Page 19 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)

I can’t focus on a damn thing. The quarterly reports blur in front of me as my mind drifts back to last night—to Maya.

The way she felt beneath me, the sounds she made, how perfectly she fit in my arms. I wanted to stay till morning, wake her up with kisses and another round of what we’d done in the dark.

But reality has sharp edges that cut through fantasies.

I left before dawn, watching her sleep for one selfish minute before slipping out, the floorboards creaking a quiet accusation beneath my feet.

And then there was her text?—

now things can go back to normal.

Normal. As in, fake.

As in, I don’t get to touch her, taste her, have her beneath me, sighing my name...

I close my eyes, running a hand over my face. This is bad. Really fucking bad.

The intercom buzzes. “Mr. Pierce? Mr. Walker is here to see you.”

Perfect. Just what I need. “Send him in.”

Normally, Elliot would just waltz in which tells me he wants this entrance to make a point.

“Well, well, well. You look like hell,” he says as he strolls in like he owns the place and drops into one of my leather chairs with a knowing smirk.

“Thanks.” I turn back to my computer, trying to at least pretend I’m working.

“Late night?” His tone is innocent. Too innocent.

I shoot him a warning look. “Don’t start.”

“What? Can’t a guy check on his best friend?” He leans forward, grinning. “Especially when said best friend was seen visiting the apartment of a certain stunning brunette community advocate.”

I turn to face him. “You’re having me followed now?”

“Oh please.” Elliot waves his hand dismissively. “Mrs. Foster from 4B called me this morning. She’s on the board of that literacy foundation we fund. Apparently, she was walking her dog when you did your little walk of shame at 5 AM. At least, she thinks it was you.”

The office suddenly feels too small, the air too thin. I swivel my chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city of Los Angeles sprawled below me.

Walk of shame, my ass. I haven’t done a walk of shame in years.

“It wasn’t like that,” I mutter even though it absolutely was.

Elliot doesn’t say anything for a few moments, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

“I don’t ‘got’ anything.” I stand up, needing to move. The morning sun bathes the city below in a silver haze, revealing a clear view all the way to Santa Monica.

“Right,” Elliot says, drawing out the word. “And I’m the King of England.”

I turn to face him, my jaw clenched. “It was just sex, El. A one-time thing to get it out of our systems.”

“How’s that working out for you?” His voice holds no mockery now, just genuine concern.

The truth burns in my throat. I want to say it worked perfectly, that I’m fine, that Maya is just another woman who’s passing through my life. But the lie won’t form.

Instead, I know I have to lie to her. Eventually. I have to tell her that all the work we’ve been doing won’t produce the outcome she wants.

Instead, it will produce the outcome Pierce Enterprises has already invested millions in securing. That I can’t stop the development that will destroy her community center, and it will be torn down with the rest of her block.

“Earth to Declan,” Elliot says, “Where’d you go just now?”

“Nowhere good.” I square my shoulders, pulling myself back to the present. “Anyway, it’s complicated.”

“Only because you’re making it complicated.” Elliot’s voice turns serious. “I’ve known you since college, Dec. I’ve never seen you like this about anyone.”

I press my forehead against the cool glass. “She deserves better than me.”

“Better than the CEO who’s clearly crazy about her?”

“Better than someone who’s spent years being exactly what she hates—a corporate shark who puts profits over people.

” I turn back to face him. “You should hear the way she talks about community, Elliot, about making a real difference. She sees right through all this.” I gesture at my office, the trappings of wealth and power that used to mean everything.

“So prove her wrong.” Elliot shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Show her who you really are.”

“And who’s that? The man who’ll go back on his word to her community just to please the board? The man who’s been lying to her face for weeks?” I push away from the window, the knot in my stomach tightening. “I’m exactly who she thinks I am.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Elliot stands, his casual demeanor gone. “You’ve been looking for a way out of this development deal since before you met her.”

I run my hand through my hair, feeling the strands stick up in defiance. “Looking for a way out and finding one are two different things. The board votes next week.”

And then there’s Harrison. But I don’t need to tell Elliot that.

“So find a solution before then.” He steps closer, lowering his voice though we’re alone. “I’ve seen the alternative proposals. They’re solid.”

The alternative proposals. My secret project for the past few weeks—ways to develop the area without demolishing the community center.

Ways that would still turn a profit—just not the obscene margins that Pierce Enterprises is known for.

The numbers are tight but workable, especially if I can convince a few key investors to back the more community-focused approach.

“The board will never go for it,” I say, but there’s less conviction in my voice than there was a week ago.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Elliot leans against my desk. “But at least you’d be able to look her in the eye again.”

The thought of Maya’s eyes—those deep-brown pools that seem to see straight through to the parts of me I’ve spent years burying—makes my chest ache. Last night, when she looked up at me, her body arching into mine, I saw something there beyond desire. Trust.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

My phone vibrates against the desk. Maya’s name flashes across the screen, and my heart does a traitorous little leap. I stare at her name, transfixed, as if the letters themselves might offer some clue to what she’s thinking.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Elliot asks, eyebrows raised.

