"The Sinking Night"

"Smile, Bruce, the paparazzi are watching."

Bruce didn't bother to acknowledge the barrage of cameramen and tabloid reporters outside the restaurant we dined in. Zoo animals were treated with more respect. They banged on the glass window beside us and screamed our names just to get something worthy of a gossip article. With fame you relinquished all rights to your anonymity. I'd grown numb to this sort of thing.

Bruce Wayne surprisingly, not so much.

I scooted closer to my date, positioning my lips against his ear. "Tomorrow pictures of us will be flooding TMZ, Celebrity Buzz, and National Examiner," I whispered, gripping his thigh beneath the table. "So stop looking so goddamn pensive, eat your foie gras, and at least pretend like you give a damn about me."

"You're right." Sticking a forkful of duck into his mouth, he smiled spitefully whilst he chewed. "I'd hate to upset your fifteen million instagram followers all of whom live vicariously through you."

"Don't be disrespectful it's sixty-two million." I smoothed away a stray piece of hair that'd fallen over his handsome face. "Not that I'd expect you to know anything about the inner workings of social media. You barely update your twitter."

"Why don't we skip the formalities, Giselle." Bruce caressed my cheek with his hand. He was in dire need of a mani. The pads of his fingers were so severely calloused that they almost felt like sandpaper. "There's a Baccarat two blocks from here. We can rent a room and I can give you exactly what you want from me. I'll even let you take charge. That's what you like right?"

The offer was tempting, more than tempting. There wasn't a woman in Gotham who didn't fantasize about what they'd do if given the chance to bed Bruce Wayne. And he was right, I did like taking charge. But the lack of tact in which he phrased his proposition, as if he were doing me a favor, it forced me to hide my snarl and decline the offer.

"I don't want anything from you, Bruce."

His laugh was dry and mocking. He thought he knew me. He believed that I was so caught up in my own self-image that ironically enough I had a lack of self awareness.

"Of course you want something from me, why else would you be here? You want your fifteen minutes of fame, a night of passion so worthwhile you can write a tell all when your money dries up. There's nothing substantial about women like you." Singers, supermodels, actresses, the Billionaire had his fair share of them all. Honestly, I thought it was only a matter of time before I became the latest notch in his Gucci belt. But not if he thought it was only because I was using him. And definitely not if he demeaned what I did for a living. "You're a social climber who'll reach the apex of her run sometime soon. Unless maybe you think you can circumvent the inevitable. Maybe you're the type of gold digger who thinks they can actually ride this out for the long-haul."

I took a sip of my wine and checked my lipstick through the reflection of the knife I'd picked up. His words meant nothing. Fleas had more bite.

"You're colleagues must gossip about you all the time, because how respectable is a businessman who can't even commit to a woman long enough to meet her family." I twirled my knife between my knuckles. Back and forth. Back and forth. "You're old news, Bruce. No one checks for you anymore. The younger generation doesn't care about you. If anything, you should be kissing my stilettos right now because I boosted your relevancy."

His face dropped and he ran a hand through his graying hair. "That's a neat trick, where'd you learn that?"

Ramming the knife into the table right inches away from him, I stood. "Let's make this our first and last date." I reached into my Hermes Birkin and made it rain hundreds on him. Enough to pay for our dinner and repair the table. "I never wanted your money. Call me old fashioned, but there's something about you I actually liked."

The hordes of people outside all screamed my name as I followed my bodyguard towards my car. Flashes from their camera's felt like fireworks. The pleas for me to smile, or reveal information of my time spent with Bruce all meshed together into incoherent gibberish. None of this meant anything. There wasn't time to spend replaying the harrowing events that'd just taken place. I still had to upload a few selfies and prep myself for the plane ride to Metropolis tomorrow.

Two loud cracks thundered in the air and something wet splattered across my face. Screams of admiration turned into horror as the crowds surrounding me dispersed like roaches. There was another crack in the air and my stomach felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to it. I looked to my hands that'd touched my side and they were painted red.

Instantly my knees weakened. They gave out, but arms wrapped around me not a second before I could hit the ground.

"We've gotta get out of here," Bruce said and my eyes drifted shut. "You're safe now."