Page 9 of Worth the Risk (Worth It All #1)

This is not how I usually conduct business meetings.

Yet here I am at eight in the morning, laptop open on a folding table that’s probably older than I am, surrounded by the organized chaos of Highland Community Center coming to life.

Two weeks of collaboration meetings have taught me that Maya operates on Highland time—which means community needs come first, schedules second.

I’ve been here four times in the past two weeks, each meeting lasting longer than the last. Yesterday’s session ran until nearly dinner, and I found myself staying for Rosa’s siopao just to extend our conversation about mixed-use development precedents.

Maya rushes in from her office, coffee in one hand and a stack of folders in the other, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that exposes the graceful line of her neck.

She’s wearing a sundress that would be completely inappropriate in Pierce Enterprises’ conference rooms but fits perfectly in Highland’s relaxed atmosphere.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, settling into the folding chair across from me.

The movement brings a hint of her perfume—something light and floral that’s been distracting me since our second meeting.

“Tita Sol needed help organizing volunteers for tonight’s cultural celebration, and Rosa wanted to discuss catering budgets, and?—”

“Maya.” I close my laptop and give her my full attention, something I’ve found myself doing more frequently. “You don’t have to apologize for running Highland while we figure this out.”

She pauses mid-explanation, and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. The same smile that’s been haunting my thoughts during board meetings. “Right. I’m still getting used to the idea that Pierce Enterprises understands community centers have ongoing operations.”

“Pierce Enterprises is learning,” I correct. “This week has been educational.”

That’s an understatement. In two weeks, I’ve spent more time at Highland than in my own office—something Harrison has definitely noticed. His increasingly frequent “check-ins” about the collaboration’s progress have gotten sharper, more pointed. More threatening.

“So,” Maya opens one of her folders and pulls out a legal document marked with handwritten notes. “Tito Ricky reviewed your partnership agreement. He has suggestions.”

I take the document and scan the modifications. Most are reasonable—clearer timelines, specific deliverables, protection clauses. But one addition makes me pause.

“A termination clause that allows either party to end the collaboration with seventy-two hours’ notice?”

“His idea.” Maya’s voice carries a note of apology. “He wants to make sure Highland isn’t locked into something that becomes a waste of time.”

“Fair enough.” I make a note on my phone, hyperaware of how she leans slightly forward to read over my shoulder. “I’ll have Legal incorporate these changes.”

“Actually, there’s more.” Maya pulls out another folder, this one thick with research papers. “I’ve been looking into your mixed-use development suggestion.”

She spreads documents across the table, and I find myself leaning closer to study them. Close enough to catch that floral scent again, close enough to notice the way she bites her lower lip when concentrating.

“This project in Portland,” she points to an architectural rendering, “incorporated an existing community center into luxury condos. The developer got tax incentives for historic preservation, the community kept their gathering space, and new residents had access to cultural programs.”

I study the rendering, noting the way the historic building anchors the modern tower rising above it. The design is elegant, profitable, and—surprisingly—something I could actually envision for Highland.

“What were the financial numbers?”

“Construction costs were about fifteen percent higher than conventional demolition and rebuild, but tax incentives offset most of that. Plus, the unique design commanded premium prices for residential units.”

“You’ve done your homework.” I look up to find her watching me intently, her dark eyes bright with anticipation.

“I told you Highland wouldn’t go down without a fight.” Her smile is equal parts challenge and invitation. “I just didn’t mention that part of the fight would involve researching development strategies.”

“You researched development strategies?”

“I researched everything. Mixed-use projects, historic preservation tax codes, community benefit agreements, affordable housing requirements—” She pauses, looking almost embarrassed. “I may have spent the last three nights reading zoning law.”

“You spent three nights reading zoning law.” I’m genuinely impressed, and something else I don’t want to examine too closely. “Your boyfriend must be very understanding.”

“Boyfriend?” Maya laughs, the sound echoing through the hall. “I don’t have time for that. Highland takes all my waking hours, and apparently now my sleeping ones too.”

