You heard his voice from down the hall before you reached the door. Firm, steady, edged with that practiced calm he used when talking to anyone who’s involved with his business.

You paused at the office doorway. The door was slightly open, revealing him still seated behind his desk, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar undone but still crisp. The top button had surrendered hours ago. His tie was long forgotten somewhere on the armchair. One hand gestured lightly as he spoke, the other holding the phone against his ear.

“No, we’re not adjusting the acquisition timeline,” he said sharply. “They’ve already had two extensions. If they can’t meet the deadline, we move on.”

Papers were spread across the surface like a quiet storm had passed through. Financial statements, correspondence, ledgers, reports, a few pages marked with handwritten notes. The Wayne Enterprises logo sat neatly stamped in the corner of each document. He leaned into it all like the numbers might fight back.

You stepped inside gently, bare feet silent on the floor. His eyes switched between the papers and the screen, face cast in the pale white light from the monitor. Jaw tense. Hair slightly mussed from dragging his hand through it one too many times.

“I’ll send a revised proposal by morning,” he added, already reaching for a pen with one hand while the other cradled the phone to his ear. “But if they’re still dragging their feet by end of week, pull the funding.”

You slipped inside quietly, not wanting to interrupt, just… to be near him. His brows were drawn, posture sharp, every line of him tensed in focus. He hadn’t noticed you yet—not until you gently set a glass of tea near the edge of his desk, careful not to disturb anything. The motion caught his eye.

He glanced up, eyes softening just slightly.

He covered the phone with his hand, lowering it slightly as he spoke to you—just a quick, quiet aside, only for you:

“Hang on,” he said into the phone, voice lowering a fraction as he looked at you. “I’ll be off soon.”