“My name may be on the door of the firm, but it doesn’t mean I’m on every case. That’s what partners and paralegals are for.”
“Do you miss it?” The question was out before she could stop it.
“I don’t have time for that either.” She wanted to respond to that, but Devin rushed ahead. “Sounds like you’ve done pretty well for yourself, Dr. Lowe. You became a psychiatrist after all.”
“Clinical psychologist—” no thanks to you “—but you’re close enough.” As was she—just a few more months and she’d be official.
“And is it everything you hoped it would be?”
She could hear a small undercurrent in his voice that made her wonder if he was trying to pick a fight. No one else would notice it, but she knew that tone all too well for it not to send her hackles up. She lifted her chin. “And more.”
“Good for you.” He finished the bottle of water in one long drink and tossed it into the recycling bin.
Megan battled with herself. She’d sworn she wouldn’t let her temper or her emotions control her and drive her to say or do anything that remotely resembled that debacle at the bookstore. She knew he was needling her. Intentionally. “Dr. Lowe” recognized that and knew how to handle it both properly and professionally. “Meggie,” though, wanted to smack back.
Meggie won. “So how do you like being the country’s divorce guru? Is it everything you hoped for while you were in law school?” She feigned confusion. “Oh, wait, that’s not why you went to law school in the first place. Let me guess, there’s more money in divorce than in protecting the Constitution.”
“Lots more money.” Dev had the audacity to grin at her and she felt childish for giving in to the urge to snark back. “Bit more excitement, too.”
“And to think you used to be an idealist.” The disappointment in her voice wasn’t all fake.
“Blind idealism is dangerous.”
“Ergo Cover Your Assets?”
“Exactly.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
“What?”
“The pessimism you dish out. Anyone listening to you would begin to believe that all marriages end in divorce.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Wonder where I got that idea?”
She shouldn’t have started this. They were already falling back into bad habits, and they hadn’t even been around each other a full fifteen minutes yet. At this rate, they’d be at each other’s throats by the time they went on the air. Time to be a professional—and the bigger person—and make a graceful retreat. “I tell you what—let’s not make this personal.” Dev’s other eyebrow joined the first, and she quickly amended her statement. “Or more personal than it has to be, at least.”
He nodded his agreement. “That’s my plan.”
“Good. I’m glad you have one. Why don’t you fill me in on the details of this plan?”
“It’s not too complicated, but if we’re lucky it just might work out for you.”
“And for you?”
That seemed to amuse him. “Megan, this actually has very little to do with me. I’m fine no matter what you say or do.”
“In other words, you’re doing me some kind of a favor?” She did not want to be indebted to him on top of everything else.
He just shrugged again.
“But you’ll get a boost to your ratings, too.”
“I’m number one in my time slot. My ratings don’t really need a boost.”
“But Kate said—”
“Kate’s obsessed with our ratings. You know, maybe you could help her with that.”
“If this works, and I get to go back to work, then I’ll give her all the free counseling she needs.” Biting her tongue to keep anything else from coming out, she faced him again. “So. The plan?”
“Simple, actually. First you’ll need to bottle some of that hostility.” Megan felt her jaw tighten. “Be friendly, but not too friendly. Polite. Noncommittal. Kate culled some of the more inflated speculations from the tabs and the blogs—we’ll have a good laugh over that.” That was an instruction, not a prediction, so she nodded. “The trick is to describe to the listeners how boring and mind-numbingly average our marriage really was and then make our divorce sound even more so. We’ll take calls for a while, and then it will be over.”
Over. She’d thought she and Dev were over long ago, but here they were. And to hear Dev describe their marriage as “boring” and “mind-numbing” felt like a slap across the face. Granted, they’d had problems—obviously—and that last year had gotten pretty ugly at times, but the early days had been far from boring or average. At least for her.
They’d been living on little more than love, but they’d been happy.
Dev obviously felt differently.
All her education and training had given her insight into why their marriage had failed, and she’d come to terms with that. She even knew what to say to couples going through the same things that split up her and Devin. She had perspective. She had distance. She had closure.
But hearing Dev dismiss their good times opened up all kinds of old wounds she didn’t realize could hurt anymore.
Until right now.
Thankfully, Kate choose that minute to return, giving Megan a much-needed moment to get hold of herself while Kate and Devin discussed show-related things she didn’t understand.
If she was smart, she’d back out of this crazy idea and go back to Plan A: lie low and ride it out. Plan B—changing her name and moving to Canada—was starting to gain traction, as well.
But then something beeped, and Kate and Devin were gathering up the few papers and bottles of water.
Kate turned her supermodel smile on Megan. “You ready? It’s showtime.”
Devin held the door open, waiting for her, and when she didn’t move, that eyebrow arched up again. Irritation crawled over her, forcing her feet into motion.
She was walking to the gallows out of pure spite.
Dr. Lowe’s official diagnosis? She was certifiably insane.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE’D MISSED THE FOURTH-grade field trip to the radio station, so Megan had spent last night trying to find out what she could about radio stations and how they worked. A couple of movies, so hopelessly out of date the disc jockeys were spinning vinyl records, some video clips posted on the internet … she still didn’t have a clue. And she hated not having a clue. Research was her friend; it made her feel comfortable and confident. But the how-to’s of radio were still a mystery, and she felt at a distinct disadvantage going into this.
That bothered her a lot. She didn’t want to be at a disadvantage—of any kind—when it came to Devin. She needed to feel like an equal. She was, she reminded herself. She wasn’t the same person she’d been all those years ago. She could hold her own—intellectually, professionally, sarcastically—against Devin Kenney.
She squared her shoulders as Devin opened a door marked Studio A. I can do this.
Two chairs facing each other across a small desk, two microphones, some computer screens—the booth looked a lot like what she’d expected from her research.