Chapter Text
“Any requests?” Kate calls out as she lifts the needle of the record player and removes the vinyl spinning there.
“Lucy’s pick,” Sophie replies from the counter as she wipes her hands. “Since she’s the one staying behind.”
Lucy looks up from her perch behind the register, a textbook open in front of her. “Um, Florence + The Machine?” she asks.
Kate is already reaching for the record when she says, “Excellent choice.”
The flexible plastic in her hands is familiar in a way she can’t explain, and with quick motions, she sets the record on the turntable and drops the needle with the same precision she uses when she creates latte art for her customers.
The first notes of “Kiss With a Fist,” ring out over the hissing of the espresso machine as Kate looks back across the shop, the sharp smell of coffee, steamed milk, and something distinctly cinnamon filling her senses.
She could feel her chest tighten like it so often did in this space.
Her space.
Sharma House.
The third most important thing in her life, after her family (Newton, her mischievous but deeply loved corgi included) and her friends. She built it through hard work, determination and lots of love.
What she was getting ready to do next, was significantly further down the list, most likely at the bottom.
“Ready?” Sophie asks.
Kate squares her shoulders giving her head a small shake. “Yeah,” she replies. “Lucy.”
Lucy looks up and Kate tosses her the keys to the shop. “You need anything before we go?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assures them. “Just maybe try not to have a repeat of last year.”
Kate’s gaze lands on Sophie.
“Come on,” Sophie says. “You knew I was going to fill her in.”
“I’m not sure what Sophie told you,” Kate says easily. “But last year’s negotiations were very civil.”
“You called him a colonizer and ‘accidently’ stepped on his foot with your stilettos,” Sophie replies.
Lucy just smiles to herself as she turns back to her textbook.
“Like I said. Very civil.”
“At least you’re wearing flats this time,” Lucy quips.
“Don’t underestimate them,” Kate winks at Lucy, before grabbing the tray holding four cups, “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Sophie grabs the box with sandwich bites and cookies they prepared ahead of time, “We’ll be back.”
“Good luck,” Lucy sing-songs to them as she watches her bosses walk out of the cafe, and straight into the neighboring door.
The building itself was charming. White brick exterior with large floor to ceiling windows, that had housed an art gallery for over 80 years before the gallery folded and was bought by Bridgerton Properties. The location was a literal dream—sandwiched between Bond St. and Dover, and allowed walking customers to account for the vast majority of their business. Kate could still remember the excitement she felt when they first found the listing. Like it had been dropped in their laps by the fairly godmother of coffee shops.
But with that memory came another…
She could remember standing in front of the building for the first time. Already imagining her name and logo on the picturesque windows, how she and Sophie would use plants to bring some life to space, the way reclaimed barn wood and mismatched overstuffed chairs would help give it a unique charm.
And then she remembered the look on Anthony Bridgerton’s face when she told him what she planned to do with the space in his building that she wanted to rent.
“A coffee shop?” his brows drew together, a look that Kate had unfortunately grown used to over the past few months of searching for a space to rent. A look confirming her suspicions that Anthony Bridgerton would just be yet another in a long line of men who would doubt her capabilities.
“Yes,” she repeated. “A coffee shop.”
He folded his hands. “You don’t currently have any locations?”
“We operate out of a food truck at present.”
“A physical location is much different than a food truck, Miss Sharma.”
“I’m aware—”
“I was under the impression that you owned a more…established business. You would need licenses, permits—”
Kate pulled out a stack of files from her bag and set them in front of her. “Health permits, business registration, and supplier contracts,” she cut him off. “All alphabetized and indexed. You’ll also find inspection reports for the food truck, employee certifications, tax filings, and a complete history of our health inspection scores. But judging by your ability to jump to conclusions, I’ll go ahead and spoil it for you—they were perfect across the board.”
She slid the folder toward him, perhaps a little harder than necessary.
“I’ve also included bank statements, profit and loss summaries, and projected growth for the next fiscal year.”
Anthony had opened his mouth. Then closed it. Like he was trying to find the words to say. She could remember the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
“I do try to run an ‘established business,’” she said, as she collected her things and stood to leave. “But do let me know if I’ve missed anything you were expecting.”
