"I CAN'T PRINT THIS."
"Yes you can," fired the young woman who was holding the manuscript in her hands. "It makes perfect sense and you know it."
"The fact that you have to convince me it makes perfect sense tells me you don't believe in what you've written, Miss. Carmichael."
The young woman tugged on a string of her caramel colored hair and inhaled deeply. She sat back down roughly and said in a small voice. "But I thought you wanted something new."
"Yeah, well, new means a socialites' secret or the next Gotham Gala location, not an article speculating the identity of the bat vigilante! This is Gotham Elite not the Gotham Daily."
Stephanie Carmichael leaned across the table and looked the editor of Gotham's biggest gossip paper in the eye. "I promise you no other paper will have this story."
The older woman chuckled dryly, "That's because no one's crazy enough to think that Bruce Wayne - charming, privileged, trustfund baby Bruce Wayne - could possibly be the Batman."
Stephanie bit her lip. When you put it that way, it seemed close to impossible.
"Until you have more concrete evidence, I can't print this. I'm sorry, Stephanie."
"It's fine," She said. Stephanie grabbed her handbag and the manuscript off the table. "I'll see myself out."
---- Δ ----
"How did it go?"
"I think if a volcano blew up in my face and buried my screaming ass under molten lava, it would feel better than getting rejected by a gossip site."
"Ouch. So I take it you're at a bar drinking your frustrations away."
Stephanie closed her car door.
"You know me so well, Layla. Did you want to come out? Have a little girls night?"
"Although I do miss your cute face, I can't. I've got company."
"Is it Chad?" Stephanie asked. "Layla-"
"Don't start," Layla squeaked. Stephanie heard the door on her side creaking shut. "I'm a weak bitch, ok?"
"He cheated on you!"
"Allegedly," She hissed. "He wants to change."
Stephanie sighed heavily, "You're a grown adult and I respect your decisions but going back to your ex after two days of radio silence on his part is a big ol' red flag."
"Then it's a good thing you respect my decisions," Layla said. "Steph, let me call you back. I need to go."
And without another word, Layla's line went dead.
"Great," the young woman mumbled under her breath while pushing open a door.
Three more steps and I can get drunk off my rocker.
A shoulder barreled into her. The smell of whiskey and smoke assaulted Stephanie's senses.
"Watch where you're going!" A man spat in her face before storming off to the parking lot.
"You watch where you're going, jerk!"
"Shut your mouth before someone else does, you little bįtch!"
"Unbelievable," mumbled the caramel-haired woman. She paced her hands together and yelled across the street. "I hope you always poop when you think you're going to fart, arse!" She cringed at her own retort but her emotions clouded the embarrassment for the time being.
Stephanie whipped around only to met with another chest.
"What now?" She mumbled, craning her neck to look up at the person. Even with her boosted height of five feet nine inches in her favorite heels, the stranger towered over her.
"I don't know," He answered with a rueful smile. "Perhaps you could storm off and curse me into eternity as you did for that poor man...or I could buy you a drink?"
He stepped to the left and gestured to the rustic bar, and she finally saw who it was.
"Bruce Wayne?" Stephanie's voice hitched. She blinked a few times before gulping. What was Bruce Wayne doing here?
A flicker of amusement flashed through his eyes, "Just Bruce is fine."
Stephanie felt a flush creeping up her neck. The photos she saw in the tabloids didn't do him any justice. Bruce Wayne was tall with soft brown locks that framed his carefree face handsomely. His eyes crinkled at the edges whenever he talked. There was an easy going and charming aura about him, like you could tell him anything and he would keep it a secret.
The paper Stephanie wrote, which was nestled in her handbag for future pitching to snobbish editors, seemed to burn just as hotly as her cheeks did.
Get a grip, Stephanie. He is just a guy.
"So what do you say? Drinks?"
Yeah, her subconscious snorted, a really good looking one.
"I think I'll take you up on the offer."
