Page 11 of Worth the Risk
“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.”
Jessica’s expression tightens almost imperceptibly before she nods and retreats. I make a mental note to assume every conversation with her gets reported to Harrison.
Turning back to the window, I study the demonstration below. Maya has moved to coordinate with volunteers distributing water bottles. Even from thirty floors up, her competence is obvious—the way people naturally defer to her judgment, how she manages multiple conversations while keeping an eye on the bigger picture.
She’s a natural leader. The kind of person who could run a company if she’d been born into different circumstances.
The kind of person my father would have either acquired or destroyed.
I pull out my phone and read her message again before typing:
Meeting went fine. Are you free this afternoon to discuss collaboration opportunities?
Her response comes quickly:
Maya:
Depends. Are you actually interested in saving Highland, or is this another PR strategy?
The directness catches me off guard. Most people don’t ask such pointed questions in business communications, especially when addressing a CEO. But Maya Navarro isn’t most people.
I find myself typing honestly:
Declan
I’m interested in finding solutions that work for everyone.
Maya:
That’s politician speak for “PR strategy.” Try again.
Despite everything—the board’s threats, the protesters outside, the millions hanging in the balance—I laugh out loud. When was the last time someone called me out so directly?
Declan:
Coffee at 2 PM? You pick the place. I promise straight answers.
Maya:
Highland Community Center. 2 PM. Come alone, and wear something that won’t make you look like you’re slumming it.
I look down at my thousand-dollar suit and Italian leather shoes. Everything I’m wearing probably costs more than Highland’s monthly operating budget.
Declan:
Understood. See you at 2.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of meetings and phone calls, but my attention keeps drifting to the window. The protesters have settled into sustained presence, with people rotating while maintaining core organizers. Maya moves through the crowd like a conductor leading an orchestra, somehow making it all look effortless.
At lunch, I escape to my private bathroom and change into the most casual clothes I keep in the office—jeans and a polo shirt. It’s still probably too formal for Highland, but it’s the best I can manage without going home.
