Page 20 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)

“Turn around,” Lianne says from her perch on my bed, surrounded by three different dresses she brought over like this is some kind of fashion emergency. “I need to see how that one looks from the back.”

I spin in front of my bedroom mirror, studying the way the navy-blue dress falls just above my knees. It’s borrowed from Lianne’s closet—something she calls “casual but elevated”—though it probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget.

“You guys really are serious about this, aren’t you?” Lianne’s voice carries a note I can’t quite identify. Not disapproval, exactly, but something close to concern.

“Serious about what?” I smooth the dress over my hips, trying to decide if it’s too much for dinner at someone’s house. Even someone’s very expensive house in the Hollywood Hills.

“About each other. About whatever this thing is between you and Declan.” Lianne stands and walks over to adjust the dress’s neckline. “Maya, when’s the last time you cared this much about what you wore to dinner?”

She’s right, and we both know it. I can’t remember the last time I spent twenty minutes staring into my closet, or called my best friend for wardrobe assistance, or felt butterflies in my stomach about seeing someone I’ve already spent the night with.

“It’s just dinner,” I say, though the words sound unconvincing even to me.

“Just dinner at his house. His very impressive, very expensive house.” Lianne meets my eyes in the mirror. “Maya, I need to tell you something about men like Declan.”

Something in her tone makes me turn away from my reflection. “Men like Declan?”

“Wealthy, powerful, from established families.” Lianne settles back onto my bed, her usual humor replaced by something more serious. “Remember Cameron?”

“Of course.” I sit beside her, the navy dress suddenly feeling too formal. They dated for about a year, but I only met him twice, and just when I thought things were serious between them, they were done. “But you never told me the details.”

“Cameron Phillip Arthur Judd. Old money, Pacific Palisades family, everything I thought I wanted.” Lianne’s voice grows quiet, distant.

“We met when I was planning his sister’s wedding, remember?

He was charming, successful, said all the right things about supporting my career and loving how independent I was. ”

“What happened?”

“His mother happened. His board of directors happened. His trust fund that came with strings happened.” Lianne meets my eyes, and I see old hurt there, carefully controlled but never fully healed.

“He loved me, Maya. I believe that. But when push came to shove, when his family made it clear that a working-class event planner wasn’t suitable for a Judd, someone whose foster parents cleaned houses and worked construction, he chose their approval over us. ”

Now I understand why Lianne always gets that look when Cameron’s name comes up, why she’s been so protective about my relationship with Declan.

“I’m sorry, Lianne. I had no idea it was that bad.”

“Ancient history,” she says, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She stands and smooths down my dress, back to practical mode. “Just promise me you’ll keep your guard up tonight, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt the way I did.”

“I promise.”

She gathers the other dresses, preparing to leave me to finish getting ready.

At my bedroom door, she pauses. “For what it’s worth, I think he cares about you.

I’ve seen the way he looks at you and believe me, I want a man to look at me just like that.

” She chuckles then turns serious. “I just want to make sure he cares enough to choose you when it matters.”

Declan’s house in the Hollywood Hills is nothing like what I expected. Instead of the cold, modernist mansion I imagined, it’s a 1940s Spanish Colonial with warm stucco walls, arched doorways, and a courtyard garden that feels more like a retreat than a display of wealth.

“This is beautiful,” I say as he leads me through the front door into a living room with exposed beam ceilings and windows that overlook the twinkling lights of LA below.

But as I take in the details—the original artwork on the walls, the quality of the furnishings, the way everything seems carefully curated yet effortless—the reality of our different worlds becomes impossible to ignore.

“It was my grandfather’s,” Declan says, setting his keys on a console table that looks like it’s been in the family for decades.

“He bought it in the 1950s when this area was still orange groves and Hollywood dreams. My father always wanted to tear it down and build something more impressive, but I could never bring myself to change it.”

I walk to the windows, taking in the view of the city spreading out below us.

From here, downtown LA is a cluster of lights in the distance, Highland Community Center invisible but somehow still present in my thoughts.

