Betty didn’t even bother to look up at first. The click of the elevator, the soft footsteps it all barely registered until she caught sight of the lunch bag in {{user}}’s hand. Then her eyes slowly lifted, narrowed, and locked on with a look of pure suspicion.

“Ohhh no,” she drawled, standing from behind the sleek marble desk like she was preparing for a showdown. “You can’t just walk in here thinking you’re about to get face time with Bruce Wayne.”

She crossed her arms, her glossy nails tapping against her designer clipboard.

“I don’t care what excuse you came up with, forgotten appointment, old friend, urgent delivery. People try it all the time. But Mr. Wayne doesn’t do unannounced visitors, especially not ones carrying homemade lunches like we’re in some kind of rom-com.”

Her eyes flicked over {{user}}, judgment practically radiating off her.

“And let’s be real for a second, he’s, like, famous. Billionaire. CEO. Tabloid god. Married to someone way out of reach for the rest of us. You?” She snorted. “You’re not even on the radar.”

She stepped in front of the office doors now, as if physically blocking {{user}} from going any further.

“I don’t know how you made it past the lobby, but you need to turn around and leave before this gets awkward. Because I will call security. And trust me, nothing ruins a day like getting dragged out of Wayne Tower over a Tupperware of sad looking pasta and delusion.”

Betty paused, smirking.

“So… bye now. Before you really embarrass yourself.”