What do you mean?
Declan:
I mean dinner. Just dinner. You’ve shown me your world—let me show you mine. 7 PM?
Maya:
Okay. Should I bring anything?
Declan:
Just yourself. And an appetite for mediocre cooking.
Maya:
I doubt it’s mediocre.
Declan:
We’ll find out together.
My phone sits silent on the desk, our dinner plans confirmed. I should go back to reviewing Highland’s financial projections, preparing talking points for Monday’s board meeting. But something about tonight feels important—not as a test or revelation, but as a chance to spend time with Maya away from Highland’s intensity and Pierce Enterprises’ pressure.
For once, I want to just be Declan cooking dinner for someone I care about, instead of CEO Declan Pierce calculating corporate strategy.
Because maybe that’s who I really am underneath all the rest.
13
“Turn around,”Lianne says from her perch on my bed, surrounded by three different dresses she brought over like this is some kind of fashion emergency. “I need to see how that one looks from the back.”
I spin in front of my bedroom mirror, studying the way the navy-blue dress falls just above my knees. It’s borrowed from Lianne’s closet—something she calls “casual but elevated”—though it probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget.
“You guys really are serious about this, aren’t you?” Lianne’s voice carries a note I can’t quite identify. Not disapproval, exactly, but something close to concern.
“Serious about what?” I smooth the dress over my hips, trying to decide if it’s too much for dinner at someone’s house. Even someone’s very expensive house in the Hollywood Hills.
“About each other. About whatever this thing is between you and Declan.” Lianne stands and walks over to adjust the dress’s neckline. “Maya, when’s the last time you cared this much about what you wore to dinner?”
She’s right, and we both know it. I can’t remember the last time I spent twenty minutes staring into my closet, or called my best friend for wardrobe assistance, or felt butterflies in my stomach about seeing someone I’ve already spent the night with.
“It’s just dinner,” I say, though the words sound unconvincing even to me.
“Just dinner at his house. His very impressive, very expensive house.” Lianne meets my eyes in the mirror. “Maya, I need to tell you something about men like Declan.”
Something in her tone makes me turn away from my reflection. “Men like Declan?”
“Wealthy, powerful, from established families.” Lianne settles back onto my bed, her usual humor replaced by something more serious. “Remember Cameron?”
“Of course.” I sit beside her, the navy dress suddenly feeling too formal. They dated for about a year, but I only met him twice, and just when I thought things were serious between them, they were done. “But you never told me the details.”
“Cameron Phillip Arthur Judd. Old money, Pacific Palisades family, everything I thought I wanted.” Lianne’s voice grows quiet, distant. “We met when I was planning his sister’s wedding, remember? He was charming, successful, said all the right things about supporting my career and loving how independent I was.”
“What happened?”
“His mother happened. His board of directors happened. His trust fund that came with strings happened.” Lianne meets my eyes, and I see old hurt there, carefully controlled but never fullyhealed. “He loved me, Maya. I believe that. But when push came to shove, when his family made it clear that a working-class event planner wasn’t suitable for a Judd, someone whose foster parents cleaned houses and worked construction, he chose their approval over us.”
Now I understand why Lianne always gets that look when Cameron’s name comes up, why she’s been so protective about my relationship with Declan.
