“What the hell do you want? I made it clear, didn’t I, that you and I have nothing to say to each other?” he growled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants and eyeing her malevolently. “My advice to you is to get out. I hate being disturbed.”
Meredith gasped and squared her shoulders. “You know perfectly well why I’m here.”
“Oh?” A thick dark brow shot up.
“I’m here because I have important business to discuss with you. You cannot simply ignore my correspondence, Mr. Gallagher,” she added in a clipped tone. “Presumably you have questions about what the letters contained.”
“I’m not interested in the damn letters,” he muttered, casting her another blazing glare from under thick, dark brows. That and the day’s growth of beard gave him a rugged, devilish look. As he approached her, Meredith felt as though the large reception room had suddenly shrunk. She drew in her breath, then pulled herself together.
“There are matters to discuss that will significantly impact your future,” she insisted, determined to stay the course.
“Ha!” He let out a harsh laugh. “My life is just fine as it is, thank you very much.”
“Fine. Once we’ve gone over things, I promise you’ll be left in peace and your life can go on,” she said, standing her ground.
Gallagher gave her a thoughtful look. “I suppose I’m not going to be rid of you until you’ve had your say,” he muttered. “You’d better sit down.”
“Thank you,” Meredith retorted sweetly, pleased her veneer of professional patience had at least got her through stage one. “As you rightly pointed out, I’m not leaving here until I’ve dealt with business. But neither am I here by choice.”
His brows shot up. “Well, as I’ve already made it plain to you I’m not interested in what you have on offer, unless…?” He eyed her up and down, then met her eyes with a speculative look.
Meredith gasped, wondering briefly if he was mad and whether it was against the Georgia bar’s code of conduct to kick a client in the balls. Clearly he was trying to needle her into losing her composure. Well, she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
Seeing that he’d dropped into a wing chair opposite, she sat down on the couch and carefully removed the file from her briefcase. She should have expected a man of his ilk to lack gentlemanly courtesy, she reminded herself as she put on her reading glasses. Still, despite her growing anger, Meredith couldn’t help noticing how sharp the contrast of his blue eyes was to his dark hair and tanned skin.
“As you know, I’m here at the behest of your American grandmother,” she began in a crisp, nonemotional tone.
“Ah, yes. The prodigal grandmother,” he murmured ironically in a pronounced British accent, “the famous Rowena Carstairs.” He let out another cynical laugh.
Meredith eyed him over the rim of her glasses, glad that at least he seemed to be au fait with the facts. “So you’re aware of the circumstances of your adoption?” she said, relieved.
“Aware? I’m not bloody aware of anything,” he scoffed, eyes piercing hers. “Until the momentous revelation in your client’s letter, I only knew that Raymond and Gina Gallagher had adopted me in a moment of misguided altruism that I’m sure they afterward came to regret.”
“I realize this must all have come as something of a shock to you—”
“What? That some crazy old bat wanted to salvage her conscience before she moved on to a better world?”
“Something like that. I guess—”
“Ms. Hunter,” he said, “nothing surprises me. In my line of business I’ve seen it all. Now, do me a favor, cut the formalities and let’s get to the point, shall we?” He glanced at his watch. “I have work to do.”
“Fine,” Meredith snapped, pushing her glasses farther up her nose. She’d rarely come across anyone quite so uncivil. “You were adopted at birth, as you know. Your birth mother, Rowena’s daughter, was Isabel Carstairs.”
“Ah, the delightful Isabel,” he drawled, crossing his ankles and clasping his hands behind his neck. “Go on. It makes a good story. Perhaps I should pitch it to Hollywood and pick up a few bucks along the way.”
Paying no attention, Meredith continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “As you know, Rowena, your grandmother, has named you in her will as her sole beneficiary.”
His eyes shifted and settled on her. “Odd, isn’t it? I can’t think why she’d do a thing like that.”
“Whatever her reasons, it’s a huge bequest.”
“I’m not interested in her money. You can give it all to charity as far as I’m concerned.”
Meredith tipped her glasses and stared at him over the rims. “Perhaps you’d like to know what kind of inheritance we’re talking about before making that decision.”
“I couldn’t give a damn.” He shrugged and rotated his neck, his expression challenging.
Meredith stifled a desire to snap closed the file and tell him to go to hell. Instead, she gripped it and controlled her temper, knowing she had Dallas to think of. Maybe if he really didn’t want the money, he could be persuaded to give his half sister a portion of the estate.
Pushing her glasses back up her nose, she focused. “Most people wouldn’t be quite so cavalier about inheriting a hundred million dollars,” she observed casually.
“A hundred million dollars? That’s what the old bat was worth?” he asked, sitting up straighter and letting out a long, low whistle. “Well, well. Grandma must have been one smart cookie, as you Americans would say. I hadn’t realized the estate was so huge.”
“Something worth thinking about,” Meredith pointed out, eyeing him closely.
“Certainly. If one was interested or needed the money,” he replied, a scathing note entering his voice. “It so happens I’m not in either of those positions.”
“I see. I must say, I hadn’t anticipated this.”
“No? Well, I made it plain to you over the phone. You should listen more carefully.”
“Excuse me for asking,” Meredith said, genuinely curious, “but why aren’t you interested? You have to admit this is rather an extraordinary circumstance. Surely you must be curious to find out more.”
“Why should I be? I make a very good living doing what I do, and I’ve already got more money than I could ever spend,” he said conversationally, studying her from his wing chair, enjoying her discomfort. “As for the so-called family connection—” he shrugged “—why should I want to know anything about Rowena Carstairs?”
“I thought perhaps you might be eager to learn more about your past.”
“Ha! Not in the least. I don’t need any more skeletons in my closet.”
“Look, I’m aware that you
