Under Pressure (Lessons Learned Book 1) Read online

  Under Pressure

  Lessons Learned Book #1

  Allie Winters

  www.smartypantsromance.com

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, rants, facts, contrivances, and incidents are either the product of the author’s questionable imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, events, locales is entirely coincidental if not somewhat disturbing/concerning.

  Copyright © 2021 by Smartypants Romance; All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, photographed, instagrammed, tweeted, twittered, twatted, tumbled, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without explicit written permission from the author.

  Made in the United States of America

  Ebook Edition:

  978-1-949202-70-0

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek: Street Smart by Aly Stiles, Work For It Book #1

  Other Books by Allie Winters

  Also by Smartypants Romance

  Chapter One

  Mia

  “Concentrate on the steady inhalation and exhalation of your breath.”

  I follow the woman’s soothing voice on the screen, filling my chest with a lungful of icy air, then slowly release it.

  “Clear your mind of all negativity. Let go of all that no longer serves you.”

  Okay, I can do that. Self-doubt be gone. I banish thee from all recesses of my mind.

  Nice try. Did you just up and forget about Dr. Price’s upcoming internship and the fact that you haven’t got an interview for it?

  I said be gone. Besides, today’s the last day for notifications. I could still have a chance.

  You seriously believe that? There are way more qualified students vying for it than you.

  I take another deep breath, ignoring that crippling voice in my head, doing my best to empty my mind and follow along with the tiny blonde on my TV, her eyes closed in peaceful tranquility on some tropical beach.

  I glance out the window of my apartment, the snow falling in droves across the New England landscape. Not that I have a view of said landscape. More like a view of the complex’s dumpster. Still, it’s a nice dumpster. It has a trash compactor and everything.

  Wait, I’m supposed to be meditating, not focusing on dumpsters. I shift on my yoga mat, my knees aching from sitting cross-legged for so long, but I’m willing to fight through the soreness if it means peace of mind. I need to be more proactive about managing my anxiety if I’m going to make it through this next semester. I’d let things slip over the past couple months, which culminated in an anxiety attack the morning of my final exam last month for Somatic Psychology that could have derailed my entire future.

  Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but failing that final wouldn’t have looked good on my college transcripts when I apply for graduate programs next year. Or for securing any internships that will give me that ever elusive “experience” I need.

  “If thoughts arise, simply set them aside. Tune in to the stillness that resides within you.”

  Oh, crap. I forgot again. I clear my mind, focusing on the chill in the January air, the soft rustle of my fleece jacket against my leggings as I move into a more comfortable position, the rise and fall of my chest as I settle into a rhythmic pattern of breathing. Hey, this is pretty nice. And that voice has quieted. I should do this more—

  “Mia! Why is it so cold in here?”

  Kelsey’s bedroom door opens, her skimpy pajama top and shorts not exactly winter appropriate. Then again, my roommate never enjoys following anyone’s rules but her own.

  “You had the thermostat set to eighty,” I say calmly, trying to get back into zen mode. “The electric bill will be insane if you keep it that high.”

  “I’ll pay the difference,” she grumbles, marching over and savagely tapping at the thermostat screen until it’s in the high seventies. She lets out a sigh as the heater kicks on, visibly relaxing, and sprawls out on the couch, pulling a plush blanket over her bare legs. She runs a hand through her professionally straightened and dyed blonde hair, turning her attention to me. “Are you meditating again?”

  Trying to. But someone keeps interrupting. How are you ever going to get better if—

  “I’m finished,” I tell her, rolling up my mat and shutting off the TV. I’ll just try again later.

  My phone pings with a new message and I pick it up off the coffee table, nearly dropping it when I realize what’s on the screen. “Oh, oh!” My fingers fumble to open the email from Dr. Price, scanning it frantically, trying to make sense of the words.

  I skip the pleasantries, going straight to the meat of the message. “An interview slot will be available for you at three p.m. this Tuesday to discuss your study proposal…” I whisper to myself, then let out an excited shriek.

  “What is it?” Kelsey asks, sitting bolt upright. The blanket falls off her and onto the floor and I absentmindedly pick it up, tucking it back around her legs.

  “The interview. I got it.” A thrill of delight courses through me. Dr. Price’s Stress Lab is my top pick for where I’d like to do my psychology internship. His specialty in stress and the effects it has on mental illness aligns exactly with my own research goals.

  “Oh, that.” She flicks her hand casually as if to dismiss it. “Of course you were going to get it. I don’t know why you worry so much about these things.”