Bruce Wayne smirked.
Of course he isn't the Batman!
She fumed at herself as she followed Gotham's richest man into the night club.
What was I thinking, writing that crapshoot of a piece?
"Get anything you want," Bruce Wayne's easy smile turned to her. He flung the hair out of his face, golden watch flashing in the dim lights. "I'm guessing a cosmo?"
"Really?" Stephanie quirked an eyebrow, slowly composing herself as her shock at seeing Bruce Wayne ebbed away. "A cosmo?"
"Yep. A cosmo."
Stephanie laughed heartily. "Three shots of vodka," She told the bartender, "Two martinis, dry. Oh! And a whiskey on the rocks, if you please. What do you want?"
The millionaire shook his head and laughed. "Bad day?"
She loosened her bun and let her hair fall down in waves. "It's about to get better."
"I'll have a whiskey, neat." Bruce Wayne settled himself into the seat next to Stephanie. "Do you come here often?"
"It seems like you do," She answered coyly as a bartender served his drink immediately. They hadn't even started on hers, but Stephanie supposed she had a big order.
Bruce brought the glass to his lips. "Sometimes a name gets you places."
"Hmm, sometimes it does."
"I'm also thinking about buying it. Thus the special treatment." Bruce said. "What do you think?"
"About what? The bar?"
"Yes," He leaned in, voice dropping in volume as if conspiring against someone or something. "Do you think I should buy it?"
Stephanie let her brown gaze wander across the room. It was...homely and grounded - two things she did not associate with millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.
"It's-"
"Janky?"
"No! No, it's really... interesting."
He cocked his head to the side, "Interesting?"
"For someone like you, yeah."
"Someone like me," Bruce repeated, eyes exploring Stephanie's face. "And who is that, exactly?"
His eyes were navy, Stephanie realized with a jolt. In pictures they were blue, most times cloudy with a sunny smile to pair with. Now, as they were this close, she noticed the sheer perceptiveness, the back and forth in which his midnight eyes traveled her face and the bar. Intelligence was hidden - no, covered up - almost tucked away as neatly as the handkerchief in his suit.
Stephanie bit her lip, stumped by the seemingly simple inquiry.
Who is Bruce Wayne?
"I don't know," She finally whispered to him. "I-"
"If it isn't Mr. Wayne," said a young man with a thick Italian accent. "I think you're on the wrong side of town, pretty boy."
The music stopped. The other bar goers glanced uneasily at the gang of young men.
"I'm not looking for any trouble," Bruce said, pacing his words. He stood in front of Stephanie and blocked her from their view.
The move was chivalrous, no doubt. However, the young woman had a feeling she was better equipped at dealing with guys like the Italian aggressor. After all, these type of men were all over her father's small apartment conducting "business".
"I'm just minding my own business."
"You're gonna have to mind it somewhere else then."
They outnumbered him, seven to one. Stephanie's heart beat faster as she saw a big man with a goatee flick a switchblade in his hands.
"This is our territory, princess."
Stephanie furrowed her eyebrows, finding the man's choice of words strange.
Territory? What were they, a pack of wolves? She thought incredulously. No normal person said that. No one unless—
Stephanie's eyes widened. Jerkily, she looked around the club and narrowed her eyes. She knew exactly who was behind this. He was always stirring up trouble for her, especially when it came to boys.
Bingo! A gray fedora slipped away from the shadows along with the man who wore it.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. Of all the places, this is where he decided to show up after three years of no contact. It was probably some weird power display. However, Stephanie wasn't intimidated.
"Alright, what's going on?" She slipped in front of Bruce Wayne, making sure to grab her phone out of her bag and press the red record button.
The leader gave her a once over. He leered, "Nothing to worry about, sweetheart. Your boyfriend won't be hurt too badly."
"First of all, back up. Your cologne is making me choke. Second, I just met this man — definitely not my boyfriend. And third, you're on video," She tapped her phone. "So you might want to think twice before you do something you regret."
