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Ducking her head, Aria scrubbed at a spot on the counter. She hadn’t known that several other owners had already committed.
Hunter must have intimidated or coerced them into agreeing. His good looks weren’t that intoxicating. Okay, maybe they were, but most of her fellow store owners were well beyond the hormonal whiplash she was currently experiencing.
“They can’t officially sign until the vote at the Mariposa Business Association meeting,” he continued. “But I’m confident that they will.”
Aria bit her lip. This was why he was in Bliss Cove—to sweet-talk people into selling or bulldoze them if they resisted. Either way, he hadn’t come here to lose.
She didn’t intend to lose either. Not anymore.
“Aria.” Flattening his hands on the counter, he leaned in toward her. “Any property lawyer will tell you this is an excellent offer.”
“I don’t care what property lawyers will tell me.”
“This street is dying,” Hunter said. “Hell, it’s already dead…and though you might have some success, I guarantee you it won’t last. Especially when the other businesses start shutting down.”
A knot of anxiety formed in her stomach. Much as she wanted to believe in herself and her decision, she knew he was right. It was all well and good to root for the underdog and to believe that heart and community would prevail over corporate greed, but money talked. Power was power. And men like Hunter Armstrong didn’t give up.
However, she had the home field advantage. She owned this building and land. She’d known most of the other shop owners for years. She considered them friends. Her family had deep roots in Bliss Cove. She’d finally found something she was good at. So if anyone could go head-to-head with Imperial Properties and win, it was Aria Prescott.
At least, that was what the uplifting movie trailer playing in her head was saying.
“Mr. Armstrong—”
“Hunter.”
“You need to leave. Now.” Turning on her heel, she opened the door of the Cat Lounge to make a swift exit.
“I’ll go,” he said. “But we’re not done here.”
“Yes, we are.”
“If you—” He stopped.
A plaintive meow echoed through the open door from the adjoining room. Aria started to close the door so the cats wouldn’t escape. Hunter’s gaze shot to the gray tabby poking his head out of the lounge.
“What’s that?” he demanded.
“A cow.” Aria bent to pick up the cat. She strode into the Cat Lounge, closing the door behind her, and pulled up the blinds on the glass door and the window separating the lounge from the front room.
Hunter stared into the lounge, where thirteen cats sashayed, jumped, lolled, and licked various body parts. He opened the door, his eyes narrowing.
“What are all these cats doing in here?”
Aria blinked, momentarily confused by the idiotic question. “This is acatcafé.”
She gestured to the logo above the register and all the feline decorations in the storefront. Had he not even bothered to look into what businesses he was trying to demolish?
“I thought that meant it was a cat-themed café. Not that you have actual live animals here.” A deep V formed between his eyes. “How many are in here?”
“I usually have between twelve and fifteen total, depending on adoptions. Porkchop is one of them. Could you close the door, please?”
He stepped into the room and shut the door. “Adoptions?”
“All of the cats are available for adoption.” Aria scratched Jumbo’s ears and nuzzled the tabby’s head. “That’s one of the reasons I started the café. I was doing a lot of pet care and dog-walking, and my friend Sue over at the Rescue House shelter mentioned that they were getting overcrowded with cats. I’d heard of cat cafés in Japan, and I’ve worked for years at my mother’s bakery over on Dandelion Street, so I looked into the logistics of opening a cat café here.” She spread her arm out to indicate the lounge. “This building and this street turned out to be the perfect place for one.”
Still frowning, he regarded the old, one-eyed cat crouched under a table. The cat glared at him through his single, slitted yellow eye, his torn ear quivering.
“That’s Fang.” Aria experienced a rush of defensiveness, in case Hunter was internally judging the cat’s unfortunate appearance. “He’s had a rough life.”
