Page 21 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
Why was she here? Willa didn't seem the type to involve herself in community politics, she was still trying to find her feet here. She was still keeping her distance from anything that might require taking sides or making her opinions known. Still trying to find her footing in a new place while she recovered from the terrible situation she’d found herself in before. Was she here for me? Did she realise how much it would mean to me to see her here?
The possibility made my heart race with hope I hadn't allowed myself to feel. Maybe her interest in the owl rehabilitation updates meant something deeper than professional courtesy. Maybe her questions about conservation work indicated genuine investment in what I was trying to protect.Maybeshe was here because she understood that this fight was important to me, and that made it important to her.
I found a seat two rows behind her, close enough to catch hints of her scent signature but far enough away not to make her uncomfortable with alpha attention she hadn't explicitly welcomed. From here, I could see the way she held herself carefully, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible while still showing support for something that mattered. It was a type of strength I’d never really considered before.
I took a moment to look around at the rest of the room as everyone started to settle in their seats. The community center felt different tonight. The usual warm energy that filled these monthly council meetings had been replaced by something sharp and uncomfortable. Cassian's presence explained part of that. Corporate money always changed the atmosphere, made people nervous about speaking their minds or defending what they actually valued. But there was something else, something that made my alpha instincts buzz with unease even beyond the obvious threat.
Three rows ahead of me, Councilman Roberts was having what looked like an intense whispered conversation with a man in an expensive suit I didn't recognize. Another corporate type, probably Cassian's associate or maybe his father's representative. The stranger's cologne was almost as overpowering as Cassian's, everything about him screaming money and influence and the kind of power that bought votes before meetings even started.
I glanced at Willa again, noting the way she was studying the room like she was trying to understand the undercurrents of tension. This was probably her first town council meeting, her first exposure to the kind of small-town politics that could determine whether protected habitat survived or got turned into luxury amenities for people who already had too much.
The fact that she'd chosen tonight to start caring about community issues, felt significant. Like maybe she was beginning to see Hollow Haven as more than just a temporary refuge. Like maybe she was starting to think about building something here that was worth protecting.
The thought made warmth spread through my chest despite the corporate sharks circling the room and the environmental disaster I was about to watch unfold. Whatever happened tonight, whatever games Pinnacle Development and the Black family wanted to play, I wouldn't be facing it completely alone.
Willa was here. That had to mean something.
"Order, order." Mayor Davidson banged her gavel, and the murmur of conversation gradually died down. "First item on tonight's agenda is the proposed development of the Blackwood Creek watershed area."
My stomach dropped. This wasn’t supposed to be first. Hell, this was only supposed to be mentioned at the end of the agenda as an ongoing project, but from the grim look on her face I could already tell what was about to come was going to be a shit show of epic proportions. I’d submitted my environmental impact assessment three weeks ago and hadn’t heard a word back. Standard procedure was thirty days minimum for public review before any council discussion.
“As you all know,” the mayor continued, “Pinnacle Development has presented us with an exciting opportunity for economic growth in our community.”
Exciting opportunity. I forced myself to stay seated when every instinct was telling me to stand up and demand to know when this had become a done deal. The folder in my hands contained two years of research documenting the irreplaceable ecological value of that watershed. Three endangered species used it as critical habitat.
The stranger in the expensive suit stood up and flashed a practiced smile. “Thank you, Mayor Davidson. I’m James Hamilton, Senior Development Director at Pinnacle Development. I’m thrilled to share our vision for the Hollow Haven Wellness Resort.”
I watched him click through a slideshow of architectural renderings and economic projections, each image designed to make dollar signs dance in the council members’ eyes. Two hundred construction jobs. Seventy-five permanent positions. Twelve million in annual tax revenue.
What he didn’t mention was that most of those jobs would be minimum wage and seasonal. What he didn’t mention was that similar developments had contaminated groundwater in three other counties. What he didn’t mention was that once you paved over critical habitat, it was gone forever.
“Mr. Thatcher.” Mayor Davidson’s voice cut through my internal rage. “I understand you have some concerns about the environmental impact?”
Some concerns? Like that was all two years of scientific research amounted to. I stood up, trying to keep my voice level and professional. “I’ve submitted a comprehensive environmental assessment that documents significant ecological risks.”
“Of course,” Pinnacle said smoothly. “We’ve reviewed Mr. Thatcher’s report, and while we appreciate his passion for wildlife, we also need to consider economic realities.”
Passion for wildlife. As if caring about clean water and endangered species was some kind of quaint hobby instead of essential environmental stewardship.
“The development would destroy habitat for three endangered species,” I said, addressing the council directly. “It would contaminate the primary aquifer and disrupt migration patterns that have existed for centuries.”
“Mr. Thatcher,” Councilwoman Martinez interrupted, “while we appreciate your concerns, we also need to consider the economic benefits to our community.”
I looked around the room at faces I’d known my whole life. Mrs. Henderson, who’d taught me biology in high school. Tom Murphy, whose hardware store had been family-owned for three generations. These people knew the value of the land we were talking about. They’d grown up hiking those trails, fishing that creek, teaching their children to identify the calls of the birds that nested there.
“Since when is Hollow Haven struggling economically?” The question came from Agnes Murphy in the front row. “Last I checked, our local businesses were doing just fine.”
“Times change, Agnes,” Roberts said without meeting her eyes. “Opportunities like this don’t come along often.”
The fix was in. I realized it with a sick certainty as council member after council member found creative reasons to support development despite the environmental evidence. Budget shortfalls that hadn’t existed last month. Infrastructure needs that could somehow only be met through resort tax revenue. Community growth that apparently required destroying the natural features that made the community worth living in.
“Mr. Thatcher,” Mayor Davidson said with practiced sympathy, “no one wants to harm the environment. But we have to balance conservation with community needs.”
“Community needs include clean water and protected habitat,” I shot back. “Unless you’re planning to import drinking water when the aquifer gets contaminated.”
“The environmental assessment shows minimal impact,” Pinnacle interjected.
“That assessment was funded by your company,” I said. “Independent studies show a seventy percent risk of groundwater contamination within five years.”
