18. Don’t Do This
18
DON’T DO THIS
MAISY
The first time I walked into a custom aromatherapy shop, I was not expecting a man like Brooks Bellamy in a tuxedo to be the one holding the door for me.
“Well, thank you, kind sir,” I teased, fluttering my lashes at him. “When you asked me to meet you here, I didn’t realize there was a dress code.”
With his usual tall, broad-shouldered confidence and intensity, he ushered me into a boutique that smelled like a meadow at sunrise. Ambient music floated overhead, and shelves lined the walls—filled with tiny glass vials, softly glowing candles, and little apothecary jars of dried herbs.
“It’s come as you are. I just enjoyed putting in extra effort for you.” He caught my look. “What?”
“You’re amazing to bring me here. I’ve always wanted to do something like this.” I could not express how much this truly meant to me. I’d wanted to create my own perfume or fragrance, but never had the money or time to do it. “I just figured you’d be more of a bourbon and sawdust guy than lavender and bergamot.”
He stepped close, brushing a knuckle over my cheek. “You’d be surprised what a man will do when his neuroscientist girlfriend has been working herself into burnout.”
I rolled my eyes at the argument we’d been dancing around lately, about the extra hours I’d been putting in at work, but my heart squeezed in my chest.
The aromatherapist—Rhea, soft-spoken and earthy, wearing moon and star earrings—walked us through a sensory test. Brooks sat beside me, watching intently as we inhaled sample after sample, commenting with his usual wit.
“This one smells like a forest made out with a lemon grove. Makes me want a slice of Flora’s lemon meringue pie.”
I playfully slapped his arm.
“That one smells like my grandmother’s linen closet. Definitely not the scent we want around during sex.”
I nearly snorted, grinning. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here I am, designing your signature scent. Lucky you.”
“I am very lucky to have you, Brooks,” I purred, and kissed him for good measure.
In the end, we mixed a blend together that felt like us—like breathing under starlight, with the scents of bergamot, cedarwood, a whisper of lavender, a touch of neroli for brightness, and a soft base of vanilla and frankincense, all of it intended to soothe and ground.
Rhea bottled it up into a pulse-point roller and matched it with a linen mist, a candle, and a hoodie so soft I practically died and went to Heaven when I slipped it on in the shop.
“I could be buried in this hoodie in the middle of this shop and be happy,” I breathed, hugging Brooks for these extravagant gifts. “It’s like being a scientist, but without all the stress. And making customers happy with their signature scent.”
“If you ever want to start your own shop like this, I’d invest in you.”
That shocked me. We never really talked about money, only that I knew he had a lot, as in millions, and I did not. He liked to spend his money on things that had meaning and significance or on experiences, rather than being wasteful with it.
Compared to Rex and Richard, Brooks was more laid back and about his riches. I’d never be spoiled with Brooks, but I’d have plenty and he’d take care of my every need without a question—wow, this shop must have calmed me down a ton because here I was thinking about something like forever with him, which was probably our destiny anyway, but we only recently admitted we loved each other; we hadn’t really talked in depth about the future. Not with the crazy schedule I’d been keeping.
Rhea popped out from behind the curtain and presented us with the custom candle. She let us sniff it and read the label for the name of the candle: For Nights You’re Overthinking.
“Very appropriate for me.” I laughed. “Did you make that up?”
“Guilty,” Brooks said, and leaned in. “Because I know what happens when the world gets too loud for you. So, I wanted to give you something that helps soothe when I can’t be there.”
Can’t be there...? I didn’t like hearing that. But with concerted effort, I attempted not to overthink it.
We stopped at a tiny ramen place afterward and sat at the bar, shoulder to shoulder, slurping noodles and taking turns feeding each other dumplings. He asked me about the symposium, about Patterson, and about what else I needed in order to feel ready.
I poked at my broth. “I know it’s not about recognition. Not really. I’m doing this because I’m passionate about it. But then today, I saw the joint Orion and Bellamy Brothers press release.”
“The one that Lacey helped your PR department fashion?” he asked.
“I suppose so. Only It mentioned our team’s initiative… not my initiative. My name was nowhere on it.”
His brows drew together. “But you spearheaded it. Everyone knows that. Your name should have been prominent.”
“It’s fine and whatever. It just seemed like another punch in the gut, you know? First, Patterson seemed hesitant at the walk-through. Then Julian. Now the press release doesn’t acknowledge me directly. What if I’m just a placeholder for someone else’s credit?” I realized I was rambling and stopped. “God, listen to me. I sound ungrateful for having this opportunity at all.”
Brooks reached over and squeezed my hand. “No. You sound like someone who’s worked her ass off and wants that to mean something. That’s not selfish, Maisy. That’s being human.”
But inside, the old ache flared. I’d wanted this so badly—this opportunity, this chance to prove I belonged in a place like Orion. And yet, here I was, worrying more about being overlooked than actually finishing the work.
After dinner, we walked a few blocks of New York until it started sprinkling. We ducked under an awning of a closed shop and kissed without a care for anyone watching, heating up as the city lights began reflecting in the wet sidewalk, the air cool and smelling faintly of late spring.