“I’ll have my people follow up.”
“You do that.”
“Have they found a tenant for the lower ground floor yet?” Sophie’s voice brings her back to the present as they wait for the elevator doors to open.
“Not that I’ve heard,” Kate replies and pushes the button for the 8th floor. The building’s split floor design was something of a puzzle in those early months of navigating it, but it feels like second nature now.
Sophie nods, giving her friend a once over. “Relax your shoulders,” she says, a softness beneath her normal teasing. “And breathe. The shop is doing great.”
Kate tries to tell her shoulders to lower, but can feel them creep right back to her ears the second she thinks about sitting down across a conference table from Anthony Bridgerton. “I know,” she exhales. “There is just something about him…”
“I’m pretty sure the whole building knows.”
Kate rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue the point. There isn’t much sense in it.
They’ve been here for five years now. Five years of contract negotiations and every year has followed roughly the same pattern.
Anthony Bridgerton would come in wearing a suit that likely cost more than her entire closet combined (and Kate had exquisite taste), his stupid hair styled in a way that somehow made it look like he had simultaneously just rolled out of bed and been in meetings all day. He’d click his pen once, comment on the “weather we’ve been having of late,” say at least one thing that made Kate’s blood pressure rise, and then…well, Sophie had not exactly exaggerated her tale of last year’s negotiations.
The lift dings and the stainless steel doors slide open again. “You know I’ve got your back,” Sophie says, gently nudging her shoulder. “And your bail money. But if we could hold off on having to use it today, that would be fantastic.”
That earns a laugh from Kate. “I’m not promising anything.”
“Hello,” Tess, Mr. Bridgerton’s assistant, greets them with a smile as they step inside the bright space. “He’s ready for you in the conference room. I’ll buzz you in.”
“Thanks Tess,” Kate replies, already heading for the door at the end of the hall. “your cold brew”, handing her the cup, “and there will be leftover cookies. Make sure you get some when we’re finished.”
“You're lifesavers. Thank you.”
“What are we tracking today?” Sophie asks as they near the end of the hall.
“Projections.”
“Over under?”
“Loser buys drinks.”
“I’m going with eight,” Sophie says, pausing at the conference door.
“Thirteen,” Kate says evenly.
“You’re on.”
Kate takes just a moment to steady herself before she pushes down the cool, metal doorhandles and nudges it open.
Anthony Bridgerton is already inside. Infuriatingly composed. Wearing the suit Kate had already imagined him wearing and looking over the paperwork in front of him with a scowl that made the crease between his eyes deepen.
“Miss Sharma. Miss Baek.”
“Mr. Bridgerton,” they say in greeting, and place the drinks and snacks on the table, Kate wordlessly handing Anthony his cup.
“Oh thank you,” looking at his watch, “I haven’t eaten anything all day.”
Anthony clicks his pen and sets it to his right before organizing the papers he was just looking through with the same serious expression one would organize state secrets.
Kate fights the urge to drum her fingers on the table.
“I’m—” Anthony pauses to clear his throat as he checks his watch again. “I’m not sure what’s keeping Benedict.”
Kate just hums, her eyes trained on the wall behind Anthony. The silence stretches between them—the ticking of the clock on the wall and the hum of the air unit the only sounds filling the small space.
Beside her, Sophie sits, slightly slouched, looking between the pair with the same intensity she’d view a nature documentary, before doodling something in her notebook.
Then in a whirlwind, the conference door pushes open, the force slightly ruffling the stack of papers Anthony had just arranged.
“Sorry I’m late,” Benedict is mumbling as he pulls his satchel off his shoulder. “Traffic and what not.”
Anthony huffs, “You work one floor down.”
Benedict just shrugs, “The stairs are very busy this time of day.”
He sits in the vacant chair next to Anthony taking the cup that Sophie set in front of him. “Kate,” he says as he takes a drink. “Thank you.” He turns to Sophie, his expression softening immediately. “Sophie, it’s nice to see you as always.”
“You saw me an hour ago, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Benedict,” he corrects.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” Sophie replies confidently.
Kate clears her throat, “I think we should begin.”
