THE creds Alex slipped into Bruce’s account on Gid’s behalf had been there all of fifteen minutes before Bruce cornered Gid in the break room at Swinton’s. With his usual eerie grace and calmness, he snagged Gid’s palm pad out of the pocket where it was riding and shoved it in front of her.
“Take them back.”
Gid had almost gotten used to how tall Bruce was. All six feet something of him loomed over her, broad-shouldered and dreadlocked and smelling like mints and coffee and spicy-musky hair oil. Instinctively, Gid blinked and leaned back from him.
Then she caught his meaning and allowed herself a smug smile. “Good morning to you, too. Should I know what you’re talking about?”
Bruce didn’t waver. Gid’s pad remained shoved under her nose, Bruce’s body remained planted between her and the door, and the deadly-serious lines of his face never so much as quivered.
“I initiated a transfer to your account for the same amount you put into mine.” Bruce’s voice stayed low, but his words rang with perfectly clarity. “Accept it.”
“Transfer? You don’t owe me any creds.” Gid batted her eyelashes.
Bruce’s jaw clenched. “Stop playing games with my life.”
Gid rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Seriously, you are too serious. Man, you said yourself I have more money than I know what to do with. Spend some of it on your dad.”
Bruce leaned closer yet. “He is my father.”
Gid also leaned forward, closing the gap between them further yet. “Kind of my point.”
“Well, aren’t you two just thick as thieves?”
Gid tipped her head to the side and peered past Seven’s bulk. Sharise stood in the break room’s doorway, dark curls all aquiver and storm clouds brewing over her head.
A snarky retort was tempted to roll off Gid’s tongue. She caught it before it launched and instead affected a clueless smile.
“Sorry.” Gid furrowed her brow. “What?”
Sharise put her hands on her hips and stared Gid down. “We got a customer complaint. About purchases paid from her account that she never ordered and never received.”
“Wow.” Gid raised her eyebrows. “Hope she still had enough money to pay her bills and stuff.”
One corner of Sharise’s mouth tugged lower yet. “I doubt that was a problem. But that’s not my point. My point is, if I find out either of you were involved, you’re fired. And by the time Swinton’s is done prosecuting you, you won’t have to worry about working—or in your case, Miss Santiago, pretending to work—anywhere else ever again.”
Bruce still hadn’t moved. His back remained to Sharise, and Gid’s palm pad remained in his hand, held out before Gid. Sharise shot a look at him, and her expression shifted away from stark disapproval and toward disappointment.
“That would be a pretty rough thing for some of us,” Sharise added in a less harsh tone. Then she shot some more eye daggers at Gid before turning on her heel and flouncing out of the room.
Bruce lifted the palm pad toward Gid. “Take back what you put into my account, or I’m turning you in.”
Gid raised her eyebrows in real surprise. “Never figured coercion to be your style. You do know that if you turn me in, they’ll still take you down, too? You knew what I was doing. You helped me.”
Bruce just kept staring. He lifted the pad and shoved it closer to Gid.
Gid stared back at Seven. Broad face, nice cheekbones, gorgeous dark eyes. Had she noticed before how he smelled really good? But Gid recognized the stubborn set of his face from her own mirror. He was absolutely not backing down, and if Gid pushed him then instead of the good thing she’d been trying to do, she’d have lost him his job and then some.
Gid snatched the palm pad out of his hand and swiped through menus to get to her cred account. “Fine. Fine! I’ll accept your damned transfer.”
Bruce stood over Gid until she found the incoming transfer and clicked to accept it. Then he turned without another word and stalked out of the break room.
“Jerk,” Gid muttered at his retreating back.