I swipe the notification away. “Later.”

“Coward.”

“Strategic,” I counter, but the word tastes sour. “I need to figure out what I’m going to say to her first.”

“How about the truth?” Elliot suggests, his voice gentler than I deserve.

The truth. Such a simple concept, yet so impossible in execution.

The truth would mean admitting I’ve been playing both sides from the beginning.

That every time we’ve met to discuss “community input” on the development, I’ve been feeding her half-truths, knowing full well the decision was practically made before we ever shook hands.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Elliot heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “You know, for someone so smart, you can be incredibly dense. That woman looks at you the same way you look at her.”

“Elliot—”

“Just think about it. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re a better man than you give yourself credit for,” he says before closing the door behind him, leaving me alone with thoughts that feel too big for my office, too real for the sanitized corporate world I’ve built around myself.

I stare at my phone again. Maya’s message sits there, unopened.

One tap and I’d see her words, hear her voice in my head.

But I’m not ready. Not when my mind keeps circling back to the way she felt in my arms, the vulnerability in her eyes when she whispered against my lips, “I shouldn’t want you this much. ”

The truth is, I shouldn’t want her either. Not when I’m holding the blade that could cut through everything she’s built.

I pick up the phone, then set it down again. The city sprawls before me, a concrete maze of ambition and compromise. Somewhere out there, Maya is going about her day, maybe thinking of last night, maybe regretting it. Maybe waiting for me to respond.

My computer pings with an email from Harrison.

I don’t need to open it to know what it says.

Another thinly veiled threat wrapped in corporate speak, reminding me of my duty to the shareholders, to the Pierce legacy.

My father’s right-hand man turned my personal shadow, making sure I don’t stray too far from the path that’s been laid out for me since birth.

I swipe the notification away, the feeling of dull resignation settling in my bones like an old friend. I’m suddenly struck by how tired I am of this—of the game, the constant chess match between shareholders’ expectations and my own increasingly murky sense of right.

My phone buzzes with a text from Maya?—

Maya:

Thank you for last night. For everything. I’m working on those financial projections for the board presentation. This could actually work.

The optimism in her message makes my chest ache. She believes in this collaboration. She believes the board will listen to reason, that her research and passion can overcome decades of Pierce Enterprises’ profit-first mentality.

She believes in me.

I think about Harrison’s warning, about maintaining professional boundaries. About the board’s impatience and their willingness to steamroll over Highland if this collaboration doesn’t produce results quickly.

Another text arrives?—

Maya:

Question about the historic tax credit calculations—can we set up a call later? I want to make sure the numbers are bulletproof.

Bulletproof. As if numbers and logic could protect Highland from five board members who see community centers as obstacles to quarterly profits.

I draft three different responses, deleting each one.

What am I supposed to tell her? That Harrison suspects our relationship? That the board is looking for any excuse to end this collaboration? That even with perfect financial projections, Highland’s chances are maybe thirty percent at best?

That I spent the night in her bed while knowing I might have to choose between her and everything I’ve built my life around?

Elliot’s words echo in my mind— Show her who you really are . But what if who I really am is someone who disappoints the people he cares about? What if the corporate shark Maya initially saw is the truest version of myself?

My father never would have gotten emotionally involved with someone on the opposite side of a business deal. Maxwell Pierce compartmentalized everything—personal feelings never interfered with strategic decisions. That’s how he built Pierce Enterprises into a company that matters.

I finally text back?—

Declan:

Let’s discuss tonight. Dinner?

Her response comes immediately.

Maya:

My place? I’ll cook. Fair warning—it won’t be as fancy as whatever you’re used to.

I stare at her message, thinking about her small apartment with its mismatched furniture and community center photos covering the walls. The warmth and authenticity of a space that tells the story of who she is.

Declan:

Actually, let me cook for you. My place.

A long pause. Then?—

Maya:

Are you sure? That feels like crossing another line.

Declan:

We crossed all the lines last night. Besides, I make a decent pasta, and you’ve been feeding me Highland’s community meals for weeks. It’s my turn.

Maya:

What do you mean?

Declan:

I mean dinner. Just dinner. You’ve shown me your world—let me show you mine. 7 PM?

Maya:

Okay. Should I bring anything?

Declan:

Just yourself. And an appetite for mediocre cooking.

Maya:

I doubt it’s mediocre.

Declan:

We’ll find out together.

My phone sits silent on the desk, our dinner plans confirmed.

I should go back to reviewing Highland’s financial projections, preparing talking points for Monday’s board meeting.

But something about tonight feels important—not as a test or revelation, but as a chance to spend time with Maya away from Highland’s intensity and Pierce Enterprises’ pressure.

For once, I want to just be Declan cooking dinner for someone I care about, instead of CEO Declan Pierce calculating corporate strategy.

Because maybe that’s who I really am underneath all the rest.