The doorbell rang and I thought it might be a package or, if lucky, some peace.

But no.

It was my brother... and him. The friend. The problem. The most attractive toxic asset in the male inventory.

They walked in, chatting about soccer and laughing. I stood in the hallway, trying not to melt or give the impression that I was totally in control of my hormonal risks.

—Hello —I said, in a neutral, businesslike tone, as if my heart wasn’t about to leap out of my chest.

He looked at me. That look that says, 'I know exactly what you’re going through and I love messing with your schedule.'

Not even a simple hi. No, he communicates with glances that ignite emotional compliance.

—Oh wow, do you really dress up this much to welcome us, or is it just operational coincidence? —he said with a half-smile.

My brother let out an innocent laugh, unaware of a thing. If he only knew what was going on behind the scenes...

—Don't be fooled —I replied—. I just don’t live in gremlin mode like you lot do.

He raised his eyebrows, amused, assessing the situation as if he’d already signed the forbidden access contract.

—Perfect —he whispered as he passed by my side, just enough to brush my shoulder—. I do appreciate well-maintained environments.

And there I was, trying to uphold the family corporate culture, while my mind was already sketching out a secret project plan with his name on it.