Page 82 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Five steps. The width of my entire life right now. If I were reading this on a Kindle I'd be on the page where the heroine has hit rock bottom and has to make a choice, and I'd be tabbing forward to skim past it because the suffering chapter is the worst part of every romance novel. Turns out it's even worse from inside.

While Beau has been desperately trying to reach me, the rest of my friends haven’t. The group chat with the girls—the one where we were planning baby showers less than twelve hours ago—has gone silent. And it’s not the comfortable silence of people who are busy. It’s the loud silence of people who have nothing to say to you.

There are no private messages from Cat. Nothing from Maura. Pippa sent me a single text, but I can’t bring myself to open it. Nobody can deliver a venomous putdown like Pippa, and as much as I deserve to read it, I’m just not up to it. There’s nothing from Luke, either.

Somehow, his nothing feels the loudest of all.

My texts are full of messages from unfamiliar numbers. The first one I open reads, What the hell is wrong with you? The rest, I’m guessing, are more of the same. I start swiping them away, marking them as spam, but they’re populating faster than I can delete them. Finally, I give up and put my phone on do not disturb.

I wish I could throw my phone away and pretend all this wasn’t happening, but I can’t. I own a business, and I need to check its socials. Of course, the Copper Cup’s Instagram comments are filled with cruel insults and threats. Those, I have to delete. It’s just unprofessional to leave them up where the Ms. Grimsworths of the world can see them.

Which means I have to do the thing everyone wants you never to do—read the comments.

Fucking traitor.

I’d rather die than have a bitch of a sister like you.

You’re going to get what’s coming for you. Karma is real, bitch.

I clench my jaw as a tidal wave of strangers’ hate washes over me. My hands shake, or maybe I’m just shivering, because despite the mild temperature I feel so cold. Just when I delete another comment, more come in. I can’t stop the ride. It’s happening, whether I like it or not.

After twenty minutes of pacing and deleting, I give up on that, too. I’ll have to deal with it later, once the whole thing dies down.

If it ever dies down.

I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think about this hate going on forever, or I won’t have the strength to leave my bedroom.

When I open my emails, there’s a bad surprise waiting for me—an email from the Copper Cup’s leaseholder, Whit Bradford. Normally, Whit and I have a great relationship. He’ll stop by the store for a coffee a few times a year, nominally to check on the place, but really because he loves our croissants. It can’t be a coincidence that he’s emailing me today, after the world learned my name.

Subject: Your Lease Renewal

Dear Ms. Windsor,

As you are aware, the lease for your business, the Copper Cup, is up for renewal next month. Unfortunately, concerns about the nature of your business have come to our attention. I am forced to reconsider whether your tenancy is desirable, due to reputational considerations for the building’s other tenants. Please make yourself available at 10:00 a.m. on Monday so we can discuss your plans going forward.

Best,

Whit Bradford

It’s the professional language of a man who’s just found out his tenant is the anonymous blogger who’s been trashing Toronto’s most powerful social circle. He’s telling me, in so many very polite words, that I’m about to lose my building.

I sit on the side of my bed, and the world seems to tilt. I knew Peppermint might lose me my friendships and relationships, but I never expected to lose the Copper Cup. The place I built, my safe space, the whole community I built, will be gone. I’m dizzy with the knowledge. I feel like I’m about to fall, even though I’m sitting down.

The door opens. Even the click of the door knob sounds wrong. Eden appears, her honey blonde tangled around her shoulders and sleep still in her eyes.

“I saw the comments,” she says. “I know what happened, and you’re freaking out, but we’re going to handle this.”

I shake my head the tiniest bit. There’s no handling this. There’s no world where all of this ends up okay.

Eden sits down next to me and rubs my back. “Breathe with me, Brin. Copy it. When I inhale, you do. Then we exhale.”

She grabs my hand and puts it on her chest. I can feel her lungs expanding, and instinctively, I breathe out when she breathes out. Even as my mind spirals, my body copies hers. We breathe in and out, in and out.

“Good,” she says. “Let’s keep going while you give me your phone.”

“No, Eden. I don’t want you to read what I read.”

“Don’t worry about me, Brin. I’ve heard every swear word in the book from my brothers already. At least let me clean up some comments on the Copper Cup Instagram, yeah?”