Page 21 of It Happened Again

“I’m glad you made it. But don’t tell me you’re going to be crying everyday over this guy? Do you love him?” He asked.

“Who, Brooks?” I nodded and wiped my face. “I think so.”

“Well, you have two options. Either get off the ship and run to him. Or stay and trust me. I’ll keep you so busy, you won’t have time to think about him.” He came beside me, leaning his arms on the railing. His wry smile made a point. “If you care about your career at all, and if he does, too, then you’ll stay. If he’s worth it, he’ll be still be here when you get back. Now, are you ready to sail?”

Back then, he took me, a small town girl, and molded and shaped and encouraged me to be all I could be in this field of work. He was part of my history, my life, no matter how things stood between us now.

“Hey, you. Are done compiling that data all ready? I swear you run circles around some of these others here.” He greeted, gesturing for me to take a seat across from him.

“Sorry, no. I will need another day to work on the data. But I need a favor,” I said, holding up the pages. “Could you look at something for me?”

“Sure.” He set his glasses on the desk and took the printout.

“I got the email about the internal idea competition and thought I’d apply.” I nodded toward my draft proposal in his hands.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the rustling of paper as he scanned sheet to sheet. After a few minutes, he set the pages down with a sigh. With his elbows on the arms ofhis chair, he laced his fingers over his abs. On the ship, I’d had the pleasure of seeing his four-pack of abs in the tropical sun, playing games like volleyball with the crew on the top deck. Impressive for a man of his age.

“It’s a sound proposal. And very... you,” he complimented. I smiled. Relief swelled—until he added, “But I don’t think you should submit it.”

The smile slipped. “What? Why not?”

“You’re already stretched too far in our department,” he explained. “You’ve become a key team member in the short time you’ve been here. I was just telling the advisory board that I finally had a researcher I could trust to stay sharp and committed. If you win the competition, it’ll pull your focus away from your work here.”

“But it’smeantto do that,” I countered. “It’s an opportunity to collaborate, to try something new. Isn’t that the whole point? So that I can continue to grow and reach my full potential?”

He leaned forward, pressing his palms together on the desk. “Maisy, I just don’t want to see you get overwhelmed. Or worse—fail. These projects have visibility. If it doesn’t go well, I won’t be able to protect you from the fallout.”

His words—fail, protect—set off the red flag alarm in the back of my mind.

“I wasn’t asking you to protect me,” I grumbled. “I was just asking if it was any good.”

His face shifted. Just slightly.

“I’m flattered you brought it to me,” he said. “But think about your long-term track. Staying the course here will do more for your future than a flash-in-the-pan initiative.”

I nodded, curtly thanked him, and left his office with a polite smile plastered on my face. Inside I fumed. Then I made revisions, stewed about it more the rest of the day, texted Sophie for support, and chewed my nails down to their nubs.

By five o’clock, I submitted the damn proposal, anyway.

The announcement camethree days later.

When Dr. Patterson swept through our department, followed by his assistant and Dr. Stone, I’d been elbow-deep in brainwave data. Everyone stopped what they were doing.

Julian stepped out of his office, adjusting his tie. “Dr. Patterson. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“We’re looking for Maisy Calhoun,” Patterson said, scanning the room.

Every eye turned to me.

I stood tentatively. “That’s me.”

He grinned. “Congratulations. We selected your proposal for the Internal Innovation prize. The sensory initiative you propose is exactly the kind of forward-thinking we want to pilot. You’ll be reassigned immediately to develop it.”

A ripple of surprise and clapping moved through the room, my peers regarding me with praise.

Julian, to his credit, clapped as well. “You’re taking my best researcher,” he said to the CEO, smiling. “But I’m excited to see what she can do.”

Patterson waved me forward and shook my hand. Cameras flashed—from the marketing and PR people. They interviewed me on the spot and I nodded, smiled, and hoped to God I’d said all the right things, thinking fast on my feet, with Julian scowling nearby.

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