Page 22 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
“Gentlemen,” the mayor said, her tone suggesting the discussion was over. “I think we’ve heard enough. All in favor of moving forward with preliminary development discussions?”
I watched hands go up around the room. Roberts. Martinez. Thompson. Five votes in favor, two against. The two against were both farmers whose land bordered the watershed. Everyone else had apparently decided that theoretical tax revenue was worth more than actual environmental protection.
The gavel came down with a sound like a gunshot. “Motion carried. Pinnacle Development, we look forward to working with you on next steps.”
I stayed in my seat as the room erupted in conversation, some celebrating, others arguing. My hands were shaking with anger and something that felt uncomfortably close to despair. Two years of research. Hundreds of hours documenting species populations and water quality data. All of it dismissed in fifteen minutes because some slick corporate suit had made the right campaign contributions.
“Wes.” Agnes Murphy stopped beside my chair, her weathered hand briefly touching my shoulder. “That was good work you did. Don’t let them convince you it didn’t matter.”
But it hadn’t mattered. That was the problem. Facts didn’t matter when the checks had already been written.
I made it outside before the full weight of failure hit me. The October air was crisp with the promise of winter, carryingscents of woodsmoke and fallen leaves. Normal small-town evening smells that should have been comforting but felt hollow now. How many more evenings like this would we have before construction crews moved in and changed everything forever?
My phone buzzed with a text message. The sender was a number I didn’t recognize, but the message made my blood run cold.
Environmental appeals take time. Development moves fast. Might want to consider whether this fight is worth your career.
I stared at the screen, reading the words again. It wasn’t explicitly a threat, but the implication was clear enough. Someone wanted me to back down, and they were willing to play dirty to make it happen.
Another text came through, this one from a number I did recognize. Willa.
Saw the council meeting on the community board. You okay?
Such a simple question, but it hit me harder than I expected. When was the last time someone had asked if I was okay? When was the last time someone had noticed whether I was struggling?
I found myself typing back before I could second-guess the impulse.
Not really. Feel like I’m fighting a losing battle tonight.
Her response came quickly.
The best battles usually feel impossible at first. That doesn’t mean they’re not worth fighting.
I stared at her message for a long moment, something tight in my chest loosening slightly. She understood. Somehow, this omega I’d known for less than a week understood the frustration of caring about something that felt too big to fight alone.
Would you like some company? I could bring tea.
The offer surprised me. Willa wasn’t the type to insert herself into other people’s problems. She kept her distance, maintainedher boundaries, protected her peace. But here she was, offering comfort to someone she barely knew.
I’d like that,I typed back.Fair warning though, I might be lousy company tonight.
I specialize in lousy company. Give me twenty minutes.
I sent her my address and then pocketed my phone and started walking toward home, trying to process the evening’s events. The council meeting had been a disaster, but somehow Willa’s offer of tea and company made it feel less like the end of the world. Maybe impossible battles weren’t something I had to do alone after all.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting on my front porch steps when Willa appeared at the end of my driveway, carrying a thermos and wearing a soft green cardigan that made her jasmine scent seem warmer somehow. She’d braided her dark hair loosely, and there were small wisps escaping around her face.
“I brought chamomile,” she said, settling beside me on the steps without waiting for an invitation. “Figured you might need something calming after dealing with politicians all evening.”
“Thank you.” I accepted the cup she poured for me, surprised by how right it felt to have her here. “I’m sorry I unloaded this mess on you.”
“Don’t apologize for caring about something important.” She sipped her tea, her gray eyes focused on the mountains visible in the distance. “What happens next?”
“I file an environmental appeal,” I said. “Try to get the state involved before construction starts. But that could take months, and they’re talking about breaking ground in six weeks.”
“Six weeks,” she repeated quietly. “That’s not much time.”
“No, it’s not.” I found myself studying her profile in the gathering darkness. “Can I ask you something?”
