“Take a seat.” I gesture toward the back table, my hand steady even though my heart feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest. His lips twitch, just slightly, like he’s amused.
Whatever game he’s playing, I refuse to let him win. He gives a slight nod, his eyes never leaving mine. I turn on my heel before I do something really stupid, like react again.
“After you,” he says, his voice soft but edged with something dangerous. I walk towards the table, every nerve on high alert, my breath coming in shallow bursts.
Come on, Lila. Up your game, bitch.
I square my shoulders, forcing my steps to stay steady, calm,in control. This is your cafe, your home turf. He’s just a visitor, no matter how intimidating he looks in that perfectly tailored suit.
I settle into my chair, smoothing my blazer as I lift my chin and meet his gaze again. No blinking. No backing down.
“Shall we get started?” I say, my voice firm, even though my heart is still racing.
His lips curve ever so slightly. “By all means.”
He leans back in his chair, watching me with an unsettling calm, his eyes flicking between my notes and my face like he’s waiting to see which will crack first—my argument or my composure.
Not happening.
I let the silence sit, thick and heavy, letting it do half the work for me. Let him feel it. The weight of every set of eyes fixed on him. The weight of what he’s here to destroy.
Ben Ashcroft expected a simple meeting. A polite discussion. Maybe a bit of push back.
He has no idea what he’s walked into.
I square my shoulders, keeping my voice firm and clear. “Mr. Ashcroft, thank you for meeting with us today.” I gesture around the table, making sure his attention follows mine. “We’re here on behalf of The Silverbeck Business Coalition, a group of independent business owners, residents, and community leaders who will be directly impacted by your development project.”
I push on. “We’re here because we have serious concerns about your company’s plans and before you say you understand, let me introduce you to the people whose livelihoods are at stake.”
I turn to my right, nodding at Clara. “Clara is my co-leadin this alliance. She owns The Willow Salon, a cornerstone of Silverbeck for over fifteen years.”
Clara sits stiff-backed, arms folded over her chest, her expression polite but unwavering.
“Thomas Russell,” I continue, motioning to the man beside her. “Runs Russell’s Bakery, a family business that’s been here for four generations.”
Ben’s gaze flickers briefly toward Thomas. The first crack in his polished detachment.
Thomas leans forward, folding his arms on the table. “I remember you, Ben,” he says, his voice even but firm. “Knew your mother, too. She was a good woman. It’s a damn shame to hear you’ve come back just to tear this place apart.”
A few murmurs ripple around the table. I watch Ben closely, waiting for any sign of a reaction. A twitch of the jaw. A flicker of discomfort. Anything.
But he gives nothing away.
This is not the Ben I knew. Not even close and somehow, that’s worse.
One by one, I introduce them, the butcher, the greengrocer, the art gallery owner. Fifteen business owners. A few community members. All here because they refuse to be erased.
Ben listens, impassive, hands folded neatly in front of him. Just calculation.
Finally, when I’ve named every single person in the room, I lean forward, resting my hands flat on the table.
“Now that you know who we are, Mr. Ashcroft,” I say, my voice sharp but steady, “why don’t you tell us exactly how you plan to justify ripping the heart out of this town?”
Silence.
For the first time since walking in, Ben exhales, slow andmeasured. His eyes flick to mine, and for a second, just a second, I think I see something. A flicker of recognition. A sliver of hesitation.
Then it’s gone.
