Page 42 of Worth the Risk
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 notthe 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 sidesfrom 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 threatwrapped 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.
