Page 5 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)

There are at least a hundred people standing outside the building, with onlookers gathering along the fringes. Of course Maya would pick DTLA rush hour to stage her protest. Judging by the TV vans parked on side streets, she’s got exactly the attention she wanted.

Good for Highland. Terrible for Pierce Enterprises.

From my office windows, I watch Maya coordinate with what appears to be a small army of media personnel.

She’s traded yesterday’s professional blazer for jeans and a Highland Community Center T-shirt, and somehow that makes her more formidable, not less.

This is Maya in her element—not the polished activist who stormed my office, but the community leader who can mobilize a hundred people before most of the city has finished their first coffee.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Twenty-four hours ago, I sat in this same spot wondering how to handle Maya Navarro. Now she’s handling me.

“Sir?” Jessica’s voice crackles through the intercom. “The board members are here for the emergency meeting.”

I check my watch. Eight-forty-five. The meeting wasn’t supposed to start until nine, but Harrison likes to get ahead of crisis situations. And a hundred protesters chanting outside our headquarters definitely qualifies as a crisis.

“Tell them I’ll be right there.”

My phone buzzes with a text from Maya:

Rain check accepted. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m busy.

Despite the chaos unfolding outside my window, I find myself smiling. There’s something compelling about a woman who can organize a protest and send sarcastic text messages simultaneously. Which is exactly the kind of thinking that’s going to get me in trouble with the board.

The conference room feels like a war council when I enter. Harrison sits at the head of the table with the other four board members flanking him like generals planning a siege. Stock futures glow on wall-mounted screens, showing Pierce Enterprises down another point in pre-market trading.

The sight of those red numbers reminds me why Harrison has so much power in this room. When stock prices fall, boards get nervous. When boards get nervous, CEOs get replaced.

Harrison doesn’t look up from his tablet. “I assume you’ve seen the news coverage.”

I take my seat at the opposite end of the table, as far from Harrison as the room allows. “Channel 7’s been covering it live since six AM.”

“The Times ran a front-page story this morning.” Board member Patricia Winters slides a newspaper across polished mahogany. “Above the fold, with a full-color photo.”

The headline reads: “David vs. Goliath: Community Center Fights Corporate Development.” The photo shows Maya speaking into a reporter’s microphone, Highland Community Center visible behind her. She looks determined, passionate, completely unafraid of the corporate giant she’s challenging.

She looks like someone worth fighting alongside, not against.

“The story paints Pierce Enterprises as the heartless corporation destroying a beloved community institution,” Patricia continues. “It mentions we’ve refused all attempts at dialogue.”

“Which isn’t entirely accurate,” I point out. “I met with Maya Navarro yesterday.”

“For fifteen minutes.” Harrison’s voice cuts through the room like winter wind. “And according to my sources, you spent most of that time letting her lecture you about community values.”

Ice settles in my veins. Harrison has sources in my building—probably Jessica, possibly others. Which means every conversation, every decision, every moment of doubt gets reported back to the board chair who speaks with my dead father’s voice.

“The meeting was informative,” I say carefully. “I gathered intelligence about Highland’s operations and their specific concerns about the Anderson Project.”

“Their concerns are irrelevant.” Board member Donovan Rice looks up from his phone with the expression of a man who’s never been concerned about anything more pressing than quarterly earnings. “We have legal ownership, all permits, and a construction timeline that’s already been delayed.”

“The timeline was delayed for city planning requirements,” I remind him. “Not community opposition.”

“Until now.” Harrison finally looks at me, his expression glacial. “Now we have protesters outside our building, negative media coverage, and investors asking questions about our crisis management capabilities.”

As if summoned by his words, chanting drifts up from the street: “Pierce has millions, Highland has heart!”

“Catchy,” mutters board member Melanie Doherty.

“Our PR team is fielding calls from three news outlets asking for comment,” Patricia adds. “The kind where we explain why a multimillion-dollar corporation is bulldozing a community center that serves underprivileged families.”

The words hang in the air like an accusation. Because that’s exactly what we’re doing, isn’t it? Bulldozing a community center that serves families who can’t fight back, can’t afford lawyers, can’t do anything except gather in the street with handmade signs and hope someone notices their pain.

