It Happened Again (It Happened #3)

1. A Door Opens

1

A DOOR OPENS

MAISY CALHOUN

The breathing techniques my sister Chelsea recently used giving birth to her son were not helping calm my nerves for my interview. I stood in the public bathroom hoping no one would pop in here, seeing me looking foolish, heaving in and out in rhythmic fashion while clearly not pregnant.

Ironically, I’d spent a good part of my graduate thesis researching stress and cortisol—tracking how regulated breathing could make a measurable difference. Apparently, I was better at collecting the data than applying it to myself.

“Nice try, but my heart is still racing over this,” I explained over the phone.

“Relax, Maisy. You’ll do well. I know it. Isn’t that right, little Maximillian?” She cooed to my nephew, who made sweet baby noises that I could slightly hear over the phone. The image of my sister as a mother with child did somewhat soothe me, and I wished I were back in Holly Creek with her. But I was here in Manhattan hoping to take my career to the next level.

In the background, I heard my brother-in-law talking to her. “Tell Maisy that one call from me to the CEO at Orion and she has the job. Richard and I donated to fully fund the new wing of the research facility they’re building.”

“And once again, tell Rex I don’t need help. I can do this on my own,” I countered. There, that calmed my nerves. I’ve always been a little competitive and independent. I would prefer to get this job on my own, even though it was my old professor who told me about this opportunity in the first place.

“He only wants to help any way he can, you know,” she explained.

“I know. And thanks, but it’s time. I should head inside and be respectfully early,” I said.

“You can do this. I believe in you. Plan to come up soon to Holly Creek for a weekend. Baby Max is changing so fast and his auntie shouldn’t miss a minute of it.”

“With the millions of photos of him you send me daily, I feel like I’m right there with you. But yes, I’ll be up there soon,” I promised and clicked off.

I chuckled at how Chelsea and I were leading very different lives now. She, as a new mother and professional TV host of her own morning cooking show—and the wife to Rex Buchanan, a very wealthy man. Me, a graduate of Columbia in the field of neuroscience, looking to level up in a career full of men. Fingers crossed this final interview with Orion would be the ticket.

I passed through security and checked in at the front desk. They promptly sent me up. The elevator door chimed as it let me off on the top floor, revealing the opulence afforded to the top echelon at the Orion Mind Institute. Nerves buzzed in my stomach like overly caffeinated lab mice as I stepped out, heels clicking against polished marble floors that probably cost more than my undergrad degree.

This was it.

One final interview. One final round. One last chance to impress and not trip over my words or, worse, my own feet.

The sleek modern interior of the top-tier research facility could come across as intimidating. A haven of high-tech labs and soft-glow panels, with the faint hum of genius happening all around. It felt less like a workplace and more like stepping into the future—where breakthroughs happened over coffee and some of the smartest people in the world walked the halls.

And here I was, Maisy Calhoun—going on twenty-five with a newly minted master’s degree, slightly hyper-passionate, and deeply committed to pretending I had my life together.

I ran my palms down the sides of my navy-blue dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles. The dress was classy, but sharp. Academic meets girl-who-can-hold-her-own in-a-lab-fight. At least, that’s what I told myself when I bought it.

“Ms. Calhoun?” A woman in a smart blazer and scarlet lipstick approached me with a clipboard and a smile that said, I control your fate.

“That’s me,” I said with a grin carefully calibrated to professional-and-poised, with just a hint of don’t-worry-I’m-fun-too.

She gave me the once-over and nodded in approval. Or maybe she liked my shoes. Either way, she spun on her heel. “Right this way. Dr. Thorne is expecting you.”

Ah, Dr. Julian Thorne. Mentor. Professor. Former shipmate. Walking academic encyclopedia with a penchant for vintage fountain pens and theories that challenged the neural correlates of consciousness.

Also: slightly oblivious to social cues.

There was a lot you could learn about a person when spending a year together on a research vessel—and extending it by six more months—cruising throughout the southern hemisphere, studying everything from oceanic neurobehavioral patterns to how isolation affected cognitive response on the crew.

