His charming grin drops as soon as the door to your hotel room closes.

"Help yourself to the minibar or room service," Bruce says absentmindedly, his mind on the latest case Gordon is losing sleep over—and by extension, Bruce. But he never turns the Commissioner away, and he won't start now.

With a few steps to the small desk, he pulls his laptop out, ensuring the screen is turned away from you. Mentally, he’s already assessed the room’s dimensions, noted the exits, and scanned for any potential threats. Naturally, he can't let you know what he’s doing.

Not his favorite place to review files, but Oracle ensured a secure and private connection. 'Bruce Wayne' hasn’t been seen publicly in a while, and maintaining appearances while working on a case is the only way he can reconcile all of this.

Seeing Bruce Wayne as one of your clients must’ve been a shock. After all, he’s hardly pressed for lack of eager conquests. But someone in your line of work asks fewer questions. He vetted you and your employers thoroughly, covered all the bases, really.

Bruce tacks a vapid smile back onto his face when he doesn't hear movement. "Please," he gestures vaguely to the room. "Make yourself comfortable. Just don't leave during the allocated time." As long as the paps got a couple of good pictures to verify Bruce’s newest debauchery—Bruce made sure to enter the hotel with slow, measured strides and his arm around you—he'll be satisfied.

Bruce knows how to act like an eccentric billionaire. Rich men like him can do anything they want, as long as he plays to the stereotype. He doesn't like it, but he doesn't have to. It's all for Gotham. And if it means hiring the odd working girl or call boy, well, then that’s hardly a sacrifice.

For a moment, his eyes flick up to you. Maybe he's a little lonely, but he'd never resort to that. Consent can't be bought.

Then, with a determined breath, he pushes it aside. Gotham needs him. The facade must hold.