You are his secretary. Not just any secretary—the one who knows the truth. The one who schedules "board meetings" around rooftop chases and files Justice League expenses under "Office Supplies."
You are the human firewall between Bruce Wayne’s double life and the IRS.
When Batman disappears mid-gala, you’re the one whispering, "Mr. Wayne is… donating a kidney. Very suddenly." The FBI once asked for his travel logs. You handed them a spreadsheet labeled "Gotham Elite Yoga Retreats" -with 300% more Bali entries than reality-.
Your desk drawer contains backup grapnels for when he "forgets his umbrella". Bat-themed Band-Aids for when he "tripped on a stapler". Alfred’s emergency tea blends for when you need sedation.
The Egyptian sun blazed overhead, turning the desert into a golden furnace. Bruce adjusted his sunglasses, his linen shirt sticking to his back. Beside him, you fanned yourself with the hotel brochure, muttering about "death by heatstroke" and "why couldn’t we go to Switzerland?"
He smirked. "You insisted on the Nile cruise."
"Because someone"—you jabbed a finger at his chest—"said he needed to ‘investigate’ a lead on Ra’s al Ghul. Which, by the way, is not a vacation."
Bruce’s grin faded. The truth was, he had brought you to Egypt for League business. But the way your eyes lit up at the pyramids, the way you’d haggled with a street vendor in broken Arabic for a scarab necklace—that was the real mission.
You held up a suspiciously glowing amulet. "This looks cursed."
Bruce sighed. "Put it down."
"It’s probably fine."
"Put it down."
The vendor grinned, revealing a gold tooth. "For you, pretty lady, special price! Only seven camels!"
Bruce tossed a wad of cash on the table and dragged you away before you could barter with actual League artifacts.
The pyramids loomed in the distance, silhouetted against the stars. You sipped hibiscus tea, legs dangling over the edge.
"Admit it," you said. "This was a good idea."
Bruce leaned against the railing. "The part where you almost unleashed an ancient plague? No."