I’d been his research assistant and somehow managed not to fall overboard—or fall for him—despite his constant, lingering glances. He’d never crossed a line, exactly. But I’d seen the hints, the what-ifs behind his eyes.

“Maisy,” Julian greeted me as I stepped into his office. He stood to shake my hand, his smile warm and familiar. Today, he was professional, given the circumstances, while a month ago when I met him for drinks so he could tell me about this job, we’d said goodbye that night with a lingering hug after he’d had a few.

“Julian,” I said, on a first name basis now that I wasn’t his student. “Good to see you again.”

“You look well,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“So do you,” I offered, because he did, in a graying-temples-meets-academic-silver-fox sort of way. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and forced my brain to stay on script.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ve done all I can to talk you up, but honestly, during the first two rounds of interviews, you impressed them. Obviously, you wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t.” He laughed, a hearty sound that bounced around the room.

“Thanks. That doesn’t stop my stress hormones from raging within.” I laughed, just slightly nervous.

“Relax. I feel certain they’re going to hand the job to you, and then we’ll be a team again. With me guiding you, your future looks bright ahead,” he winked, but I faltered.

I’d enjoyed every minute of our time onboard the ship as I revered him and his vast knowledge. I reveled in the practical application of everything I’d gained from my time at Columbia, while on the ship. Julian’s mentorship was practically an education degree in and of itself. But he was like a hovering eagle at all times, while I was ready to fly from the comfort of the nest.

When I finished my time on the ship and returned to New York City, I took the first lab job I could find simply to get my legs back under me, literally. Adjusting to normal life after being at sea for so long took some getting used to. I finished my master’s degree, something I’d started online at sea, and now I was ready to find a serious job in my chosen field that would propel my career.

I never expected Julian to be the one to call me with this opportunity at Orion. As much as I wanted to do this on my own, I couldn’t pass up the chance to work here.

“Now, let’s go. Your fate awaits you,” he said, and he led me down a gleaming corridor to a small boardroom. I kept my posture straight, my stride purposeful. Inside the room, a semi-circle of intimidatingly well-dressed scientists sat waiting with blank notepads and curious eyes, four men and one woman. Not surprising, and I was happy to see female representation at all.

I’d done my research on Orion. Dr. Bethany Stone was the highest ranking woman here. Her pioneering studies on neural plasticity in patients with early-stage dementia earned her great praise in the neuroscience community. I only hoped I could measure up to her calibre someday.

Cue inner monologue: Don’t babble. Don’t fidget. And for the love of all things science and holy, don’t make that dumb joke about dopamine again. I had thought my nervous wit didn’t go over so well last time, so when the callback came for this final interview, I was ecstatic. I just hoped it had more to do with me and my qualifications than with Julian’s push for them to seriously consider me.

I shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and the questions began. Thankfully, I knew my stuff. Monitoring stress hormones and heart rate variability on ship personnel during different voyage phases? Check. Describing how isolation, sleep disruption, and high-pressure environments affected neural response times? Double check.

I even gained chuckles and smiles when I compared living on a scientific vessel to being in a floating petri dish of emotions and body odor. Okay, so maybe this crowd possessed a sense of humor after all.

By the end, I could feel it in the room: they liked me. My words landed. My experience stood out. Julian gave small nods when I spoke, the type of almost-imperceptible gesture that said, “See? I told you she was brilliant.”

After a final question about my future plans—possibly a doctorate, down the road, yes, but wanting hands-on work now—they asked me to step outside while they conferred.

I sat in a futuristic lobby chair shaped like an egg, fitting since I’d never felt so much like a baby bird struggling to break free and fly before as I did now. My skin vibrated with anticipation and my mind was a blur of cortisol spike stats and please-hire-me prayers.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Julian opened the door. He sighed and slowly approached with his hands in his pockets, eyes not meeting mine. Oh no.

