“It’s Ashley. Can’t believe you’re going senile already.”
“Amelie, Ashley. Just another worthless groupie at the end of the day.”
Devlin tenses for a fraction of a second, then lowers his shoulders and turns toward me. “Becca pie, what do you think about that? Do you think I could’ve done better?”
His dad makes a strangled sound. “I know what you’re doing! You aren’t fooli
ng anybody!”
I blink a couple of times at the phone, then look at Devlin. “Hard to say. I think I’m pretty cool, even if I’m not a cardiologist.” I’m not going to feel bad about my accomplishments just because some man I’ve never met thinks they’re insignificant. I don’t care if it is Devlin’s dad.
“Oh, fuck,” the man says, then the line suddenly goes quiet.
I gesture at the phone. “Did he just hang up?”
Dev laughs. “Yup. He probably said all that stuff because he thought he and I were alone. He never has the guts to say anything like that in public. There’s this reputation he wants to project—that he’s a nice, decent human being who cares deeply about the world.”
“But isn’t it better to know what he’s really thinking, rather than relying on fake politeness to get by?”
“Of course, but we can also enjoy his embarrassment. He won’t call again for a long, long time.”
“That works. I don’t need him telling me I lived my life wrong because I didn’t become a doctor.”
Devlin makes a frustrated sound. “My father is the world’s most stubborn human. He still doesn’t get that I’m not going to be a doctor.”
“Didn’t you show him in high school that you weren’t doctor material? I mean, I don’t want to sound like I’m stereotyping, but you don’t strike me as the studious type.” Everything I read about him said he’s a playboy who likes to have fun with women and party. That just doesn’t sound like a kid who’s good enough to go to Harvard Medical School.
He cocks an eyebrow and lowers his chin. Does this mean he’s about to say something significant? “I’ll have you know I was a straight-A student. Also had perfect SATs.”
“Wow. I… Well, honestly, I would never have suspected.”
“If I wanted, I could’ve had a perfect MCAT, too,” Dev adds.
“What’s an MCAT?”
“Like an SAT, but for med school.”
Damn. “No wonder your dad’s still unhappy, then. He probably thinks you wasted your education.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. But it’s not wasting anything if I’m happy with what I’m doing. Besides, I thought you’d understand why I did that.”
“I would?”
“I played a long game because I didn’t want Dad to ground me or take away my allowance or my car, or whatever he decided to use as leverage to get me to do what he wanted. You’re playing one right now because you want the house from your grandmother. I’m pretty sure you don’t agree with her attitude about you or your career. Or much else, for that matter.”
“I didn’t quite think of what I’m doing in that light, but you’re right.” And I appreciate that he doesn’t think I’m being phony or duplicitous. The thought has crossed my mind a few times, especially when I’m feeling uncertain. And for some reason, I care about his opinion of me. A lot.
“I can also respect it, too. Most people underestimate the amount of effort and time it takes to get what they want. That’s why they try for a little bit, then quit. But you and me? We know how long you have to plug away. Which is why I did what I did until I graduated high school, and you’re doing what you’re doing until you get the house.”
I smile, happy and relieved that he seems to understand without judgment. And I feel closer to him than I’ve ever felt before, not even in bed with him buried inside me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Devlin
After lunch, Becca goes back to her studio to work. Since I’m out of entertainment options with no TV and I’m not going to read a book—that’s labor, not entertainment—I screw around on Instagram, then realize I’ve forgotten to get in touch with my assistant.
I type out some instructions to her. She picked YWIMC, which stands for Your Wish Is My Command, as her email address.