She shuffles her papers, but not before I catch the slight flush creeping up her throat. The sight does something to my pulse that has nothing to do with business partnerships.

“No one special, then?” The question slips out before I can filter it through professional courtesy.

She looks up, and the eye contact lasts longer than it should. “I didn’t say that. Just no one... current.”

The air between us shifts, becomes charged with something that definitely isn’t about development strategies. A pot clangs in the kitchen, breaking whatever spell was building.

“Anyway, I had help from Tito Ricky. And a lot of coffee.” She pulls out another document. “I also found something interesting about the Anderson Project.”

“What kind of interesting?”

Before she can answer, an older woman walks by with a tray of golden-brown bread rolls. Without asking, she places two beside Maya’s coffee and gives me a curious once-over before smiling.

“Salamat po, Tita Josie,” Maya calls after her, then pushes one of the rolls toward me. Our fingers brush as I accept it, and neither of us pulls away immediately.

“You should try it,” she says, voice slightly breathless. “She makes the best pan de sal in the city.”

I take a bite, and the warm sweetness grounds me. “It’s incredible.”

“The kind where your luxury condos are planned two blocks from the new Metro expansion,” Maya continues, sliding a city planning document across the table. “Transit-oriented development gets significant tax incentives and expedited permitting. But only if the project includes community amenities.”

I study the Metro timeline while processing this information and trying not to think about how Maya’s fingers felt against mine.

“The delays that spooked investors could actually increase the development’s long-term value,” I say.

“Exactly.” Maya leans forward, excitement animating her features. “While other developers are backing away, Pierce Enterprises could position itself as forward-thinking. When the Metro opens, you’ll have the only major development ready to capitalize.”

The passion in her voice is magnetic. Everything about Maya Navarro is magnetic, which is becoming a serious problem for my professional judgment.

“And community amenities like Highland would be exactly what transit riders need,” she continues.

I chew slowly, considering the implications while watching the way sunlight from Highland’s windows catches the gold flecks in her dark eyes. “So you’re suggesting we incorporate Highland into the Anderson Project as the community amenity component?”

“It would give Pierce Enterprises the tax benefits and expedited permits you need while ensuring Highland survives. Not just survives—thrives with proper funding and infrastructure improvements.”

I stare at the documents, realizing Maya has handed me a development strategy that could save Highland while increasing Pierce Enterprises’ profit margins. In two weeks, she’s accomplished what my development team missed entirely.

“This is impressive,” I admit.

Maya’s smile is tentative. “So you think it could work?”

“I think it’s worth exploring.” I take another bite of pan de sal, using the moment to consider the political implications. “The numbers would need to work, and there would be questions about control, about Highland’s independence.”

And there would definitely be questions from Harrison, who’s been increasingly suspicious about the time I’m spending here. But sitting in Highland’s warm morning light, listening to children’s laughter from other rooms, the thought of demolishing this place feels wrong in ways I didn’t expect.

“What are you thinking?” Maya asks.

“I’m thinking it’s a brilliant plan.” I meet her eyes. “I’m also thinking this collaboration is getting complicated.”

Her cheeks flush pink. “Complicated how?”

Before I can answer—before I can make the mistake of being completely honest—my phone buzzes.

“I need to ask you something,” I say instead, setting the phone aside. “And I need you to answer honestly.”

Her expression grows wary. “Okay.”

“Do you trust me?”

Maya studies my face for a long moment. “I want to,” she says finally. “But trust isn’t something I give easily, especially to someone whose company wants to demolish my father’s legacy.”

“What would it take?”

“Time. And proof that you mean what you say about finding solutions for everyone.”

“How do I prove that?”

She’s quiet, her gaze drifting toward Highland’s history photos. “Show me that Declan Pierce the person has more influence than Declan Pierce the CEO.”

Before I can respond, laughter echoes from the main hall.

“Dance practice,” Maya explains, checking her watch. “The teenagers are preparing for the Filipino-American Heritage Festival. Would you like to see?”

I should say no. I have meetings at Pierce Enterprises, investor calls, contracts to review. But the hope in Maya’s expression makes the decision easy.

“I’d like that.”