"Ain't the arbiter of nothing." One of those Jack words, arbiter, the meaning of which Anne's learned through observation of how he uses it. She blows a speck of dirt from the tip of her blade. "Just ain't letting you sign my name to a shit present."
His grin continues on. "Oh? You still want credit? I was thinking of leaving it as a mysterious benefactor. Perhaps a secret admirer. The note implies that was the one who put her fucking name in the first place."
She rolls her eyes. It doesn't actually matter to her what he puts down--who's going to check up on this shit?--but that's not really the point. "I ain't pretending to be nobody's secret admirer."
"I said this was my initiative, remember?" He grins. "You get an extra gift; I handle the details. But," and there's some conspiracy in his voice, "no one will ever recognize your penmanship."
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