This view—this perspective of looking down on the city—feels symbolic in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

“Maya.” Declan’s voice is soft behind me, and when I turn, I catch something in his expression. Not quite worry, but a tension that wasn’t there during our drive up the winding hillside roads. “Are you having second thoughts?”

The question feels loaded, as if he’s asking about more than just being here tonight. “No second thoughts,” I tell him honestly. “Just... taking it all in. This house, this evening, the fact that I’m here with you instead of working on those financial reports that are due Monday.”

“We could go back to Highland if you’d prefer. Or I could take you home. We don’t have to?—”

I close the distance between us, placing my hand on his chest to stop his worried rambling.

His heart is beating faster than it should be for someone who’s simply hosting dinner.

“Declan, I want to be here. With you. I want to see what happens when we stop being Maya Navarro, the community organizer and Declan Pierce, the CEO, and just be... us. Even if it’s just for tonight. ”

The words slip out before I can stop them, revealing the uncertainty I’ve been trying to push down all day.

Relief flickers across his features. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about getting you alone like this since we danced at the festival.”

“Just since the festival?”

“Since you scattered those petition papers across my office floor and looked at me like I was a problem you intended to solve.” His smile is soft, intimate, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You were magnificent when you were angry.”

“I was terrified when I was angry. I’d never confronted anyone like you before.”

“Like me?”

“Completely out of my league.” I gesture around his living room, at the inherited wealth and casual luxury that surrounds us.

Declan’s hands settle at my waist, pulling me closer.

“Maya, you were never out of my league. If anything, it’s the reverse.

You’re fighting for something that matters, something bigger than yourself.

You have passion and conviction and the kind of courage that makes people follow you into impossible battles. ”

“And you have the power to save or destroy everything I care about.”

“No.” His voice is firm, almost urgent. “I have the power to advocate for Highland within Pierce Enterprises’ structure. But you have the power to save Highland through your research, your presentation, your refusal to give up even when the odds are impossible.”

I study his face, noting the genuine conviction in his expression, but also the way his jaw tightens when he mentions Pierce Enterprises. “You really believe that?”

“I really believe that Highland’s future depends more on your determination than on my corporate influence.

” He lifts his hand to trace my cheek with his fingertips, and the gesture feels almost desperate.

“Which is why whatever happens in Monday’s board meeting, whatever decisions get made about preservation or demolition, tonight is just about us. ”

“Just about us,” I repeat, testing how the words feel. But Monday feels closer than it did this morning, more real, more threatening.

“Just about us.” Declan leans down to brush a soft kiss across my lips. “Would you like some wine? I have a bottle of 1982 Chateau Le Pin that’s been waiting for a special occasion.”

“I’m going to pretend I know what that means and nod, impressed,” I say, tilting my head. “Is this a special occasion?”

“The first evening I’ve spent with Maya Navarro instead of Highland Community Center’s executive director? Definitely a special occasion.”

While Declan opens wine in the kitchen, I explore his living room, noting the mix of inherited family pieces and carefully chosen modern additions.

Books line built-in shelves—not just business texts but fiction, poetry, volumes on public policy and urban planning.

A guitar sits in one corner, well-used rather than decorative.

It’s a room that tells the story of three generations, of wealth accumulated and preserved, of legacy passed down through family lines.

The contrast with our folding chairs and borrowed space and constant fundraising is stark, a reminder that we come from such different worlds. In his world, problems get solved with phone calls and checkbooks rather than bake sales and community meetings.

“You play?” I ask when he returns with two glasses of wine.

“Badly. But it helps me think.” He hands me a glass, his fingers brushing mine in a contact that sends warmth spiraling up my arm. “My grandfather taught me when I was twelve. He said music was important for men in business, that it kept them human.”

“Smart grandfather.”

“He would have liked you. He believed in community investment, supporting local organizations. He used to say that a man’s worth wasn’t measured by what he accumulated but by what he contributed.”

“That sounds like our philosophy.”