Page 19 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

She pushes to her feet.

"Is this mandatory?" she says.

"What?"

"I'm asking if this" — she waves her hand at me and my office — "is mandatory. Do I have to sit here and answer all your questions?"

"I'm just doing my job. I'm only trying to help."

"I'm going to ask one last time. Do. I. Have. To. Be. Here. Talking. To. You? Yes or no?"

I take a deep breath. "No. You don't have to talk to me."

She nods once, slings her bag over her shoulder, and makes for the door.

I should let her go. I should shut my mouth, let her walk out that door, find somewhere else to sleep for the next week. And then let my life go back to what it's been for the last six years.

But for some inexplicable reason, I can't.

"But before you walk out," I call out, pushing to my feet.

She stops, hand on the door handle. But she doesn't turn around.

"Think about what you want. What you're doing all of this for. What you've been working towards for the last seven years. I know you've worked hard. You might not have listened when your brother talked about me, but I listened when he talked about you. I know you've practically killed yourself to get where you are. Don't tell me you don't have dreams of where you want to go next. I know you do, Alexia. So think about how you'll feel in three months if you don't get where you want to be, whether you'll regret not enduring a little discomfort in exchange for the help I could've given you. Because I can help you. I'm very good at my job." I pause. "So think about it. You know where my office is — if you decide you're not going to let what happened between us six years ago dictate what's waiting ahead of you."

She stands there for a moment, frozen.

Then she pulls the door open and walks out, the door clicking shut behind her.

And I slump into my chair, chest heaving.

Well, that went well.

I'm still staring at the chair she vacated five minutes later when I hear a sound beyond my door.

"Come in," I call. But no one enters.

I get up and open the door.

And there she is.

Chin up, eyes bright, cheeks still pink.

A fucking vision.

"There's a position at Sydney University," she says. "It's a research fellowship. It's new, they've just created it and are about to start taking applications. There'll be both a research and teaching component. Sponsored by the Hargreaves Foundation." She stops. Swallows once. "It's what I want. It's exactly what I want."

I nod, and step aside to let her in.

She hesitates.

"I'll get you there, Alexia. Whatever you think about me, I promise you, I'm very good at my job. But you're going to have to work with me. Are you ready to do that?"

A pause. Then she nods and steps back into my office.

I close the door and move back to my chair. "Oh, and next time? Don't be late."

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