Page 14 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)

“Harrison asked if I’m maintaining appropriate professional boundaries with you.” I meet her gaze directly. “The truthful answer is no. I’m not.”

Her breath catches slightly. “Declan?—”

“I like you. More than I should like you, considering our situation.” The word like is an understatement.

After four weeks of collaboration that’s become the best part of my days, after Friday night when she kissed me back like she’d been waiting for it as long as I had, I’m falling for Maya with a certainty that should terrify me. “And I think you like me, too.”

Maya is quiet for a moment. “Even if I do like you, there’s one glaring problem. You and your company want to destroy my community center.”

“I don’t want to destroy it,” I say quickly, then pause. “I want to find a solution that works for everyone.”

“But if you can’t?” Her eyes are steady on mine, demanding honesty.

I taste the scent of fresh coffee and old wood that’s become as familiar as my own office. “Then I have obligations I can’t ignore.”

Maya nods slowly. “I understand obligations. My entire life is built around them. To my father, to this community, to the promise I made when I took over Highland.”

“So what do we do about it?”

Maya is quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting to where Rosa is setting up for the senior lunch program. “We do what we have to do.”

There’s something final in her voice that makes my chest tighten. She stands abruptly, gathering her folders.

“I need to grab some additional financial records from storage. The utility costs from last year—they’ll help with your board presentation.”

I watch her walk toward the back hallway, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself too carefully. Like she’s fighting something. Like she’s remembering what happened the last time we were alone in Highland’s storage room.

I should let her go. Should stay at this table, review the documents, focus on the board presentation that will determine Highland’s future. Should maintain whatever’s left of our professional boundaries.

Instead, I find myself following her, drawn by the same magnetic pull that’s been building for three weeks.

The storage room looks exactly the same as Friday night—narrow space lined with metal shelving, single bulb casting shadows, twenty years of community history. But everything feels different now, charged with memory.

Maya stands with her back to me, reaching for a box on a high shelf, and I’m struck by how this mirrors last Friday—the same position, the same careful distance, the same electric awareness crackling between us.

“Maya.”

She turns, still holding the box, and I can see in her eyes that she’s thinking about Friday night too.

“Did you need something?” she asks, but her voice has gone breathless.

“Yeah.” I step closer, close enough to smell her shampoo—something clean and citrusy that’s been driving me to distraction for weeks. “I need to know something.”

“What?” She sets the box down on a nearby shelf.

“When you said we do what we have to do—what did you mean?”

“I meant that we’re both trapped by our obligations. You to Pierce Enterprises, me to Highland. And that maybe we’re fooling ourselves thinking we can keep pretending nothing happened.”

She trails off, her gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.

“Maya.” I step closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at me. “I can’t stop thinking about Friday night.”

Her breath catches. “Declan?—”

“I can’t stop thinking about the way you felt in my arms. The way you tasted. The way you kissed me back like you’d been waiting for it.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it too.”

“This is dangerous,” she whispers.

“Very dangerous.” I lean closer, my voice dropping. “But I don’t care anymore. I’ve been wanting to kiss you again since the moment we walked out of this room.”

Her lips part slightly, and I can see the conflict in her eyes—wanting this but knowing she shouldn’t.

“Declan, we can’t?—”

“Can’t what?” I trace my thumb along her jawline, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch. “Can’t admit that everything between us has changed? Can’t acknowledge that this collaboration stopped being just business weeks ago?”

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t pull away either.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” I tell her, my mouth inches from hers. “Unless you tell me to stop.”

Instead of stopping me, she reaches up and pulls me down to meet her. Her hands fist in my shirt, and I press closer, backing her against the shelving exactly as I did before. But this time there’s no hesitation, no careful exploration—just the certainty of wanting her and knowing she wants me too.

We break apart only when we need to breathe, both of us breathing hard.

“That was...” Maya starts, then stops, her fingers touching her lips.

“A mistake,” I finish, though the word feels wrong.

“Right. A mistake.” She nods too quickly, smoothing down her shirt. “We shouldn’t have... I mean, we’re supposed to be working together professionally.”

“Exactly. Professional collaboration.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how she looks with her ponytail mussed, her lips swollen from our kiss. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Nothing at all,” Maya agrees, but she won’t quite meet my eyes.

We walk back to our table maintaining careful distance. Maya spreads out the financial documents again, and I pretend to review them while stealing glances at her.

“So,” Maya says, her voice overly bright, “the twenty percent historic tax credit should offset most of the additional construction costs.”

“Right. The tax credit.” I force myself to focus on the numbers. “That’s a significant financial impact.”

“Very significant. Completely changes the cost-benefit analysis.” She’s twirling her pen between her fingers. “Nothing else needs to change in our approach.”

“Nothing at all. We’ll proceed exactly as planned.”

We sit in silence, both pretending to study documents while the memory of what just happened hangs between us.

“Maya,” I start, then stop.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Just... the research is excellent. The board will be impressed.”

“Good. That’s what matters. Highland’s future.”

“Highland’s future,” I repeat, though my voice sounds hollow.

Maya clears her throat. “I should get these final numbers compiled for your presentation.”

“Of course.” I gather my materials, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but at her. “I should head back to Pierce Enterprises. Prepare for the board meeting.”

“Good luck,” she says, finally meeting my eyes. “I hope they see the value in preservation.”

“They will,” I tell her, though I’m not sure I believe it. “Your research is too compelling to ignore.”

I stand to leave, and Maya walks me to Highland’s front door—the same professional courtesy she’s extended for weeks, except now I’m hyperaware of her proximity, of how she carefully maintains distance between us.

“Declan,” she says as I reach the door.

“Yeah?”

“What happened in there...” She gestures toward the storage room. “It doesn’t have to complicate things. We can keep working together.”

“Professional collaboration,” I agree, though the words feel like a lie.

“Nothing has to change.”

“Nothing has to change,” she echoes.

But as I drive back to my office, I know we’re both lying to ourselves. Everything has changed. We’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed, acknowledged feelings that can’t be unfelt.

I just don’t know if we can pretend otherwise long enough to save Highland. Because at the end of the day, I don’t even know if I can save it.