"And why should we listen to you?"
"You mean what's stopping you from taking a whack at me too?" Stephanie inquired. "Sal won't like it."
They exchanged uneasy glances at the name.
"You know Sal?" The leader questioned, beady eyes looking her up and down.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow, giving him her infamous testy look.
"Course I do. And I know he set you up to this. Tell him I'll go and talk if my friend can leave. Unharmed."
Bruce furrowed his eyebrows. He looked like he was going to protest in a feeble attempt to be knightly. Although Stephanie appreciated the sentiment, she was a tough person who grew up in a tough neighborhood. She learned quickly that sometimes she had to save herself instead of relying on the incompetent men in her life.
"Stephanie—"
She turned around and smiled sweetly. "Just trust me on this one, Wayne. I'll be fine."
His navy eyes hardened. He looked at Stephanie and then to the men standing behind her, ready to strike at any moment. Bruce looked like he was going to fight her on it, but then his lips pulled down and he nodded.
"You take care of yourself, Stephanie."
Then, he was out the door.
"Alright. Where is he?" Stephanie sighed.
They pointed to the back of the bar.
---- Δ ----
"You flimsy tuna sandwich!" Stephanie snarled, pointing her finger at the man in the shadows. "Did you have to scare him off like that?"
"I didn't plan to but there's no harm in seeing what the boy is made out of. Apparently, the inside matches the outside." He finally turned around, big smirk practically taking over his face. "Some things are just meant to be fake, aren't they, Steph?"
"What do you want?" She demanded, ignoring his open arms.
"Don't be so cold. You remind me of mom."
"What. Do. You. Want?"
"I just wanna talk. We used to get along really well, kid."
"Well, that went out the window the moment you decided to follow in your father's footsteps."
"Have a little faith in me, Steph. I ain't a monster."
The young woman laughed dryly. "Just a mobster."
"Cute. So you haven't grown out of your feisty side," Sal remarked, fondly and exasperatedly.
"Yeah. You haven't stopped being a bully," hissed Stephanie. "What is it you really want? Did the mafia life get boring without me? Or is it because your father is finally six feet under—"
"Alright, shut up," Sal Maroni growled. He adjusted his stupid fedora and gave her a warning look. Stephanie remembered when he did that as a teenager, reprimanding 12 year old Stephanie for eating his slice of chocolate cake.
"I'm too tired to deal with this."
"You're the one tired? Why I outta-" Stephanie advanced, not knowing quite exactly what she was going to do if she actually got her hands on Sal.
"Alright. Stop being a priss," The older man ordered, swatting her strangulation attempts with his rough hands away easily. "I just wanted to see you, ok? You know I miss you loads, Steph. I think it's time you and I put our issues aside and actually have some wholesome bonding time."
"Fat chance!"
"Well not really," Sal said, grey eyes crinkling at the edges. "You will come and have lunch with me at Ponzo's. 7:30, no ifs and buts. If you don't, little princess Wayne is gonna have to pay."
Stephanie groaned, bringing her lithe fingers to the bridge of her nose.
"And don't bother telling me you have plans. I think we both know you don't."
Stephanie fumed. This smug son of a —
"How long have you been seeing this guy anyway? Obviously not too long if he still likes you."
"We met tonight, you nosy prick," Stephanie frowned, "And what do you mean still likes me? You don't think I can be in a committed relationship?"
"Nope," Sale said, popping the p. "He'll run at your first sign of crazy. These uptown folks aren't built like you and me, peanut. Maybe next time you can shoot a little lower with boyfriend options."
He pulled out his phone. "I'll be needing your number in case you feel like flaking."
"One chance," Stephanie scowled, yanking his smartphone out of his hands roughly. "You have only one chance."
"That's all I need," Sal smirked. He turned around and waved without looking at her.
"Don't be late!"