1
Lila
Email. Check.
Fresh batch of lemon drizzle in the oven. Check.
Crisis management mode? Fully activated.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, typing my third email today and it’s not even 11 a.m. Steam might as well be rising from my head.
“Dear Corporate Robot,” I mutter, dripping sarcasm into every word. “Thank you so much for brushing me off again. It’s been delightful. Now go and choke on some cake and go away.”
I hover over the send button, smirking with satisfaction.
Exhale. Delete.
I crack my knuckles and start over. I type faster, each keystroke harder than the last. My patience wore thin two days ago, and now it’s hanging by a thread.
Enough with the runaround. I want to speak to the person at the top. No more excuses.
I finally hit send with more force than necessary and lean back, glaring at the screen like it might cower in submission.
Unlikely.
The development proposal looms in my inbox like a ticking time bomb, a plan to demolish the building that holds Bloom and Brew, my mother’s beloved florist shop and the cafe I added to keep the business afloat. All to make way for yet another soulless block of luxury apartments.
The thought alone makes my blood boil. Not just because of the countless hours we’ve poured into this place, but because of what it means to my mother. My mother built it from the ground up thirty years ago when she first emigrated to the UK. It’s more than a shop; it’s her legacy. When Dad left eight years ago, it became more than just a business, it was the one thing that kept her going, giving her purpose when everything else fell apart. I’ve fought to keep her dream alive by expanding into a cafe when the flower sales alone weren’t enough.
I glance toward the back room, where she’s arranging flowers, her face serene and focused, as though the world isn’t crumbling around us. She hums softly while trimming a bundle of fresh lilies, completely unfazed.
I can’t let her lose it. I won’t.
The oven timer dings, snapping me back to reality. I pull out the tray of cakes and inhale deeply, letting the scent of lemon and sugar fill my lungs. Comfort. Stability. It’s what Bloom and Brew is built on, and I’ll be damned if some corporation takes it away.
My phone buzzes.Wanker- aka James Harlow’s name flashes on the screen.
Great. Him again.
I debate letting it go to voicemail, but I know exactly what kind of message he’ll leave - condescending and wrapped in a fake smile. He’s been like this from the start. Dismissive atfirst, then increasingly short-tempered, like I’m a nuisance he can’t quite get rid of. Good, I’ll keep pestering until I reach the top.
Bracing myself, I pick up. “Mr Harlow.”
“Ms Ng,” James says, his tone clipped. “I thought we’d already discussed this. You’ve raised your concerns. We’ve taken them under advisement.”
“That’s funny,” I reply, shifting the phone to my other ear. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve ignored everything I’ve requested. No environmental assessment. No public consultation. And judging by your refusal to provide proof, no transparency either.”
“We’ve conducted all the required reviews,” he fires back. “The project is compliant with every regulation.”
“No proof, no transparency because there is none,” I snap.
He exhales loudly, the sound filled with barely disguised irritation.
“Ms Ng, this project is moving forward with or without your approval. I suggest you focus on adapting to the change rather than fighting it.”
My blood boils. “Oh, I’m not fighting it alone anymore, Mr Harlow. I’ve formed the Silverbeck Business Coalition. We’re a united front, and we’ve formally requested a meeting with your development team. We’re done being ignored.”
“A coalition?” he repeats, his voice dripping with disbelief. “And what exactly do you plan to achieve with this… coalition?”
