"Ten thousand a month she makes, late every morning, out the door every afternoon, never on the counter, never drumming up business—just hiding away in her own private office drinking coffee and playing on her phone."
"And she's still not satisfied! Gift cards, client gifts, she stuffs them into her pockets one by one!"
I'd heard enough. I reached over and pinched the gift cards off the desk between two fingers.
"These were given to me by the bank. I have deposits here. I'm a client. These are mine."
Virginia burst out laughing like I'd just told the funniest joke she'd ever heard, looking me over head to toe.
"You? A *client*? Look at yourself—you've got a couple thousand sitting in there and now you're some premium client?"
"Oh please. You're screwing the purchasing manager, and the two of you are treating this bank like a cash machine!"
I'd always kept a low profile at the bank.
Hair pinned up, standard-issue uniform, same as everyone else.
Apart from Nelson Fox and Greg Lambert, the purchasing manager who handled client relations, nobody knew how much I actually had on deposit.
Whispers rustled at the doorway. It wasn't hard to notice the way my colleagues were looking at me now.