Poker Face | Bruce Wayne

thirty nine

"I hate you, you know that?"

"Wha— why?!"

"You turned my office into a Party City."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Mare. I brought over a few costumes— so what?"

Meredith eyed the barrage of gaudy, sparkling fabrics splayed across the room as she leaned on the doorframe. She raised a brow and crossed her arms when the other woman held up a piece of black fabric that apparently was supposed to replicate a playboy bunny.

"Even Hugh Hefner had more class than that."

Lois let out an exasperated scoff as her hands fell to her hips. "You're impossible, Meredith."

"No," the billionaire said, slowly stepping over something that looked like it was supposed to be in a Doctor Seuss book. "I'm just not a prostitute. And why you— a renowned reporter— wants to be photographed and plastered across media outlets all over the world dressed as... whatever the hell that is, is beyond me."

"It's from One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish! God, Meredith. What, you didn't read as a child?" Lois fell back dramatically into a pile of fabrics, making a plume of sparkles spiral around her. The reporter coughed, waving her hand repeatedly as if that were going to make Meredith's janitorial staff any less angry at the mess they were inevitably going to have to clean up.

"I preferred something more along the lines of Ludwig von Mises' treatise of economics— stunning interpretations and very informative. I never saw a point in reading about talking animals."

"Of course you wouldn't."

Meredith rolled her eyes. "I was just going to slap on some cat ears and call it a day."

"Elias!" A screech suddenly rang from down the hall.

The women turned their heads towards the doorway to see two figures barging in— an annoyed Janette and a livid Damian Wayne.

"Little boy, I have told you many times that you are not allowed in here without an appointment!" The secretary scolded, looking awfully flushed in the face. Meredith had solemnly heard Janette raise her voice— it was somewhat comical.

Damian whirled around. "And I have told you to never speak to me without permission because I can buy your entire bloodline with nothing but my allowance!"

Meredith furrowed her brows.

Janette looked at her pleadingly. "Ms. Elias—!"

"Elias! Tell this insolent little—"

"Alright." Meredith held up her hand. "That's enough. Damian, you already have my number, so from now on, please just notify me that you're coming to my office and I'll put you on the schedule. And Janette, please don't blow a gasket. He's ten—"

"Eleven."

"—My apologies. Eleven. And Damian is allowed in the building at any time, although I would prefer if he notified us first out of courtesy to you."

Janette huffed, straightened herself out, and nodded. "That works. Sorry for the interruption."

The secretary gave an annoyed glance towards Damian, who looked too smug for a child his age, before disappearing down the hall.

Meredith narrowed her eyes at the boy. "Damian, what did I tell you about provoking my employees?"

He sighed almost dramatically. "Why you care so much about the treatment of the lower class, I'll never understand."