He brushed his thumb over my cheek. “I’ll call us a car. You’re coming home with me tonight, right?”
I hesitated, even as worked up as he got me.
His mouth curved, face questioning. “Maisy?”
“This has been an amazing night. All the nights with you are, Brooks. I-I think need to reset, though. A good night’s sleep in this soft new scented hoodie. Maybe some tea.”
He kissed my forehead. “Okay. But text me when you get home. And yeah, wear that hoodie to sleep in, nothing else under it. It’s part of the science.”
“Oh, is it now?”
“Triggers your parasympathetic nervous system. You taught me that, remember?” He winked.
I gave him a soft smile. “You’re too good for me.”
He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Not possible.”
His car arrived and took me home and, after a lingering kiss in the backseat, I got out and headed toward the door of my building.
But as soon as the car disappeared around the corner, I didn’t go in.
Instead, I called another car to take me back to Orion. Underneath everything, quietly building inside of me, was an anxiety that spread like a wicked ivy. I was powerless to stop it.
When I arrived, the building was quiet, the hum of the city dulled through thick glass. I sat at my workstation and opened three different tabs, rereading my presentation outline and running data again, looking for holes, for patterns, for mistakes.
One hour turned into three. The candle sat unlit in my tote bag. The hoodie draped over my chair, sadly unworn.
I told myself I’d go home after the next round of edits. After one more graph. After one more citation.
This became a pattern. Every night for the final week leading up to the Symposium. Working myself to the bone by day, and perfecting my presentation up all night.
Brooks started noticing something was off. The tension in our texts grew tight, my tone grew clipped, and I backed off of date nights. The only way I knew to ensure success was to double and triple down on work.
Until one evening, Brooks showed up unexpectedly at Orion.
It was almost nine and his knock at my window scared me half to death. “Let me in, Maisy,” he yelled, if I read his lips right through the panes. I definitely read the heated color of his face glaring at me.
I met him at the front door, unlocked it, and let him in, waving off the concerned nighttime security guard.
We didn’t speak until we got to the new wing. Outside of the sensory room, Orion set up a receiving desk for me and I’d been using that.
He set down a bag from a favorite Thai takeout place of mine, and looked too damn handsome for my weary eyes to behold.
Crossing his arms, his white t-shirt strained around his muscles as he stood there. Brooks was a man painfully unaware of how attractive he was, especially in the faded denims he probably owned and washed for years. His eyes glared at me from under a ball cap sitting backwards on his head. Oof.
Looking like that, even I had to wonder why I was sacrificing myself to the work gods when I could be home in his arms.
“Tell me this is your last night of masochism, Maisy,” he seethed. “I know you’ve been here every night, burning the candle at both ends. It has to stop.”
I pleaded with him. “It will. Tomorrow is the big event. I’m almost done. J-just tightening things up.”
“Maisy. You need to rest before tomorrow. You look like your brain hasn’t shut down in five days. How much caffeine are you running on right now?”
I pushed my glasses up my nose; my eyes had become too red to wear contacts the past few days. “Brooks, I have one shot to prove I deserve this. I can’t afford to stop now.”
His jaw flexed. “And what? You think if you don’t go full throttle, they’ll see you’re not good enough?”
I stood, arms crossed, mirroring him. “Don’t do this.”
“You know I believe in you. But what good is all of this if you’re running yourself into the ground?”
“You don’t understand,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “You were born into a different world, Brooks. I wasn’t. I don’t get do-overs. I don’t get the benefit of the doubt. I can’t throw money out there and create my opportunities.”
The hurt on his face made me instantly regret it.
He nodded once, quietly. “Right.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s okay. You think I don’t understand you, but I do.” He dropped his arms and leaned one against the desk. “I’m only trying to help because I love you.”
“I love you, too. But that’s why you need to leave me alone and let me do this,” I grumbled.
We stood in silence for a beat.
He scoffed. “Leave you alone?”
My anger got the better of me, like intense lava through my veins set to blow. “Yes. Leave, now. If you only knew the huge list of things I need to get done before tomorrow night, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Maisy, I have offered help, done sweet things for you to keep you sane. I have done nothing but be your biggest supporter through this. But all you want is to be left alone?”
“Oh, my God. What do you not understand? This is exactly like our last night of Spring Break, when you begged me not to go on the ship away for a year. I tried explaining to you then that if you cared for me, you’d let me go. So I’m telling you now, if you love me, then let me go. Let me get through the next twenty-four hours and then I’ll come back to you. I just need to put this Symposium behind me, then I can focus on you and the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, sure. You might come back. But there will always be something else, won’t there? Another project? A crisis? An opportunity?” He shook his head.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Brooks? Should I just quit and give up? Have no ambition at all?”
“You wouldn’t quit even if I asked.” He took a deep breath and stepped away a few paces. “Okay, Maisy. I’ll leave you be. When you’re done, come find me. I might still be around.”
“Brooks…” My heart sunk as I watched him saunter away, and then the most terrible ache hit me. I could hardly breathe. I turned and locked myself into the sensory room, calling upon everything I’d poured into this experiment to help me calm down.
Because I just pushed the best man ever out of my life.