Maya noticed. Maya organized. Maya made sure their voices couldn’t be ignored.

“What’s your solution?” Harrison asks, though his tone suggests he’s already decided what that solution should be.

I think about Maya’s fierce defense of Highland yesterday, about the incorporation papers scattered across my office floor like fallen dreams. About Harrison’s systematic stonewalling and his threat to question my leadership if I don’t fall in line.

“I propose we engage directly with Highland’s leadership,” I say. “Offer to collaborate on finding alternative solutions that address their concerns while protecting our investment.”

The silence that follows could freeze hell.

Melanie actually laughs. “You want us to negotiate with protesters?”

“I want us to control the narrative,” I correct. “Right now, Maya Navarro is writing the story, and we’re cast as the villains. If we bring her to the table, we become partners seeking solutions.”

“Solutions that still result in Highland’s demolition,” Harrison says flatly.

“Eventually, yes. But it gives us time to manage the optics while we handle legal and regulatory requirements. We look reasonable, they feel heard, and business proceeds as planned.”

It’s a cynical strategy—exactly the kind of calculated manipulation my father would have approved. Appear to make concessions while maintaining complete control of the outcome.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“How long?” Patricia asks.

“A few weeks. Maybe a month. Long enough to demonstrate good faith while we finalize demolition preparations.”

“And you think Maya Navarro will agree to this collaboration?” Donovan’s skepticism drips from every word.

I think about Maya’s intelligence, her refusal to back down, the way she organized eight hundred forty-three signatures while being systematically ignored. “I think she’ll see it as an opportunity to explore alternatives.”

“Alternatives that don’t exist,” Donovan points out.

“Alternatives we’ll help her discover don’t exist,” I clarify. “By the end of the process, Highland will have exhausted every option, and Pierce Enterprises will be positioned as having gone above and beyond.”

Harrison studies me for a long moment. Outside, the protesters have started a new chant, something about corporate greed and community needs. The sound carries through thirty floors of glass and steel—a reminder that Maya Navarro isn’t disappearing quietly.

“One month,” Harrison says finally. “You have one month to make this work. If it doesn’t resolve cleanly, we move to more direct methods.”

Something in his tone makes my skin crawl. “What kind of direct methods?”

“The kind your father would have used.” Harrison stands, signaling the meeting’s end. “Maxwell never let sentiment interfere with business necessity. Don’t disappoint his memory, Declan.”

After the board members file out, I’m left alone with the newspaper article about Maya and Highland.

The photo draws my attention again—Maya speaking with complete conviction, unaware that thirty floors above her, six people in expensive suits were discussing her community’s fate like a line item on a budget spreadsheet.

My phone buzzes with another text:

Maya:

Hope your morning meetings went well. The coffee offer stands when you’re ready to talk.

I stare at the message, wondering how she knew I was in meetings. Then I realize she probably watched the board members arrive. Maya Navarro pays attention to everything.

Which means she’ll see through any manipulation I attempt. She’ll know if I’m offering genuine collaboration or just buying time to destroy her father’s legacy more quietly.

The thought should concern me. Instead, it’s almost... refreshing. When was the last time someone challenged me to be honest instead of strategic?

I pocket my phone without responding and return to the window.

The crowd has grown larger, with people spilling onto adjacent sidewalks.

A police car idles at the corner—officers watching but not intervening.

Maya has choreographed this perfectly: large enough to be unmissable, controlled enough to remain legal.

She’s not just passionate. She’s smart. Dangerously smart.

“Sir?” Jessica appears in the doorway with her ever-present iPad. “PR wants guidance on a statement, and Legal needs to know if we’re pursuing injunction options.”

“Tell PR to hold off until I’ve spoken with Miss Navarro directly. And inform Legal we won’t be pursuing injunctions at this time.”

Jessica’s stylus hovers over her screen. “The board approved this approach?”

“The board approved my handling of the situation.” Not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. “I’ll be contacting Miss Navarro myself.”

“Shouldn’t that go through?—”

“I’ll handle it personally,” I cut her off. “This requires a direct approach.”