it. He’s right—there’s no use pretending. All I can do now is face the consequences. I inhale a shaky breath. “And?”
His brows raise a fraction of an inch. “And?”
“What do you plan to do about it?” I have a thousand more questions than that.
Are you going to tell everyone? Are you going to try and get me arrested?
How exactly do you plan to ruin my life, now?
Knowing James, though, the less I say, the more likely he is to show mercy.
I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
It’s not what I expect.
“I know why you did it,” he says simply.
“You do?” I echo.
“Yes.”
I can’t help it. I snort out a laugh. “Sure you do. Because you know me so well. You know all the inner workings of my simple little mind. Why don’t you tell me all about why I wrote those articles?”
“You were punishing us for what we did to you. You were fighting back, the only way you knew how.”
“And you don’t think you deserved it?” I snap.
My skin prickles from the blood boiling under the surface.
“What you did was unforgivable and unprovoked. I was just a fucking kid . But did any of you assholes even bother to apologize? Did you face any consequences? Of course not! Because you’re the golden boys, the rich, handsome, lucky guys who get everything handed to you on a gold fucking platter. ”
“So you gave us consequences,” he says coolly. “You made us suffer.”
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.
S ubject: 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
T he 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.