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I leaned closer. “That’s why we need your help to save it.”
She nodded slowly, worry in her eyes. “I’ll be there at your meeting, Mila. And I’ll bring others.”
The morning gave way to afternoon as stories unfolded before me with each flier I handed out. Mr. Alvarez at the corner store took extra copies to hand out with receipts.
“This place is more than bricks and walls; it’s where my son learned English,” he shared.
“I know,” I replied softly. “We won’t let it disappear.”
By evening, my feet ached and my voice was hoarse from speaking with so many people—each with their own connection to the center we were fighting for. As dusk painted the sky in strokes of pink and orange, Josie, Melody, and I reconvened at our starting point.
“We’ve covered the whole map,” Josie announced triumphantly, pointing to our crudely drawn grid.
Melody wiped sweat from her brow. “I never knew how much that place meant to everyone until today.”
With a deep breath that did little to calm my racing heart, I looked toward tomorrow’s gathering where our voices would rise together.
“We’ve done all we can,” I said as much to myself as to them. “Now it’s time to show what we’re made of.”
***
The community center buzzed with the energy of the impending confrontation. Flyers with bold letters calling for action plastered the walls, each one a battle cry against the development project threatening our lifeline. Josie and Melody huddled by the entrance, double-checking the sign-in sheets and information packets.
“He’s coming,” Josie said, her voice a mix of disbelief and awe as she approached me.
“Who’s coming?” I asked, adjusting the stack of flyers in my arms.
“Cassius Portman,” she breathed out, her eyes wide. “He confirmed just an hour ago.”
The flyers scattered from my hands, fluttering to the floor like feathers from a startled bird. The room tilted slightly, and I gripped the edge of a table to steady myself.
“Why would he come here?” My voice cracked. “To gloat?”
Josie shrugged, her expression uneasy. “Maybe he wants to see the impact firsthand?”
I snorted, a hollow sound. “Or to charm us into submission.”
Melody joined us, her forehead creased in concern. “Mila, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just nerves,” I lied, scooping up the flyers. My hands trembled slightly, betraying my inner turmoil.
“You’re not getting cold feet because of him, are you?” Melody nudged me gently with her elbow.
“No,” I snapped sharper than intended. “We’re fighting for our home, our kids’ future. He’s just one man.”
But he wasn’t just any man. He was Cassius Portman—the billionaire with piercing eyes that saw through masquerades.
The man that made me his that night.
In my small impromptu office at the back of the center, I tried to focus on my notes. Statistics about community benefits and testimonials from locals who depended on our services lined the pages. Yet each time I tried to formulate an argument, his face invaded my thoughts—the warmth of his hand on my back as we danced, his lips seeking mine with a hunger that mirrored my own, his fingers squeezing my breast.
I paced back and forth, rehearsing aloud. “Mr. Portman, your project may bring economic growth, but at what cost? Do you understand what this center means to us?”
My reflection in the window pane stared back at me—a woman determined yet haunted by a single night’s folly.
The clock ticked mockingly in the silence of the room as I practiced over and over until each word felt like a shield against his anticipated charisma.
“Mr. Portman,” I tried again, steadier this time, “you can’t put a price on community.”
