Page 51 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

He laughs. "Touché."

"Coming, Ms Riley?" Rhys says, from his position at the door, eyes locked on Craig and me. "We wouldn't want you to be late for your first department staff meeting."

I refrain from rolling my eyes as I make my way over to the room. "No? And why not? Would you really punish me?"

“You’d be surprised all the way in which I could punish you. Does that scare you?” he says so quietly only I can hear him as he follows close behind me. And then his chest brushes against my back for a split second as he leans in against my ear and says, “Or is it that you’re afraid that you might like it too much?”

My blood heats.

Fuck.

Half an hour later, we're deep into the department staff meeting, a bunch of announcements, new staffing protocols, and something else so boring none of us could repeat it back five minutes later.

Rhys had been sitting to the side for the entire meeting, not engaging, mostly taking notes. But as the last speaker sits back down, Rhys walks to the front and talks for a few minutes about employment opportunities that have come across his desk, and some industry job fairs happening around the country in the coming months.

For some reason I'm hanging off every word.

It's strange to see him in this environment, I’ve seen him as a lanky teen, a serious over-achiever, my brother's friend, but here, he's in his element. He commands the room without raising his voice, without any excessive body movements at all, and yet no one talks over him.

“So if anyone's got questions about their development plans, or wants to talk through where they're heading, my door's always open," he says, easy, relaxed. "Genuinely. I'd rather you came and asked than sit on it for a whole review cycle. It's my job and my honour to help you if I can. And if I can't, I will find someone who can."

Someone near the front says something I don't catch, and Rhys volleys something back, dry, that gets a laugh.

I did not know Rhys did this, was good at this, warm and commanding, calling attention to himself in the most natural of ways. Even at home he speaks like every syllable costs him money.

"So, Mr Filing Cabinet's warmed up a bit today," Craig jokes into my ear. "Must be that nice shirt he's wearing today, giving him special powers."

"Actually, I think he's probably pretty good without needing powers,” I say. And then bite down hard on my tongue. I had not meant to say that out loud. Hell, I hadn't even meant to think it.

Craig raises his eyebrows but I'm saved by a woman with a lanyard and clipboard, clapping twice like she's rounding up children rather than academics.

"Right! While we've got everyone together, quick calendar business." She holds up a printed sheet like a red flag. "Third quarter symposium, the October function, the staff outing, all happening in the next few months, and faculty wants it done properly this year. So we're dividing you into groups. Which some of you already do informally"—a look at Craig, who points at himself, like who me?—"so let's make it official. Get into your groups and I'll come around."

The room dissolves into the inevitable chaos of adults sorting themselves into groups.

A group forms around Craig instantly, a couple of postgrads, a research assistant, someone from the library, practically making a schwooomp noise as they gravitate to him like magnets. My five-second hesitation leaves me standing alone in a room of multi-people units. Seriously? This shit again? I thought I'd left this trauma behind in primary school.

"Alexia," Craig says, his arm waving high above the fray. "Come join us, we've got room."

"Actually," the lanyard woman says, looking over the rim of her glasses. "Craig, your group's already over the limit, we're trying to spread it a bit more evenly⁠—"

"I'll drop out, then," he immediately says, pulling away from the group, despite the groans from the Craigites. “I’ll go with Alexia instead. Problem solved."

But before he can come over, a deep voice speaks up above the noise."I'll pair up with Alexia.”

The room empties of sound, all heads turning toward the voice. Rhys pushes off the table he was leaning against and walks to join me in the middle of the room.

"That's—" I start, "—no. You don't have to do that," I say to him.

He takes up the spot next to me, arms folded. "Didn't say I have to."

I turn to him, closing a bubble in around us. I look up to see his eyes on mine. "But you hate this. I know you do. You used to talk about hating committees, small talk, group activities⁠—"

"Still do."

I shake my head, aware Craig is watching us from his circle. "Then why⁠—"

"Well, Rhys," the lanyard woman cuts in, hopeful, "I didn't realise you were even participating. I thought you said⁠—"