  I don’t bother to explain to her for the hundredth time that my brain is just wired that way. Believe me, if I could stop the intrusive thoughts, I would.

  “What are you going to wear?”

  I keep the smile that wants to break free at bay. Of course that would be her first question. I’m not concerned with my outfit so much as what I’ll say during the interview.

  …Oh God, what am I going to say?

  You know you’re a terrible interviewer. He’ll notice how shaky your voice is, how sweaty you are, how underprepared—

  “Will you do a mock interview with me?” I blurt out, needing to redirect my thoughts.

  “Okay, but if I’m going to look at you any longer, let me at least fix your hair first.”

  I hesitantly touch the mass of brown curls on top of my head, wondering just how bad it appears. Sure, the term rat’s nest has been used to describe it before, but I honestly don’t know what to do with it. While my mom’s curls somehow form perfect spirals that neatly fall down her back, mine seem to tangle together and then multiply, making more unruly curl babies.

  She grabs a hair tie off the coffee table and motions me forward, doing some kind of complicated twist with my hair on top of my head that transforms it into a messy bun. When she does it for me, it looks cute, but when I try it, it’s just… messy.

&nb
sp; “Thanks.”

  Even though you didn’t ask for her to do your hair. She basically insulted you—

  Shh. Be quiet.

  Kelsey steeples her fingers together, adopting a professorial air, despite the garish pink of her nails. “Tell me why I should allow you to work in my lab.”

  Oh, I guess we’re starting. “Um, well, as you know, universities across the nation have become increasingly aware of the elevated amounts of stress their students are experiencing.”

  She nods her head knowingly, even though she’s the least stressed person I’ve ever met.

  “Some colleges have made efforts in response to this,” I continue, “such as puppy rooms during exam weeks where students can interact with the animals. While therapy dogs have been shown to reduce stress levels, it’s not a long-term solution for students that can’t have pets in their dorms or don’t want a pet.”

  She holds up her hand to interrupt me. “You’re coming across a little anti-puppy. Nobody likes a dog hater.”

  “I’m not a dog hater. I love puppies. Bring on the puppies!”

  “Now all I’m thinking about are puppies and I still have no idea what the study’s about.”

  “Fine, I’ll nix the puppies.”

  “Aww, poor puppies.”

  I take a deep breath, ignoring her and centering myself before continuing on. “I’m proposing a study using students on this campus as participants utilizing biofeedback—”

  “What’s biofeedback?”

  “Dr. Price will know. I won’t need to explain it.”

  “No, but I don’t.”

  “Remember those sessions I used to go to? Where they hooked me up to the electrodes?”

  She scrunches her face up attempting to recall, but shrugs her shoulders after a few moments. “Sort of?”

  I mentally sigh, knowing I’ve explained it to her before. “You measure a person’s body functions, like heart rate, respiration, muscle contractions, and then that information is fed back to you. The therapist explains what’s going on so you can change your thoughts or behavior to better control your body’s physiological responses.”

  “Okay… but why did you do it?”

  “For my anxiety.” I whisper the last word, even though there’s no one else in our apartment. It’s ironic that talking about my anxiety still gives me anxiety, but I’ve made huge strides since my official diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder two years ago and the cognitive behavioral therapy and biofeedback sessions I’ve done since then. The techniques I learned are worth their weight in gold for what they’ve done to improve my life, and I want to share it with others.

  “Oh, that.” A sheepish expression crosses her face. “Sorry, let’s start again.”

  I run through my spiel, talking about how I hope to show how biofeedback can be used as a resource on campus to help students gain lifelong skills to deal with stress and manage their anxiety.

  “Wow, you sound professional. I’d totally hire you.”

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. If I pass Kelsey’s high standards, I should be good.

  But what if—

  No what-ifs. I won’t head down that path. I just need to focus on the positive. I got an interview. Dr. Price thinks my study is worth looking into. And if I keep preparing, I’ll get the internship for sure.

  I walk into the Stress Lab Tuesday afternoon, as prepared as I’ll ever be. Kelsey somehow managed to manipulate my hair into a French twist and my borrowed blazer and dress pants from her lend me added confidence that I desperately need. Thankfully, the soothing blues and grays of the waiting area immediately calm me. That is, until I see him.

  Jenkins.

  Or rather, Tyler Jenkins.

  We had Research Methods together last year and I’m not ashamed to say I had a crush on him. Or rather, the back of his head. Because that’s the only thing I saw of him every week from my seat a few rows behind. That and his broad shoulders.