“Yes,” Anthony says, straightening an already straight back, collecting the documents in his hand, and then handing them out.
Kate and Sophie quietly go through them, Sophie clearing her throat, turning to Kate, who catches Sophie for a moment before turning to the two brothers, “you’ve added new conditions.”
“Nothing is set in stone,” Benedict assures them.
It does little to curve the tension Kate feels starting to coil in her chest.
“But there are some issues to be discussed,” Anthony explains.
“Utilities capacity,” Kate reads, “and infrastructure upgrades, including but not limited to electricity, water pressure, ventilation, grease traps would be paid for by the renter.”
“That’s standard.”
“I don’t recall requesting you pay for any upgrade we’ve made,” Kate counters.
“Exactly. Now it’s written.”
“Music volume must be managed during business hours,” Kate continues.
“The music is managed,” Sophie says, “you’ve never complained about the volume.”
“This is an office building,” Anthony insists.
“Your brother uses my coffee shop as an office most days,” Kate states flatly.
“The music is fine,” Benedict reassures, “we’ll take that off. Can we add suggestions to the playlist?”
“No,” Kate and Sophie answer, before Kate softens, “thank you Benedict.”
“Worth a shot,” Benedict smiles, “let's continue.”
“Renovations can only be made during the last three weeks of August?!”
“We cannot close down for August,” Sophie snaps, “it’s one of our busiest months.”
“We don’t have any expected renovations. Should we decide on them, we will provide a two month notice,” Kate suggests. “But we can’t be confined to a single month. Not when it’s one of our peak months.”
“That would suffice,” Anthony exhales sharply, “Now for the rent.”
“Before that,” Benedict interjects, “we just want to say how much we love having you two as our tenants, and we want to continue this partnership in a way that will work for both sides.”
Kate nods slightly then flips the page to continue reading. And there, the thing she was most worried about, black on white, a 7% rent increase.
She feels the lump in her throat, and turns to Sophie, a solemn expression on her face.
7% increase.
Kate starts calculating in her head. Sophie asked for a new mixer. They wanted new merch for the summer. She promised Lucy more hours in the kitchen during her school break.
She feels Sophie silently straighten in the seat beside her. She raises her head, meets Anthony’s waiting eyes.
“7 percent,” Kate states.
“That includes maintenance fees, property tax, garbage collection, security and insurance requirements,” Anthony explains, “it would all be calculated in the rent.”
“Not including electricity and water which we pay directly,” Kate quips.
“This is a considerable increase,” Sophie stresses.
“They’re reasonable, and across all of our properties.”
“Not all of your properties. The lower ground has been vacant for two months,” Kate points out.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Anthony asks.
“It means that you own dozens of properties across the city.”
“The country,” Sophie corrects.
“Thank you, Sophie. Dozens of properties across the country, you can afford to have one property vacant for months, but you need to increase our rent by 7 percent?”
“That’s not what we meant,” Ben attempts.
“Miss Sharma, this is nothing personal,” Anthony cuts in, “we understand that this increase is uncomfortable, but costs have gone up and we have to act accordingly.”
Kate doesn’t respond. She just stares at Anthony, trying to figure out where she goes from here. She can feel Sophie turn to her, can feel Benedict do the same, so she shakes her head, “I think we’re going to have to take another look at this contract and get back to you.”
Anthony nods, “Alright. We can set up another meeting for next week.”
“That would suffice,” Kate says, turning to Sophie, “we should head back, I don’t want Lucy to be alone for much longer.”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to Tess to set up another meeting,” Sophie says, standing up, Kate following her.
“Miss Sharma, Miss Baek,” Anthony calls, he and Benedict standing as well, “like Benedict said, we take your business with high regard, and want to continue it. I hope we can find a way to do so.”
Kate nods, “I hope so too,” before closing the door behind her and Sophie.
They stay quiet as they head to the lift, quiet as they go the eight floors down, quiet as they’re met with the soft breeze of late spring.
“What are you thinking?” Sophie asks.
“That if we accept a 7% increase, we’ll be struggling until at least the new year.”
“And if we don’t accept it?”
“Moving will cost us even more.”
“So basically,” Sophie begins.
Kate sighs, “We’re screwed.”