The Truth Burden

1

Stella

She'd never really taken a liking to black dress occasions. Conferences, meetings – anything solely professional she revelled in. But having to mix business with the art of socio/political discourse (the ridiculously wealthy's bullshit) was something Stella Ariatt generally avoided. Mingling with the pompous was a draining and tedious exercise.

She knew how to do it (the right things to say, smiling and nodding in the right places etc.) but engaging with the snobs over their luxuries and privileges was not her idea of enjoyable conversation.

He knew that the moment she detangled herself from one of the moguls present and excused herself to the drinks table where she took a rather large drink of a glass of wine.

"Interesting tactic." His lips quirked upwards as he made his way towards her. She tucked a strand of her mid back length blonde hair behind her ear with a sheepish smile.

"You caught me." Her accent was vaguely English but judging by its loose hold on her words she'd been in the US for some time.

"Don't worry, I can keep a secret." He smiled, reaching for one of the flutes of champagne and taking a sip. "So what brings you to this delightful gathering?" He guessed she was a socialite.

"I'm supposed to meet with a Mr Fox regarding my new position at Wayne Enterprises." But he'd been wrong before.

"Oh really?" He prompted, a mixture of amusement and wonder in his expression.

"Yes, in International Relations." This woman was full of surprises. Although, he should know better than to judge a book by its cover.

"Sounds interesting. What does that role require?" He, of course, already knew the answer but enjoyed the conversation too much to reveal otherwise.

"A fluency in a range of languages, for the most part." He nodded at her answer and gestured with a wave of his hand at a passing waiter to casually pick one of the finger foods on the tray he was carrying.

"What languages are you fluent in?" He asked, popping a piece of cheese into his mouth.

"German, French , Spanish, Russian, Chinese and Japanese." The major trading powers native languages, a wisely selected variety. He suspected that they hadn't just been random choices for a challenging hobby. Her intelligent blue eyes twinkled with a spark of pride.

"Impressive." He acknowledged, smiling back at her. A thought struck him, vaguely wicked, but too tempting to pass off. Especially when she was new to Gotham. "Do you have the of name your new boss?"

"Yes, a Mr Bruce Wayne."

"Ah, yes I've heard of him. Have you met him yet?"

"No, although I've heard plenty." She added more to herself than him.

"Really?" He could barely conceal the wry smile.

"Ignorant, arrogant, playboy billionaire." Certainly a persona he was well acquainted with.

"Do you think it's true?"

"I'm not sure. I guess I'll just have to wait and see. With a bit of luck, he won't be. " He was about to reply when a dark skinned man emerged from the crowd and brought an end to his fun.

"You must be Miss Estelle Ariatt." They shook hands. "Lucius Fox."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Fox." She smiled warmly but he noted the confidence she utilised when making the shift to professional mode. His lips twitched upwards.

"And you, it's nice to finally have a face for the name. I see you've already met Mr Wayne." Oh her face was certainly a picture. To discover the man she'd just been bitching to was her employer came as more than a little shock. Much to his amusement she visibly paled.

"Pardon?" Her voice came out weak. He jumped back into the conversation.

"Ah yes, I forgot to introduce myself. My apologies." He offered her his hand which she took after a moment's hesitation. "Bruce Wayne. I look forward to working with you, Estelle." He smirked, holding onto her hand and eye contact for longer than necessary. Her heart spasmed. She forced her brain back into gear and managed to close her parted lips. Swallowing, she collected herself.

"As do I, Mr Wayne." His smirk never faltered, even as he excused himself and disappeared back into the crowd.

She hadn't technically done anything wrong. She tried to reason the following day as she made her way to her first day of work. She'd just made a complete fool of herself. She groaned, attracting the eyes of the secretary sat behind the desk opposite her.

"Is everything alright, Miss Ariatt?"

"Yes, thank you." She sent the older woman a small smile, watching her turn back to her typing. She sat listening to the taping of the keys for a while, waiting to be summoned into the conference room. She straightened her posture, brushing her suit's pencil skirt out of habit and strengthened her resolve.

She was just going to have to put it behind her. She was a professional woman who had worked hard to build her respectable reputation. She would not allow one slight embarrassment change her work ethic. This was her career path and no smug playboy was going to knock her confidence.

The entrance into the waiting area swung open and in stepped one Bruce Wayne. She froze, her back locking in a rigid line as his eyes fell on her. Professional, professional, professional. She reminded herself.

"Miss Ariatt, what a wonderful surprise."

"Indeed Mr Wayne." She made a point of glancing down at her watch because he was, in fact, twenty minutes late. His brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Ah yes, I do apologise time keeping is not one of my strongest skills. Shall we?" He raised his arm in an 'after-you' notion towards the meeting room. She nodded, standing and striding towards the door. Acutely aware of his gaze on her. The board was already waiting inside and raised their eyes to observe the pair walking in. She took in their cold and calculated stares (excluding Lucius Fox) with an impassive grace. Lucius motioned with a wave of his hand to two vacant seats at the head of the table. She had held onto some slither of hope that she would not have to sit directly beside Bruce Wayne. Since part of her job was to be his personal translator, she should have known better. She restrained the sigh and instead slid into the leather chair, nodding at the two French businessmen opposite her. Their English was good but there was still some grey areas.

"Estelle, please inform these men their calculations did not take into consideration the rates of inflated goods and the efficiency of their products." She suppressed the twinge of annoyance at his informal address – it wouldn't have bothered her if it wasn't for the fact he was doing it deliberately to rattle her cage. She kept her expression neutral, nodding and doing as he'd asked. Fine, she would play his game. She decided, meeting his gaze as she finished translating. She arched one eyebrow and he laughed silently down his nose. Challenge accepted.

To continue or to scrap? Thoughts?