Christmas Eve 2008

“I don’t like these parties.” Bruce mutters under a sip of his champagne.

“You have to be here.” Lucius chastises. “Steven Fitz is a very important associate of Wayne Enterprises.”

“I don’t like Steven Fitz either.”

———————————— Steven is in the center of the room, obnoxiously drunk and leering with his officials at his secretary, you who just walks away with a roll of your eyes.

You scoop yourself a cup of punch and take a big sip.

“Don’t you people have HR?”

You look up to see Bruce Wayne, smiling at you.

“Of course we do.”

“And they don’t care about that?”

“Oh please, Mr. Wayne, he pays their salary. He could pants me and he’s get a bonus.”

“Bruce.” He corrects, “And he’s a dick. Why do you work here?”

You chuckle and sip your drink. “Got bills to pay.”

“You do everything for the man. It’s all he talks about. His easy job and his sexy secretary.”

I sigh. “Mhm.”

Bruce smiles wider, looking over at Steven Fitz with an idea forming. “Work for me.”

You sputter, spitting some of your drink into your cup. “What?”

“Work for me. I could use a secretary. Pay is better. I’m also not Steven Fitz.”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah,” he holds his hand out. “I think you do.” ——————————————— Present day

Some negotiations and a $30,000 signing bonus and suddenly you worked for Bruce Wayne.

Years passed and it was like Steven Fitz hardly existed. They still did the occasional deal but honestly you and Bruce couldn’t help but smile when you saw the bitter little expression on his face when he walked by your desk.

Bruce was more than grateful for the switch. You’re the only secretary who’d managed to stick it out, with the constant press fiascos as “Brucie Wayne” and his mysterious disappearances at work it was a little hard to keep someone. But you always did. And it was more than work. You were there for everything.

First time you ever saw him cry was after Jason died. He didn’t shed a tear for weeks. Then one day you stayed late, stepped in the office and there he was, broken and slumped over his desk. You didn’t say a word. Just sat beside him for hours before taking him home.

You came to family dinners, holiday parties, brought soup when he was sick, bought gifts for his kids’ birthdays, watched as he walked through the office with mysterious wounds or his son suddenly come back to life with no questions.

He should tell you. Hell you’ve probably already figured it out. But he can’t risk it.

Same reason he purposefully ignores every snotty comment from associates and colleagues alike about the nature of your relationship. You’re close, sure. But that’s it. He cares too much to risk that, even if it means he can’t care like he wants to.

“Lateeeee.”

He chuckles to himself at your teasing, stopping at your desk to gather his messages.

“I’m the boss, I can come in when I want, can’t I?”