“Look, I understand that this is devastating news, Elena.”
Elena could count on one hand the number of times that Paul had referred to her by her first name instead of Dr. Herrera.
"I can handle it," Elena said, her voice carrying more confidence than she felt. Everybody in the room knew that the words were a lie. The new timeline was impossible. When sheinevitably failed, the board would reallocate her funding. When the timeline expired, so would her career at the institute. She stopped herself from considering what that would mean for her and Miguel. She had six months to let that utterly depressing train of thought develop.
“I want you to know that we will do our best to accommodate you. If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask,” Paul said. Unfortunately, she knew he couldn’t provide the thing she needed: more time.
“I do have some good news. I was able to convince the board to bring in another research assistant for you.” He slid a folder toward her across the table.
Great, a new assistant that she couldn’t possibly train within six months.
As if Paul had read her thoughts, he added, “I know what you’re thinking. It will be impossible to fully train them given the new timeline. But I glanced at his file; he seems quite well-qualified for this project. I expect you will get him up to speed quickly. I included his resume with your meeting materials.”
The meeting concluded shortly after, with Paul moving on to other departments as if he hadn't just dropped a professional grenade in her lap. Her mind was already racing, recalculating timelines, wondering who this new assistant was.
Elena clutched the folder to her chest as she left the conference room. Six months. Half the time she'd planned for. She waited until she was safely around the corner before letting the panic show. Her life was about to get very difficult. To distract from that spiral into negativity, she began flipping through the meeting materials until she found the resume Paul had mentioned.
Finn Cochrane, 26 years old.
She scanned the document as she walked, nearly colliding with a lab tech who was too absorbed in his phone to notice her. Elena mumbled an apology without looking up from the pages. PHD from Sanford. Research experience at Massachusetts General specializing in neuroimaging of trauma patients. Programming experience with the exact software suite her lab used for analysis. Not just the standard package either, the obscure modules she'd requested for her project. This wasn't just a qualified candidate; this was someone whose career path seemed designed to prepare them for her project.
She continued walking, more slowly now, her suspicion growing with each line she read. Every project Finn had worked on involved trauma and brain imaging. Every publication focused on innovative therapy protocols. All of his technical skills aligned perfectly with her needs. It was as if someone had taken her research proposal and crafted the ideal assistant from it. The odds of such a perfect match felt small. Impossibly small.
Elena reached the elevator, still staring at the resume as she pressed the button. What would drive someone with these qualifications to apply for a research assistant position? The salary would be less than he could command with this resume and publication record. And why her lab? There were more prestigious researchers working on similar topics. Researchers whose projects weren't being gutted by administrative timelines.
The elevator arrived with a soft ding. Elena stepped inside, still staring at Finn Cochrane's resume as the doors closed.
Twenty-six years old. Every qualification she could want, wrapped up in an entry-level application. Maybe he had personal reasons for being in Seattle. Family obligations, or a partner who'd relocated. That would explain taking a positionso far beneath his credentials. Or maybe there was something the resume didn't reveal. Some lab conflict, burned bridges at Mass General, a personality issue that made him unemployable despite the impressive resume.
The elevator climbed slowly. Third floor. Elena's finger traced his publication list again. The timing was too convenient, his qualifications too perfectly aligned. Whatever Finn’s motivations were, it didn’t matter. She needed all the help she could get.
Chapter Two
ELENA
The elevator doors slid open on the fourth floor with a soft chime. Elena stepped out, her attention still fixed on the resume in her hands rather than her path. She moved forward, still scanning his publication list, when something solid and immovable stopped her progress.
The impact knocked her backward, papers flying from her grasp in a flutter. Elena caught herself, a reflexive "Oh!" escaping her lips as she looked up, and then up some more, at what she'd collided with. Not a wall. A person. A very tall person.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, already crouching down. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
He somehow still almost felt taller than her even when he was on the ground, helping gather her papers. Short dark hair, broad shoulders, and he must have been more than a foot taller than her. Well. He was certainly… She pushed the thought away. Then he looked up at her with dark eyes and a look that saidCan I get some help here?
Elena blinked, her brain taking a moment to catch up. “No, it was completely my fault,” she managed, crouching beside him. “I was reading instead of watching where I was going.”
They gathered the rest of the papers and then both stood up. He was about to hand them over to her when he paused. His head tilted to the side as he scanned the document. “This is my resume.” Then he looked down at her. “Dr. Herrera?”
The pieces clicked into place.Oh, no. “You must be Finn.”
“Yes.”
She had to tilt her head back just to meet his eyes, which held an unreadable expression. The moment stretched on a beat too long before he handed the papers back to her.
"Thank you," she said, straightening and trying to recover her professional composure. "Welcome to the Neuroscience Research Lab. I'll show you around."
They walked down the hallway, Elena aware of how he had to adjust his naturally long stride to match her pace. She attempted small talk, hoping to ease the awkwardness of their first encounter. "How was your move to Seattle?" she asked.
"Fine," he replied, the single word delivered with neutral politeness.