  But it was his voice that really got me… oh God, his voice. Deep and rich, with the most intelligent answers. How anyone could make words like qualitative and epistemology sound sexy is beyond me, but he somehow managed it. I could listen to him all day long. Kind of like how I started listening to audiobooks narrated by Richard Armitage just for his voice, not even caring what the book was actually about.

  I’d managed to get a full glimpse of Tyler as he’d exited the class a few times and I knew he had a body to match those shoulders. He obviously worked out and took care of himself. It had been a pleasant surprise to find the exterior of him as attractive as his voice and answers in class. Better than his body, though, were the most arresting blue eyes, startling in their intensity paired with his tanned face and dark hair. Those eyes meet mine now as the door to the Stress Lab slams behind me. Actually, everyone focuses on me and I immediately scurry over to the front desk to check in.

  Oh God, they’re all looking. They’re annoyed you broke the quiet of the room. They all hate you now. They’ll tell Dr. Price you caused a disturbance—

  “Are you here for an interview?” the receptionist asks warmly, her friendly smile banishing the thoughts from my head.

  I clear my throat, attempting a confident tone. “Yes, at three. I know I’m early.”

  She reviews something on her computer screen and glances back up at me. “You must be Mia. If you’d like to have a seat, Dr. Price just has two other interviewees scheduled before you.”

  I nod in appreciation and contemplate the row of chairs. There are only five of them, with Tyler sitting near one end and a girl with dark hair I recognize from Social Psych last semester at the other end. Normally, I’d gravitate toward the girl, but seeing Tyler again has me pausing.

  I thought a million times about approaching him after class, spent most of the spring semester of my sophomore year imagining what it would be like to actually talk to him, to get up close and personal with that muscled body, to hear his baritone voice whispering my name in my ear…

  “Miss, if you could please have a seat,” the receptionist repeats, gesturing to the area behind her.

  “Oh, right.” Oh God, how long have I been standing here?

  I hightail it over to the chairs, sitting in the first open one, which happens to be right next to… Tyler.

  “Hi,” I chuckle nervously. Not sure why I’m chuckling, but it’s already happening, so I have to go along with it now.

  He glances over, giving the barest nod before he faces forward again.

  Okay, then.

  “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Clemons. I mean Mia. Mia Clemons.” I chuckle again, hating how breathy it sounds. “We had Dr. Hanover’s Research Methods class together last year. And he always called us by our last names. You’re Jenkins.” I close my eyes briefly, heat creeping over my cheeks. “Obviously you know that. It’s your last name—”

  “I remember your name,” he interrupts.

  That has to be a good thing, right? I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “I, um, I was always really impressed with your answers in class. He usually called on you first.”

  “And you second.”

  I can’t tell from his tone if he means it as a compliment or insult, but I forge on anyway, needing some kind of distraction from the anxious thoughts brewing just below the surface. “What’s your proposal for Dr. Price?”

  He finally looks fully at me, shifting his body so he’s angled my way, and rakes me up and down with those magnetic eyes. “I’m not telling the competition my ideas.”

  I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement, then sit up straighter, realizing he’s serious. “You think I’ll steal your experiment?”

  Before he has a chance to answer, Dr. Price’s door opens and a tall boy exits.

  “Sarah, you’re free to go in now,” the receptionist calls out, and the girl at the other end of the row picks up her bag and heads into the open door, closing it gently behind her.

  I take a deep breath, looking a
t Tyler out of the corner of my eye, his leg jiggling slightly, hands gripped on the arms of his chair. Maybe he’s feeling nervous about the interview and his words are coming out wrong. God knows it happens to me all the time.

  I search for something else to talk to him about. He probably just needs a topic to take his mind off things, relax him. I spot his messenger bag by his feet, the perfect conversation starter staring right at me.

  “You have a Slytherin patch on your bag. Do you like Harry Potter?”

  His eyes slide over to mine, and for the first time I see those qualities that so define his chosen house. There’s shrewdness lurking there, along with a determined glint I don’t quite like. “What great powers of deduction you have. Let me guess. You’re a Hufflepuff.”

  I’ve never heard Hufflepuff said with such derision, and I momentarily feel ashamed of my own adopted house before I remember that I love the qualities it embodies. Fairness, dedication, kindness. Those are all good, amazing things. Things I strongly believe in. “So what if I am?”

  His lips twist in amusement and he settles back in his seat, crossing his arms over that impressive chest. “Listen, we don’t have to talk. We can just sit here and wait for our interviews.”

  I startle, taken aback by his bluntness. “I was trying to be nice.”

  “I’m not here to be nice. I’m here for Dr. Price to pick my study.”