Page 91 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Frankly, I can’t believe I was even allowed into the elevator. I was sure that the minute the House of Cards security team spotted me in the lobby, they’d have me dragged out and thrown on the street. Between Nate and James, I was sure they’d be far too protective of their wives to let me within ten feet of them.

I know better than to hope that means Maura plans on forgiving me. I’ve known her the longest, which means the betrayal must have cut her even deeper than Cat and Pippa. Plus, my articles about James were some of the worst things I’ve written. She deserves an in-person apology, plus a gigantic bouquet of I’m-sorry flowers, an Edible Arrangement with the word sorry spelled out in strawberries, and a barbershop quartet singing “Sorry” by Justin Bieber.

I’m lucky that since it’s Maura, she’d rather just have the stone.

The elevator dings as it reaches her place—the penthouse apartment. My heart thuds erratically, blood rushing in my head. Maybe she’s waiting to kick me out here, after dangling a brief moment of hope.

No. That’s not like her. She’ll hear me out, whether or not she likes what I have to say.

I find Maura in her studio. She’s reclined on the couch there, wearing paint-stained old sweatpants and an oversized shirt, flipping through a catalogue of paint samples. On a nearby table are two glasses of sparkling water and a small bowl of ginger candy, which Maura has been chewing on to help with her nausea since she got pregnant.

“Hi, Maura.” I glance down at the second glass of water. “Were you expecting me?”

“Eventually, yes. I didn’t know exactly when, though. The second glass was for James.”

“Right. Where is he?”

She shrugs. “Lurking somewhere. He went to take a call.”

I suspect the call was from security downstairs, announcing my arrival. Ever since he learned about Maura’s pregnancy, James has been militant about keeping stressors away from her. He must have decided I wasn’t too much of a risk.

There’s nowhere to sit, except for next to Maura on the couch. That feels too close, too intimate for our current distance. I shift awkwardly on my feet.

“I brought you this.” I hold out the amethyst. “It’s supposed to mean peace. You can smash it if you want.”

Maura takes the stone and examines it. “Thank you. I will.”

I let out a breath. “I’m guessing you read my last post on the Toronto Tea. The one with my name.”

“I did. But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Last night, I drafted the apology I wanted to deliver. It was three pages long, heartfelt and sincere, answering for everything I wrote in detail. Looking Maura in the eye, suddenly all the eloquent words fly right out of my head.

“I wrote those things,” I blurt out. “All of them. And I’m sorry.”

Maura examines my face. “Why?” she asks. There’s no anger in her voice, but no softness, either.

I push down the hope that swells in my chest. Maura’s willing to listen to me explain, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgiven me. All I can do is give her the truth.

“When I started writing as Peppermint, it wasn’t only for revenge,” I say slowly. “It was also a warning. After what they did to me, I genuinely believed that the guys were dangerous to date, careless with people’s feelings. The kind of guys who would chew women up and spit them out. I also knew how charming they could be. I thought that the women in Toronto deserved to be warned, so I created Peppermint.”

“So when Pippa started seeing Ryan, when Cat fell for Nate, when you married James—I was terrified. I thought you were walking into the same trap I did, trusting men who would hurt you, humiliate you, and throw you away. You deserved better than heartless villains without empathy or compassion. I tried to convince you all not to date them, but none of you listened. I thought maybe you’d take it more seriously coming from Peppermint.”

Maura takes a sip of her water, her eyes not leaving mine. I get the feeling that she’s making her decision on forgiveness based on what I say next, and my palms get sweaty. God, I wish I’d held onto that calming crystal.

“I really thought I was protecting you,” I say. “All of you. I thought I was the only one who could see what they really were. But I was wrong. The boys who humiliated me weren’t the men you fell in love with. They grew up and became the kind of men who are actually worthy of you. I watched James restructure his entire life around you and the baby. He showed me kindness when he discovered I was Peppermint. I know he’s not the same cold teenager who watched his friends laugh at me.”

“No,” she says quietly. “He’s not.”

“I saw the guys growing and changing, but I was so angry that I let myself be blinded by it. I should have stopped writing about them a long time ago. I did stop, but not soon enough. Not before I hurt my friends and damaged their relationships. And I’m sorry.”

Maura leans forward, her paint-stained hands folded on her lap. “I understand why you started. I even understand the anger. But you wrote about my marriage, Brinley. You wrote about James like he was a villain when you sat across from me at dinner and watched me fall in love with him. You knew me. You knew us. And you did it anyway.”

I want to duck my head and avoid her piercing gaze, but I don’t. I make myself face her. “I did.”

Her lips twitch. “I need time.”

I let out a breath. It’s not forgiveness, but it’s not an outright rejection, either. I can wait for Maura, for as long as she needs. “Thank you for listening. And I hope your nausea settles down.”