by Fiona Hood-Stewart
“Good morning. Is this Miss Hunter?”
“Speaking. I'm glad you finally called, Mr. Gallagher. I was getting worried you hadn't received my correspondence.”
“Not only did I receive it, but I considered it a great piece of impertinence.”
“Excuse me?” Meredith swallowed, aghast. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“Then let me explain. I have no interest in Mrs. Carstairs's inheritance. I suggest you find yourself another heir, as I will not be accepting the bequest.”
“I also wish to make it abundantly clear that I do not want to be bothered with this matter, now or at any time in the future. I expect you to take care of any details. Am I making myself perfectly clear?” His voice grated, cold and unbending, down the line.
“Mr. Gallagher, it isn't quite as simple as that.” Meredith bristled.
“I suggest you make it simple. I have no intention of cooperating, if that's what you're about to suggest. Good day, Miss Hunter. I'm sure you will deal efficiently with any necessary details.”
“Wait,” she threw out. “You can't just avoid the issue as if it doesn't exist. There are papers to sign, documents to be dealt with.”
“Then deal with them. It's none of my damn business. Goodbye.”
The phone went dead in Meredith's hand. “I don't believe this,” she muttered, outraged. “The guy just brushed me off like a fly. I knew I was right about the kind of person he is.”
“What did he say?” Meredith's assistant Tracy prodded. She'd followed the conversation closely, had seen Meredith change colour, the growing glint in her eye.
“You know what? That's it.” Meredith slapped her palms down on the desk, eyes blazing. “I'm going after the bastard. Thinks he can walk, does he? Well, he'll soon find out that ain't happening. Not on my watch.”
“Go girl. That's the spirit,” Tracy encouraged, smothering a smile. Nothing like a challenge to get Meredith off her butt.
“Fine,” Meredith muttered, slamming the Carstairs tile down before her. “If I have to go, I'll go to Scotland . Even if it does mean luring him out of his den. The nerve of it,” she added, smoldering. “The sheer rudeness of the man. I knew this was what he'd be like. Didn't I tell you?”
“Absolutely. The sooner you get going, the better. And since that takes care of that, I'll be off, “ Tracy answered, rising and straightening her skirt. “It'll be fine. You'll see.”
“Damn right it will,” Meredith answered, letting out another pent-up huff.
She already detested Grant Gallagher.
©2005 Fiona Hood-Stewart