Page 17 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

Finally she sighs. "Is there anyone else I could have this meeting with?"

"No."

"Like literally any other person?"

"No."

"There's not a single other person in this entire organisation who can tell me the things you're going to talk to me about?"

I give her a look. I'm not going to say it three times.

She lets out a frustrated exhale and drops into the chair, hands in her lap, jaw tight.

"So, how was your first morning?" I ask.

A flicker crosses her forehead, surprise. "Fine."

I wait. There's nothing so effective as waiting if you want someone to elaborate.

She squares her jaw, then folds her arms. "Orientation was fine. Professor Pollack was nice. A little strange, but I think I'll be able to work with him." She looks like she wants to say something else, then decides against it.

"Good." I open her file. "So, I'm going to ask you some questions about your research programme and placement goals. Standard intake ques⁠—"

"What is this office, exactly?" she interrupts. "I mean, your nameplate says 'Employee Counsellor.' What does that mean here? Like, what do you do?"

"I provide occupational support for academic staff. Placement onboarding, for one. Once they're settled, I work with them on short and long term goals, both here and beyond. With the PhD candidates and associates, we talk about where they are, where they want to go, what the organisation can offer to help them get there."

She nods. "And this goes back to the department?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "It's all confidential. I'm not reporting back to anyone about what you want. This is a service the university provides to you."

She looks sceptical. "Really? You won't tell Professor Pollack if I plan to apply elsewhere once I've completed my doctorate?"

"Nothing leaves here without your consent. Not a word. I take this role very seriously. You have to—" I stop for a moment. "Everyone who comes to me has to be able to trust me."

She flinches, visibly, and it takes me a moment to recover from the way that twists something in my chest.

"Okay, well, let's get on with it. I'm sure you're very busy," she says.

I nod and go through my usual intake list. "How is your PhD thesis going?"

"Is that relevant?"

"Not directly, but it might help me identify any resources you might need to⁠—"

She shrugs. "It's going fine."

I ask about her research focus. She answers, barely.

I ask about her publication timeline.

"Why do you need to know that?" she shoots back.

"To understand where you are in your output cycle relative to⁠—"

"I'm on track," she clips. "Next."

I scribble a note.