Chapter Eight
Today, Nolan worked in the main space of Whipped, because he had easy access to bitch to someone.
He skimmed another social media post, only to find yet another batch of negative comments.
His blood boiled as one troll after another appeared.
While that sort of thing happened in general, the frequency had amplified.
And it seemed focused. Every single post he’d put up about their big outreach night, one he was still putting the bells and whistles on, was met with a slew of negative comments.
Most of them from unknowns.
He frowned and clicked one of the sites shut.
Micah worked behind the bar today, chatting animatedly with customers.
Meg was in the dungeon, working over an early client with an array of impact toys, and Sloan was neck-deep in end of the month spreadsheets back in the office.
Sunlight poured in through the window beside him, its warmth sinking into his skin.
When he’d left the house this morning, James was getting ready for work too, and goddamn, the man in a suit was pure spank bank fodder.
He pulled up a spreadsheet of his own and began marking down places where he’d advertised the event.
Meg allowed him to keep a roster of independent clients as well, so he’d mastered juggling spreadsheets and different operations for different clients.
He’d also done this long enough to recognize when a situation went beyond average trolls to a pointed effort.
Someone was behind the slew of negative posts meant to scare people from the outreach, but he didn’t know who.
Nolan heaved out a sigh and pushed up from his seat. He caught Micah’s eye upon approach to the bar, and Micah pulled out a large mug.
“Another chai?” Micah asked, beginning to steam some milk.
“Please,” Nolan muttered. “I don’t know who has it out for our business, but they’re causing problems.”
Micah’s brows drew together. “What about the new place that opened up? Euphoria? Trent’s one of the instructors there, and he has a cross to bear with us…and not the St. Andrew’s type.”
“I heard Hera started attending there too,” Nolan said, tugging at his low bun. “Talk about getting the dregs.”
“Ew,” Micah said, passing over the mug with a freshly made chai. “If you’re wondering who’s causing problems, you don’t need to look hard. What’s going on?”
“Slew of nasty comments on socials,” Nolan said, chewing his lower lip.
“Can you trace back the individuals?” he asked.
“Dummy accounts, anonymous people, ones that were recently opened,” Nolan said. “All the trademark signs of an online smear campaign.”
Meg emerged from the basement with her client, an older silver fox who looked flushed and spacey.
Nolan’s stomach twisted. What if he couldn’t resolve this?
Meg had hired him for marketing to draw people in, but for every newcomer response to the upcoming event, at least four complaints or warnings appeared beneath it.
Ticket sales were lower than average, which was really what made him nervous.
Meg walked the guy to the door, waved, and turned back to head in their direction. Her gaze lasered in on him. “What’s with the secret meeting over here?”
“Internet trolls,” Micah said. “I’m glad this is your job, not mine, Noles. I stay as far from socials as possible.”
Meg leaned against the bar beside him. “More than the usual?”
Nolan sipped his chai, letting the warm, spicy liquid course down his throat. It filled his stomach, and he savored the sensation. “By a fair amount. Someone’s trying to tank our upcoming outreach event.”
Meg scanned the café, a handful of people at the tables. She tilted her head toward the hallway that led to the offices. “Come with me.”
“Good luck,” Micah said cheerfully. “Hope Meg doesn’t stomp on your balls.”
“Mm, don’t think Noles would be averse to CBT,” she said in a low, throaty voice. A shiver ran through him. He hadn’t tried much before, but he could admit he was interested. Pain centered him in a way that little else did.
Meg led toward the back, and Nolan followed, clutching his mug tight. The drink’s warmth emanated onto his palm, and he soaked in the sensation.
“How bad is it?” she asked. “I’ve been getting a fuckton of emails from the contact form on our website too. All different addresses, but the content is so similar that it’s hard not to draw conclusions.”
Nolan’s stomach sank. “Do you think this is a situation where leaving it alone will get them to stop? Just delete and block until they give up?”
Meg wrinkled her nose. “That’s been my strategy in the past, but this feels targeted.”
“Would Parker be able to trace the comments or users?” Nolan asked. “He works in IT.”
Meg arched a brow. “You know who’d be far better? That roommate of yours.”
Nolan first met James when he’d done some hacking for a situation at Whipped involving Sloan’s ex and Ezra’s brother, Rick.
Nolan hadn’t considered asking James though.
