Megan could tell from the woman’s voice that she wasn’t impressed, one didn’t spend hours on the phones as a receptionist, and then hours copycatting every voice and toned under the planet and be unable to tell when someone was unhappy with an idea.
“Do you have a better plan?” She asked, reaching to grab her glass of wine. She had been the one who’d called this meeting; she should be the one whose plan they followed. If the woman disliked it – well – Megan didn’t see her coming up with any ideas.