Maya emerges from her office carrying folders and wearing jeans with a Highland Community Center T-shirt. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and when she sees me, her smile is soft, intimate—different from the careful politeness of a month ago.
“Good morning,” she says, and there’s warmth in her voice that wasn’t there before.
“Good morning.” I want to kiss her hello, but Highland’s main hall is already filling with morning volunteers, and we haven’t discussed how public we’re willing to be about whatever this has become.
“Coffee’s fresh,” Maya continues, settling across from me and opening her folders. “And I have everything ready for your board presentation. Financial projections, architectural renderings, timeline proposals—the works.”
I note the slight shadows under her eyes. “Working late again?”
“Perfecting the research,” she corrects. “Declan, this is our one chance to convince Pierce Enterprises’ board that preservation makes business sense. It has to be flawless.”
She spreads documents across the table—comprehensive financial analysis, detailed preservation timelines, architectural plans for mixed-use development. I force myself to focus on the numbers instead of remembering how her hands felt fisted in my shirt, how her fingers traced the line of my jaw when we finally broke apart.
“These numbers are incredible,” I tell her. “Maya, this research is better than anything Pierce Enterprises’ development team has ever produced.”
“It has to be.” Her voice carries the weight of everything Highland’s community is counting on. “Historic tax credits, transit-oriented development incentives, premium pricing for authentic neighborhood character—every financial benefit increases Highland’s chances.”
I study the projections, noting how thoroughly she’s addressed every concern the board might raise. But I also notice the way she bites her lower lip when concentrating, how her eyes light up when discussing preservation strategies, how she unconsciously leans closer when we review documents together.
Four weeks of collaboration have taught me that Maya Navarro is brilliant, passionate, and completely devoted to Highland’s mission. They’ve also taught me that I’m falling for her with a certainty that terrifies me.
“Maya.” I set down the financial projections and look directly at her. “I want you to know that I’m taking this seriously. Not just the research, not just the collaboration, but Highland’s future. What we’re building here.”
“What are we building?” The question is soft, uncertain.
Before I can answer, my phone rings. Harrison Gordon. Calling two hours before our scheduled board meeting.
“I need to take this,” I tell Maya, stepping away from the table.
“Declan.” Harrison’s voice cuts through the line like winter. “I hope you’re prepared for this morning’s presentation.”
“The Highland proposal is ready. Maya’s research is comprehensive.”
“Good. Because the board is growing impatient with this collaboration experiment. We need concrete results, not more community engagement reports.”
“The financial projections show significant profit potential through historic preservation and mixed-use development.”
“Projections are theoretical. What we need are timelines, measurable outcomes, and definitive decisions about Highland’s future.” Harrison’s tone sharpens. “Declan, I need to ask you something directly.”
Ice floods my veins. “What?”
“Are you maintaining appropriate professional boundaries with Maya Navarro?”
The question hits like a physical blow. “I’m focused on finding solutions that work for both Highland and Pierce Enterprises.”
“That’s not what I asked. Reports suggest your relationship with Miss Navarro has become quite... personal.”
“My relationship with Highland’s leadership is collaborative and professional.”
“Is it? Because what I’m hearing suggests otherwise. And if your judgment has been compromised by personal feelings, the board needs to know.”
I close my eyes, thinking about Friday night in the storage room, about the way Maya’s breathing quickened when I kissed her neck, about how we’ve been pretending nothing has changed while knowing everything has.
“My judgment is sound,” I tell Harrison.
“For your sake, I hope that’s true. Because this board meeting will determine whether the Highland collaboration continues or whether we move to immediate demolition proceedings.”
The line goes dead.
