I furrow my eyebrows. “Ask me what you want, I’m mature enough to answer.”
“Fine,” she says, her expression thoughtful for a few seconds. “What about you then? What do you wanna do when you leave this hellhole?”
“I’ll be working at my mother's company.” I lean back against my chair.
She narrows her eyes at me with confusion on her face rather than her usual angry look. “I asked what youwantto do not what you’re gonna do.”
“That’s what I want to do,” I say adamantly.
“Guess you’re not mature enough to tell the truth,” she says mockingly, her chin resting in her hands.
“Fine.” I grit my teeth, avoiding eye contact with her when I say my next words. “I want to open up my own art gallery.”
When I look back at her again, I swear I see a hint of a smile grace her features, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.
“So why are you joining your mother’s business?”
“It’s expected of me.” I shrug my shoulders because it really isn’t that big of a deal. I have a privileged life, I’m lucky to even have a spot in a company as big as my mother's.
She averts her eyes slightly, as if she’s pondering, before she speaks. “Sounds dramatic,” her tone is light and serious at the same time, “just do what you want.”
How very Insightful.
I roll my eyes. “Are you gonna answer my question now or not?”Once again, why do I care this much?
She nods, sighing deeply for a moment. “Oxford is prestigious, but it’s more than that.” She fiddles with her fingers before she continues. “It’s quiet. I don’t know anyone there and they don’t know me.”
“Sounds boring.” Her dimples appear at my words; maybe she can tell that I’m forcing my annoyed tone…because I’m really latched onto her every word.
“Exactly.”
Oxford is like thirty minutes from here, so I’m not sure what she means by it being quiet, but I sort of understand.
“What’s the plan after?”
“To be a surgeon.”
“Obviously,” I roll my eyes, “I mean what specifically.”
“I’m not sure yet, but I think a cardiovascular surgeon would be ideal,” she says, unable to hide the glint in her eyes.
I know so much about this girl unfortunately, but I still didn’t know that she wanted to focus on heart surgery? Who cares? I hate her, I don’t need to know about her future career aspirations.
“Working with hearts ...” I hum in fake thoughtfulness. “That might be a bit difficult, since you don’t have one.”
I imagine her a decade from now, in her surgery scrubs. She would command a room. I know she would. She would work hard. Even if everyone in the room doubts her, she’ll keep going, maybe even just to spite them. She’d walk over every single person to get to where she wants.
She gives me a sickly sweet smile. “I didn’t know you needed to possess something to study it. Let’s hope you don’t decide to take up neurosurgery anytime soon.”
“Shut up.”
“Shit, sorry. Do you need me to tell you what neurosurgery means?” She pouts and I almost forget to respond.
“Your little act of being smarter than everyone is getting kind of old, you know?”No, it isn’t.
“If you’re feeling threatened by my academic superiority, just say so.” She gives me a wicked smirk which forces me to look away from her.
“You are so fucking annoying,” I groan, throwing my head back.
