Page 1 of Worth the Risk
1
I’m not usuallylike this—barging into corporate lobbies like some kind of crusader. But eight hundred and forty-three signatures will do that to a person.
Sure, I’m passionate, but not the confrontational kind. Not the woman who storms marble-floored fortresses in sensible flats and a blazer that’s seen better board meetings. Yet here I am, clutching this manila folder like it contains state secrets instead of petition signatures, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Eight hundred and forty-three neighbors who showed up when I knocked on their doors. Eight hundred and forty-three people who believe Highland Community Center is worth saving. Eight hundred and forty-three voices Pierce Enterprises has been ignoring for six months.
“Ma’am, do you have an appointment?” The receptionist’s voice slices through my resolve.
I approach her imposing desk, shoulders back, chin up—the posture my father always said commanded respect. “I need to see Declan Pierce. It’s about Highland Community Center.”
Her manicured fingers never pause in their typing. “Mr. Pierce doesn’t take unscheduled meetings. If you’d like to make an appointment?—”
“I’ve been trying to make an appointment for six months.” Every ignored email, every transferred call sits in those words. “Six months of runarounds while you people plan to destroy everything my father built.”
Now she looks up, her expression shifting from bored professionalism to cautious alarm. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to lower your voice?—”
“My voice is perfectly reasonable.” I lean forward, palms flat on the cold marble. “What’s unreasonable is a corporation bulldozing a community center that’s served downtown LA for twenty years without so much as a conversation.”
Behind me, the elevator chimes. Expensive shoes whisper across marble. I don’t turn—can’t afford to lose this momentum, not when Jessica is finally reaching for her phone with obvious reluctance.
“Is there a problem here?”
The voice carries the kind of authority that makes spines straighten involuntarily. Deep, cultured, probably used to being obeyed.
Perfect. Someone with actual power.
I turn around, and?—
Putang ina…
I’d done my research the moment we received that impersonal eviction letter. Declan Pierce, thirty-two, heir to a real estateempire, Harvard MBA, Olympic rower. Made his billions when a social media startup he’d backed in college exploded into one of the biggest platforms in the world. A man who moved fast and broke things, then donated enough to charity that people forgot about the casualties. I’d watched conference videos where he smirked like the world was full of chess pieces he could move at will.
But research doesn’t capture presence.
Declan Pierce is devastating in the way expensive things are—perfectly crafted, elegantly designed, completely untouchable. The charcoal suit fits like it was cut specifically for his frame, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that suggests he’s never doubted his right to any space he occupies.
“Mr. Pierce.” I force my voice steady, reminding myself why I’m here. “I’m Maya Navarro from Highland Community Center. I’ve been trying to reach you about the Anderson Project.”
Something flickers across his expression—surprise, maybe recognition. Or who knows? Maybe indifference. I can barely think straight.
This is the man who wants to erase my father’s legacy with a signature on a demolition order.
“Miss Navarro, I believe my development team has been in communication with your organization.”
“Communication?” My voice climbs despite my best efforts. “You mean the form letter informing us Highland would be demolished for luxury condos? That communication?”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in my office.”
“Perhaps we should.” I clutch the folder like a shield. “I have eight hundred and forty-three reasons why the Anderson Project should be reconsidered.”
We stare at each other across the gleaming lobby. I feel Jessica’s curious gaze, the subtle attention of other employees who’ve slowed their purposeful stride to witness this—David challenging Goliath on his home turf.
“Very well.” He gestures toward the elevators. “Fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll take whatever time I need.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Annoyance or amusement—impossible to tell. “Fifteen minutes, Miss Navarro. That’s more than most people get.”
