Page 18 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"What did you write?" she asks, leaning forward.

"Something pertinent. To help me when I write up my notes later."

Her eyes narrow at me.

I move on. "What's your target outcome after the placement?"

She looks back at me. "What does that mean?"

"Where do you want to be? What position, what institution? Do you have any specific goals?"

Her nose scrunches up in a way that's so infuriatingly adorable, I'm almost glad she's being difficult. "Yes."

"Okay, care to⁠—"

She cuts me off, tilting her head. "How long have you worked here?"

I blink. I'm not used to being the one who gets asked questions. Not about myself, anyway. "Four years."

She looks around my office, as if picturing me here that long. "And before that?"

"Melbourne. For a year. But I didn't like it."

Her eyebrows lift. "I'm surprised you went at all."

"Why?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd ever leave Adelaide. You told me that once. That you never saw anywhere but Adelaide being your home."

I don't ask her when I'd said that. I remember exactly when. "Well, I guess I knew myself pretty well then. Because I hated it. I missed Adelaide. Missed the guys. Your brother." I surprise myself with all the information I've offered without being asked. And for some reason, I can't stop. "So, as soon as I got this position, I was back here the next weekend."

She nods slowly and leans back in her chair. "I didn't know you worked here. At the university. I thought you should know that."

I frown. That can't be true. She must've known. And yet she'd looked genuinely surprised when she'd seen me park next to her this morning. "Leon didn't tell you I work here?"

"No." A beat. Then her cheeks tinge pink. "Or maybe he did." She bites her lip and locks her eyes with mine. Cold and hard. But still beautiful. "I don't really listen when he talks about you."

Ouch.

Like, really bloody ouch.

But I guess I deserve that. No — not guess. I definitely deserve it.

Doesn't make it hurt any less. That she'd try to avoid anything to do with me. That she's been doing it for all these years.

I look at my notepad and make a nonsensical note to have something to do with my hands.

"So, these are some of the things this office can support you with," I say, trying to steer us back. "Application strategy, networking access, interview preparation, timeline management. If you already have a position or opportunity in mind, we can build a plan around it." I tap my pen on the desk, put it down, and steeple my fingers. "But, to be honest, this would be a lot easier if you⁠—"

"If I what?" There's that cold, hard look again. "If I just talked to you? Really, Rhys?"

This time I'm the one who flinches. The way she says my name, I never want to hear it sound like that again.

"Alexi. I'm⁠—"

She lifts her hand and cuts me off.

And it's only then that I realise what I've said. The name slipped out like it had a thousand times. Like the last time I said it, it hadn't been paired with a promise. One I broke in spectacular fashion.