“Well... They’d like to offer you the position.” He broke into a smile.

My heart nearly punched its way out of my chest.

“Seriously?”

“You got the job, Maisy. Now all you need to do is say yes, and I’ll help you make all your dreams come true.” He winked and nodded.

I didn’t want to think that he had any ulterior motives in mind with that, not when all I could see was my future looking brighter, my desk on a sunny floor of this magnificent building, my research gaining respect, plus a bump in my take home pay with a neat 401K package.

He stepped aside to let me back into the room. The head of the committee repeated the offer, this time with a printed contract and a benefits packet thicker than a dictionary.

I blinked and grinned. “Thank you. So much. I’m so excited to begin.” Next came the formalities, handshakes, and nods of approval.

Dr. Stone took me aside before leaving the meeting and expressed how excited she was to have me join Orion. “I’m on the local chapter board of Women in Science, and I take a keen interest in mentoring our female professionals at Orion. If you have any issues at all, you can come to me for advice, okay? I’ve got my eyes on you and expect great things.”

“Thank you so much. This means a lot. Just thank you,” I gushed, hoping I didn’t sound as bad as a lunatic Swiftie fan-girl.

The committee filed out, leaving me alone with Julian.

I turned to him, breathless with disbelief. “I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Julian opened his arms for a hug, and I stepped into it—briefly.

“Looks like we’ll be working closely again,” he murmured.

I stepped back a second too quickly. Still smiling, but internally recalibrating.

“Looks like it,” I said lightly. Professional. Keep it professional. There was a time onboard the ship when I was infatuated, but then came to my senses.

“You’ll be such an asset to my team. Let’s go introduce you to them now,” he gestured and held the door open for me. Yes, once again, I’d be working for him, but this time it was for the Orion-freaking-Mind Institute. Oh my God, this was really happening.

After meeting his team and getting a brief tour of his department on the third floor, he walked me down the hall and back to the elevators. He stayed with me, continuing to chat, bringing up a few funny memories from our time on the ship as we crossed the main lobby. I couldn’t go through an experience like that and not feel at least a deep friendship with the man.

“Oh,” I said, slowing as we walked by an exhibit. “I think nerves got the better of me. I hadn’t noticed this here earlier when I passed by.”

At the center of the brightly lit space was a sleek, glass-encased architectural model of the Orion building. Modern. Fluid. Organic lines with a metallic twist. It looked like something out of an award-winning design show. But there was an extra wing added on.

“They just installed it last week,” Julian said. “We broke ground on the Horizon Wing. It’s the new neuroscience annex. Soon my entire department and others will move into these lavish new spaces.”

I stepped closer, eyes drawn to the brushed-metal placard that read:

Model of the new Horizon Wing, Orion Mind Institute. Designed by Bellamy Design Group. Funded by the Buchanan Family.

And then, the photo.

I didn’t have to look twice.

My breath caught. My stomach did a swirly somersault, landing somewhere near my knees.

Brooks Bellamy stood near the center, the most handsome one of the bunch, in my opinion.

Standing beside him in the photo was Archer, his twin, and beside them, Rex and Richard Buchanan, plus several of the top brass at Orion.

But it was Brooks that drew me in—with that stormy look in his eyes, the quiet intensity in his jaw, the impossible-to-forget curve of his lips.

Of all the architects. Of all the buildings. Of all the places in Manhattan…

“What’s wrong?” Julian asked, noticing I’d stopped breathing.

“Nothing,” I said too quickly, stepping back.

He gave me a look. One I dodged like a champ, and extended my hand.

“I should get going. I’ve taken up a lot of your time today. But thank you for everything, Julian.”

He wrapped both hands around mine with a wink, and said, “My pleasure. See you bright and early Monday.”

My fingers tightened around the strap of my purse as I exited the building, the sunlight hitting me along with the city noise.

In my hand was a job offer that should’ve been the best news of my career, but it wasn’t the job that had my heart racing.

It was my past with Brooks Bellamy—the man I’d never forget.