Page 16 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

He either has nerves of steel or Adelaide has way more earthquakes than I remember and he's used to being knocked to his feet.

"Oh. Er. Hi," I say, clearing my throat. "You okay?"

He stares down at me for another moment and then sighs.

"You're late," Rhys says, and closes the door.

FIVE

Rhys

Her name showed up on my phone at 8:22 this morning. Right about the time I was trying not to turn around for one last look as I left her standing next to her car. The email told me the research associate Professor Pollack had hired was going on emergency paternity leave, and they'd secured a replacement: Alexia Riley.

And that I am now going to be her employee counsellor, tasked with making sure she gets the most out of her three months at Adelaide University, and setting her up for whatever comes after.

The admin team had tentatively booked her in for a one p.m. intake, a little window popping up asking me: "Alexia Riley. 1 p.m. Accept or decline?"

My traitorous thumb clicked "Accept" so fast I'm not entirely sure how I didn't sprain something.

Then I spent the entire morning trying to pretend I wasn't nervous for a meeting I've conducted literally over a hundred times.

Deciding to have a protein shake in my office for lunch, in case she comes early, I spend the hour pacing, tidying up, though there isn't much to tidy. I push the visitor's chair a little further back from my desk, as if those extra ten centimetres are going to make a difference. If different states wasn't enough distance, three metres is going to be nothing short of torture.

Turns out, I didn't need to worry about her coming early.

I hear her before she arrives. After four years in this office, I can tell from the footsteps down the hallway whether it's a colleague, a student, a cleaner, or a lost person approaching my door for directions. I'd picked this office — the one furthest from the department's admin office — to give my visitors the utmost privacy. It's also an added bonus that it gives me a semblance of peace from the foot traffic and the tendency for nearby staff to "pop in for a chat." No popping. No chats. And it hasn't escaped my notice, or my colleagues', that I'm in charge of making the university's employees feel comfortable and cared for. Hardly the most obvious job for me, but fuck it, I'm still good at it.

Her footsteps come and go, past my door and back again, once, twice. On the third pass, she stops, right outside. Better than average, there are people who've been here ten times and still miss it.

I step closer to the door, hand on the handle, waiting for her knock. Nothing but silence.

I'm about to open the door anyway when I hear a muffled thud.

That's a sound I haven't heard before. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pull the door open.

In the space of two seconds, she stumbles forward, phone flying one way, portfolio flinging another, eyes widening as she falls to the floor, yelling, "Ooooff, earthquake!"

I blink.

I wish I could say I'm used to such an entrance, but I'd be lying. If nothing else, her lying face down on my carpet gives me a second to adjust to being in her presence.

I'm about to kneel to check she's okay when she flips onto her back. In my periphery I can see her skirt has ridden indecently high up her thighs, her silk shirt untucked, the tiniest sliver of skin of her midriff revealed. So I have no choice but to lock my eyes on hers instead. Round, gorgeous, crystal green eyes — sea glass — that cut all the way to my fucking soul.

"You're late," I say, and force myself to turn away and close the door.

I take longer than I need to, hearing her move behind me. As much as I want to spin around and tell her not to move a muscle, that I like looking at her, clothes askew, sprawled on my office floor, that I'll have that image burned into my brain for the rest of my life, the sliver of morality I have left tells me to give her time to get up and compose herself.

Helping her collect her things, I hold her phone out to her. She blinks, looks down at my hand, then back up at me before she takes it, her palm brushing mine as she murmurs a soft thanks.

Gesturing to the chair, I round my desk and settle into it, hands busying with the paperwork I've printed for her.

She just stands, fidgeting with her phone.

I stare at her when I realise she's not sitting.

She stares back at me.

I settle back, fold my arms, and fill the silence with nothing but more silence.