Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(31)

She nods once—the kind of nod that suggests she’s aware I’m stating the obvious, but doesn’t want to patronize me by acknowledging it. Heh.

“So tell me.” I sit up, knot my fingers. Fix my eyes on her sharply enough to be just a little unsettling; watch how she braces for the bad news, grasshoppers. “Why is it still incomplete?”

“It is? I followed protocol. I mean, as much as I could,” she says, all too quickly. The words just spew out. “There were things I couldn’t get in time, but I made notes and—”

“I see your notes, yes.” I yank out a piece of paper. “I’m not so concerned with your medical records. Given that I’ve already seen them, Gwen.” I offer her a sympathetic smile. “You met Miss Reeves when she hired you.”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware that she runs one of the most advanced surveillance companies in the world.”

“Y—yes.” Her pause elongates the word, adding implicit elegance to her stutter. This is how people talk when they consider themselves to be smart, and it pisses me off.

I have to take a moment just so I don’t come out with something a little more honest, like, at what point in our working relationship would you consider it appropriate for me to buy you a pair of tits?

Later.

“So,” I go on, “exactly why do you think you can only supply half of your bank account details?”

Gwen stills. She’s weighing up the pros and cons of crafting a lie.

“We found all of your accounts during our own check. Surely you’re aware of this.” I take childish pleasure in insinuating that smart people are stupid. Sometimes, they are. “And on top of all that, you only gave us your savings account and an under-used current account. It’d be f*cking obvious to a kindergartener that there was another current account missing.”

“I was embarrassed,” she says eventually, lowering her eyes to watch my index finger tap against the keyboard. “I was surrounded by the other newsroom employees and I didn’t want them to see my account on the screen.”

“Because it’s in the red to an impressive degree.”

“I’d hardly call it impressive,” she mutters.

Here’s the thing, sports fans: Gwen appears to be in a shit load of debt, and clever little Leo found me just the right amount of leverage. Ah. I smiled when I saw it earlier—you know, the way anyone would when they discover their person of interest is up shit creek and you, for a price, could throw them a paddle.

“You want to tell me how you got into this mess?” I ask bluntly.

“The same way anyone does.”

I tut. God, I love The Tut—really makes ‘em flinch. “I’m not going to insult your intelligence. Obviously, an employee in financial trouble is a significant threat. I imagine you’re aware that I have competitors. Or enemies. Whatever you want to call them.”

She nods again, still half-flinching.

“What if they offer you money in return for information, hmm? What happens then?”

“I would never—”

“You would never betray client confidentiality, etcetera etcetera, and the salary I’m offering is more than generous, and my God, I can see why you need it. Do you know how much money you might be offered somewhere down the line, by someone intent on f*cking things up for me?”

“I was exposed to similar situations in my last job,” she says quietly. “I didn’t succumb.”

“Huh. Well maybe you should have.” I gesture to the bank statements on my desk, the ones Leo delivered. “I mean, things are looking pretty crap up in here.”

Gwen tips her chin up. Narrows her eyes. “Do you have a point?”

“Ooh. Sassy.”

She opens her mouth, and for a split second, I’m certain she’s about to let loose with a big f*ck you. But she thinks better of it and reins herself in.

She’ll learn. Ha.

“You’re perfectly aware of the issue here, which is why you resorted to this moronic tactic to save your own ass. I’m a fan of resorting in general. I get it. I’m also a fan of saving my own ass. The trick is to do it in a way no one can argue with.”

She swallows. “There was no plausible way I could have done this.”

“Right. So what have you learned?”

“Don’t lie,” she mutters.

“Don’t f*cking lie. Exactly.” I sit back in my chair and pretend to stare at the TV screens. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?”

“I understand if you’d like me to leave.”

“Let’s not go that far. Not yet.” I inspect my fingernails, deliberately exaggerating my disinterest. “How about we make a little deal?”

There are those haughty eyes again, all squinty and suspicious. “Such as?”

“Work out your probation period. I’ll put my full trust in you—you can even have your own office—and at the end, if I’m satisfied, I’ll make all these annoying little debts go away.”

She blinks. “Why would you do that?”

“Three guesses.”

“You’re really not funny.”

“You’re right. I’m just bored.” I give a theatrical sigh. “A man has to entertain himself somehow.”