Gallagher, any decision you make will directly impact a number of people. Should you continue to not wish to accept the inheritance and instead choose to hand it over to another party, it will still require going through the legal formalities.”
“Well, you’re the lawyer, you find solutions. What ‘other party’ were you thinking of?” His eyes met hers head-on, his hypnotic gaze impossible to ignore.
Meredith took a deep breath and hoped she wasn’t jumping the gun. “If you don’t want it, your sister, Dallas, could use it,” she said at last.
“Great. Tell her she can have the lot.”
“Unfortunately, the will has certain stipulations.”
His eyes narrowed. “What stipulations?”
“I guess Rowena may have anticipated that you might refuse the inheritance, and established a provision that will take effect if you fail to undertake certain actions. For you to alter this provision, you have thirty days, as of now, to take the necessary legal steps. Included in those steps, as specified in the will, is your attendance at a meeting with Dallas in Miami. If you don’t come to the meeting and sign the proper paperwork, then the money goes to a foundation set up by Rowena, the, um—” she paused “—the Society for the Advancement and Protection of Poodles.”
He laughed now, a rich, deep laugh, and his eyes rested on her with the first glimpse of real feeling she’d recognized in him yet. “Very savvy,” he exclaimed. “You sure this is for real? You’re not making it up to try to persuade me to go to this famous meeting you seem so determined about?”
“Jesus! You have nerve,” Meredith burst out, finally losing her cool and jumping out of the chair. “If you’d bothered to read all the letters I sent, you’d know all about this already—”
“I rarely read my correspondence.”
“Well, that’s just too goddamn bad,” she flung, throwing down the file. “Maybe when you’ve come to your senses, you’ll read that through properly. I’m going back to the Strathcairn Arms.”
“What for?” he goaded, crossing his arms, arrogantly looking her up and down. “I have no intention of changing my mind. I plan on ignoring the whole thing.”
“Mr. Gallagher,” Meredith said through gritted teeth, “I am not to blame for the manner in which your grandmother chose to bequeath her fortune. I’m merely an emissary. I have no pleasure in being here, I assure you. But I have a fiduciary responsibility to act on behalf of the beneficiary, and a legal duty to act in managing and administering the estate,” she continued bitingly. “The law requires a high standard of ethical and moral conduct of fiduciaries. There are many specific duties. Some are imposed by statute, some by case law and some by the will itself. But none of them can be ignored.”
“Bravo. An impressive speech.” He clapped his hands and looked her over, amused. “I guess law school is good for something after all.”
Mastering the urge to knock his well-aligned teeth down his throat, Meredith took a deep breath. “In case I used too many big words,” she said sweetly, “it means that, like it or not, I now represent your best interests. I need you to cooperate. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy this morning. Goodbye, Ms. Hunter.” With a sharp nod he rose, turned on his heel and marched out of the room the same way he’d entered. The door snapped shut behind him, leaving Meredith openmouthed in the middle of the room.
“Well, that does it,” she muttered, angrily clamping down the lid of her briefcase and leaving the file where he’d abandoned it on the side table. She crossed the room, then marched into the great hall. The man’s obtuseness—not to mention his incredibly rude behavior—was intolerable. How could she be expected to deal with such a creature? There was no sign of Mrs. Duffy. In fact, the place seemed deserted. Reaching the huge front door, Meredith dragged it open and headed down the steps.
So much for wrapping this up in forty-eight hours, she reflected bitterly. She had to get back to the Strathcairn Arms and think out a new strategy, one that did not involve her personally, she vowed. As soon as the office opened in Savannah, she would phone Tracy and brainstorm with her. Surely she couldn’t be expected to stick around while Grant Gallagher decided whether he could be bothered to accept a hundred million bucks?
Or, like it or not, would she have to?
With a sinking heart, she drove down the hill. It was her case, her responsibility. There was no senior partner to run to with complaints any longer. She was the senior partner. It was her show.
Realizing she must cool down, Meredith made her way along the seafront. She’d come across difficult clients before, but none as handsome, arrogant, offensive and irritating as Grant Gallagher. He obviously had a very high opinion of himself.
“Aargh!” Meredith let out a low growl and, spying a convenient parking spot, decided to take a walk. Some fresh air would help clear her brain. She would not allow this man to throw her out of kilter, which was his obvious intention. She must remain cool, think of how she should deal with him. After all, there was Dallas to consider. Heck, if he really didn’t want the money, then she had to find a way to get him to follow the conditions of the will and still cede some to his sister.
Surely he had some shred of humanity under that tough facade? However deeply hidden.
The wind whipped her hair as she pulled on the beige cashmere coat she’d retrieved from the back seat. Whatever happened, she was not about to give up.
As Grant Gallagher would learn shortly, she had not yet begun to fight.
From behind the mullioned window, Grant watched her cross the gravel in her high heels and climb into her car. She had good legs, he reflected. Then, as the vehicle headed down the drive, he shrugged, shook his head and, crossing the study, headed back into the living room.
The file lay where she’d discarded it. He stared at it with mixed feelings. If Rowena Carstairs were still alive he would have had the immense satisfaction of shoving her damn money in her face. But now that was denied him. The clever old witch had seen to that, hadn’t she?
He remembered each word of her letter and ground his teeth. She’d guessed exactly how he’d react—and then had pulled the rug from under his feet by calling his bluff. Poodle society, indeed. She’d known the notion of so much money going to something so ridiculous would give him pause. A cunning smile hovered as he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and his creative mind went to work. He wasn’t going to be bested. Rowena would not win this battle of wills. Of that he was increasingly determined.
Still, like it or not, he was intrigued. At what point, he wondered suddenly, had the question of Rowena’s estate gone from being an annoying interruption to becoming a challenge? He glanced down at the file once more, a half smile hovering. So she thought she’d get to him with the poodle bit, did she? Well, she was wrong. He didn’t give a damn who her money went to. The poodles were welcome to it. Though Meredith Hunter was unlikely to give him any peace until he’d taken an ultimate decision in writing, based on legal argument.
Flinging himself down once more in the chair, he gave the material his full attention, still torn between a desire to consign it to the flames and a growing need to get the better of Rowena Carstairs, dead or alive. As he studied the specifics of the bequest—the various estates, the museum-quality artwork, the extraordinary stock-and-bond