They’d lived together for about a week, and by some miracle, his OCD wasn’t in complete overdrive, even if he was a little buzzier than usual.
“In the meantime, keep plugging away at the marketing,” Meg said, entering the office.
He followed her. “Yeah, we’ve got to lock in on details. Maybe come up with something new to attract the youths.”
Sloan snorted from his computer. “I’m sure that’ll work. Use that wording exactly.” Then Sloan peered at him. “Who was the hottie from the munch you were talking to?”
“Ah, you noticed?” Nolan muttered, pinching his nape. Franco’s appearance had been…complicated. The guy was charming and hot, even with the time that had passed, and he’d dropped the news that he was moving back to the area. He also seemed interested in restarting a friendship…possibly more.
Except Nolan had wanted to sit with James. He’d kept glancing over during the munch, noticing the way James immersed himself in their group, and though Franco was a blast from the past and made his attraction clear, Nolan was stuck on the man who’d turned him down.
“It was a hot guy,” Meg said. “Of course Sloan noticed.”
“I’m not that bad,” Sloan said. “Kai and Ezra keep me plenty busy. But now I’m curious if he’s another switch like you?”
“Yeah, actually,” Nolan said.
“That seems like the perfect pairing,” Sloan responded. “You could toss a coin and see who tops.” Sloan’s lips twitched, as they’d had this conversation a thousand times over.
Nolan arched his brow. “Yes, because that’s how switches function. Besides, just because I’m a switch doesn’t mean I’m locked into only dating other ones. As long as the person is open to me playing with other partners to get the itch out.”
Meg’s gaze burned into him, and he shivered from the intensity. If she attempted to do some mindmeld bullshit, he was immune. “Hey, Noles,” she said. “You’ve been here for an entire shift. Go home. Besides, the sooner you do, the sooner you can ask James for help.”
Nolan bobbed his head. As much as he hated asking for favors, this was more of one by proxy—he could drop Meg’s name. And Whipped’s ability to remain a healthy, safe space was in all their best interests anyway. “Yeah, okay. I see how it is. Pushing me out the door.”
“You going to be at Play Night tomorrow?” Sloan asked. “I miss your cock.”
“You just want to get triple teamed again,” Nolan said, amusement filtering through him. Sloan was the biggest cockslut he knew, and he adored that about his best friend. “I haven’t decided yet. Got a flogging the other week so good I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”
“What?” Sloan said. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Meg’s stare intensified.
Nolan’s lips twitched as he headed for the door. “Because it was from James.”
With that, he speed-walked down the hallway and headed back to his table.
He packed up his laptop, grabbed his bag, and left the half-finished chai at the bar before jetting out.
Sloan and Meg would guaranteed chase if he gave them the chance, and he might’ve dropped that bomb, but he didn’t want to deal with the cleanup.
Guaranteed, they’d ask why it hadn’t turned into more, and fuck, he wanted to know that too.
The walk to the Muni station was simple, his footsteps at an even clip.
Sidewalks were a bit of a problem for him at times, as his compulsory issues flared up when he was more stressed, which meant he had to slow down to make sure he walked over each crack.
The feeling of anxiety and doom increased if he got close to stepping on one, and his nerves were already cranked up from the curveballs today.
Seeing all those ugly words today sent a shudder through him. He’d worked at Whipped for years now, and he knew how to navigate the internet garbage, but the volume had gotten under his skin. He hated that someone had launched a pointed attack at his safe haven.
The light rail screeched as it pulled up, and he hopped on and clutched a pole.
When it took off, the sway as it rocked him to the side provided a familiar comfort.
He’d made this trek a million times, and he hoped to be able to do so for a long while to come.
The protectiveness innate in him rose to the surface, and he stared out the windows, catching glimpses of the setting sun through them.
Reds, pinks, and purples paraded across the sky, captivating in the moment, but soon would bring the chill of night.
The Muni screeched to a stop, and he hopped off, walking on automatic in the direction of his home.
The home he now shared with someone else.
The sense of familiarity clashed with the new, and tonight, it offered less of a comfort and more like pinpricks along his skin.
His phone buzzed nonstop, guaranteed messages from Sloan but some also from Meg after the way he’d left the coffee shop.
He could navigate those later, play coy since everyone at the shop had teased him the first time he met James and couldn’t stop drooling.