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Only, I already have a good idea, and I can almost hear the sneering laugh that comes back in the response.
Unknown: dnt you know hvingg ur contact is part of discverry???
I blink at the screen and wrinkle my nose before I send, Miss Sullivan?
Marissa Sullivan: shoudl I feell aspeiclah
Marissa Sullivan: fujkv
Marissa Sullivan: sent before I finishined
Marissa Sullivan: should I feeel like a special gril since u remembereed my name ??
What in the hell is going on here?
Why is the woman who’s suing me texting like a drunken teenager?
I don’t have the time or patience to decipher her cryptic messages. I slam the call button on the text window and lift the phone to my ear.
It picks up before the first ring finishes.
Miss Sullivan’s voice slurs in my ear. “Ooh la la, you’re callin’ me now? You sure know how to woo a girl, Marshall.”
I stare incredulously at—nothing, really.
When I’d thought drunken teenager, I wasn’t expecting to be right.
“Miss Sullivan ... are you drunk?”
“Issit your business?” She hiccups. “Whaddya want?”
“Nothing,” I retort. “You texted me first. I thought this might be more convenient than interpreting your inebriated texts, but it seems you can’t speak clearly either. Did you need something, or can it wait for the meeting with our lawyers present?”
An ugly little laugh comes over the line.
So different from Elle and her light laughter, it’s like air versus mud.
“I’m just being gracious. God! Listen, I’m gonna offer you the chance to ... to consneed before thissss goes to ker—cut—court. If you concede, I won’t even shoe—sue for decades of damages. Asshole,” she adds under her breath.
I almost roll my eyes out of my head.
“Absolutely not. There’s nothing to concede, Miss Sullivan. Your frivolous lawsuit is a hostile takeover attempt, and I think you already know it won’t succeed. It won’t bleed my family’s company dry, either, no matter how long you care to drag this misery out. I’ll see you soon, though, and we can let our lawyers do the heavy lifting. Please be sober.”
I hang up before she gets out more than a “Fu—” as a retort.
Then I mute my phone.
Talking to that wacko is a special kind of hell.
I suddenly wish Elle were here. Her brightness could clear up the sulfur stench Marissa Sullivan always leaves in the air.
Rick is still watching me in the rearview mirror.
“Should I turn us around, sir?” It’s annoying how astute he is.
“No,” I snarl, knowing I’m more aggravated with myself than him. “I need to be in the office. Our legal team is waiting, and I intend to be fully ready to deal with Marissa Sullivan come tomorrow.”
Come tomorrow, I’m not ready to deal with jack shit.
