You know, all things considered, getting the job wasn't the hard part. Of course, you'd think applying for a reception job at a world-famous company with a less than stellar resume and a criminal record, making it through seven rounds of interviews dressed in ill-fitting clothes I'd gotten as hand-me downs, and then landing my position would in fact be the hard part.

No, the hard part was putting up with all of Bruce Wayne's bullshit.

The man had to be a closet lunatic. One minute I have his itinerary perfectly color coded, labeled, and thought out with at least an hour lunch, tours to check in on the other departments, and designated times for paperwork and phone conferences. The next minute, I'm scrambling to cancel five important meetings, move around three reservations for his clientele lunch, and get the man's dry-cleaning done because he somehow managed to get green ectoplasm from the research department on his overly-expensive suit jacket without leaving his office.

And this was considered a good two minutes.

However, I assumed Wayne liked me for some reason I couldn't comprehend. It had been six months and the man always walked in and out with a smile, thanking me for my hard work. As always, I would reply with a, 'my pleasure, Mr. Wayne', before returning to the spreadsheet schedule he was going to somehow screw over the next day. I had to be doing something right for the man to keep me so long.

I should have run when I heard his track record for assistants. The longest lasting was three months. The woman who trained me had only been there five weeks before putting in her resignation. Now he had me—a sucker for a good paycheck.

The thing about my assistant job was that it sucked the big one, but it payed so well that I only thought of finding a new one in passing. If I really focused on the good parts, it wasn't so bad. I had my meals practically paid for which cut down grocery bills, I had free reign of the building at all times meaning I could commandeer the sleep study when I didn't have time to make it back home, I was chauffeured from my crappy apartment to my job which cut down transportation costs, and Wayne didn't comment on how I dressed for the job, which ensured I didn't have to buy a new wardrobe.

Or at least, he didn't until today.

No, today was apparently a special day where Wayne decided to actually pay attention for once. It was five A.M., far to early to be anywhere in my opinion, when I saw Wayne waltz through the elevator to the lobby of his office. Nothing out of the ordinary at this point. I glanced up at him and nodded as he started towards my desk, and I held out the usual manila folder that held his daily itinerary and list of filing I'd completed for him the night before.

But here, instead of grabbing it and walking past me with a 'good morning, Robin', he stopped as he opened it. In front of my desk. My hands stopped their busied typing where I glanced up at him, reading over my work.

"Is something out of place, Mr. Wayne?" I asked politely, folding my hands neatly over the desk in a show of compliance and attention.

"No, everything seems in order." He nodded with an easygoing smile and snapped the folder shut. "Tell me Robin, am I not paying you enough?"

The question caught me off guard for a split second. Then I felt my face fall into the same polite smile.

"I have a wonderful salary Mr. Wayne, I assure you." I placated. "Five figures are more than enough for a glorified secretary."

I saw a twitch in Wayne's cheek.

"I wonder, because I have yet to see you come to work in something other than the same ill-fitting slacks, scuffed heels, and white button down. That's missing a button and stained on the collar, by the way." Wayne pointed out, and I forced myself not to flush.

"I wasn't informed of a specific dress code, Mr. Wayne." I explained. "If it is degrading the integrity and image of the company, I will endeavor to go get something new."

"See that you do that." he said, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. I felt my eye twitch when he put down a black card on the desk. "Credit it to the company account and treat yourself. You're good to head home. Happy Birthday, Robin."

And like that, the man left me slack jawed holding his credit card while he waltzed into his office and shut the door. I looked back down at the card before pulling out my company-issued phone to check the date. It was in fact my birthday today.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples before loading up my bag and walking out of the lobby. If Wayne wanted to live without me for the day, I was going to let him. He better stick to the itinerary for once, though.

As I was coming down the elevator, I decided to call a friend of mine.

"Well, you are the last person I'd expect to call during work hours." Indie picked up, the tell-tale sound of up-beat music playing in the background.

"Oh, ha-ha." I snarked back. "Wayne commented on my clothes and kicked me out of the office for my birthday. Wanna help me shop around?"

"Are you buying my services or are you trying to freeload?" She joked.

"I'm freeloading." I nodded to the reception desk as I left, and they all gave me shocked nods back as I waltzed out the door in the middle of the day without Wayne's dry cleaning.

"I figured. You are buying lunch though." She criticized. "If you give me the dress code, I'll pick up what I can, and you can meet me at the studio. I need you to pose for some ideas of mine."

"Professional, I guess." I answered. "Think high-class secretary. I need shoes, accessories, and a small makeup pallet if you can. The whole shebang."

"Budget?" She asked. At this point, I looked down at Wayne's card with a frown before putting it in my wallet for safe keeping.

"Five hundred, I don't want to spend an enormous amount just yet." I sighed.

"If you do some modeling for me, I'll pay another two-fifty and I can probably land you a week's worth of clothes." She offered, and I scrunched my nose.

"I don't like modeling." I climbed in the back of the SUV Wayne had me chauffeured in every day.

"But you do like that two-fifty." She sang.

"True. Deal made, do you want Chinese or Italian?" I asked, holding finger up to the driver with a kind smile to wait a second.

"Hit me with that crappy, fast-food Chinese. That's the shit I do like." I could hear the clicking of hangers as she put me on speaker phone.

"Noted, see you in an hour or so?"

"Don't be late, darling." She purred before hanging up. I rolled my eyes before dropping the phone back in the bag and turning to the driver.

"Sorry about that, I was making plans with a friend." I apologized. "Can we drive through a Taste of Asia before dropping me off at the apartment?"

"Of course, Miss Lee." The man nodded, and he handed me the aux cord as he pulled out from the front of the building. Ricky was the most patient man I knew, and he didn't even blink at my weird location requests. He also helped to calm me down when I was in a stressed frenzied due to Wayne's inconsiderate actions making me scramble to move his entire schedule around for one of his whims.

We sat in comfortable silence until we pulled up to the drive-through, where I offered to get Ricky something to eat, and he declined as usual. He saw me safely into my apartment building before he drove off, and I stepped out again to walk the two blocks to Indie's studio.

It was a good day out for a walk, and I wasn't going to let Ricky know Indie's address without her consent. Once I made it to the building, I nodded at the super as I walked past the lobby, climbed the four flights of stairs to her door, and let myself in with a spare key. Inside were the soft sounds of a sewing machine and the clean colors of the studio.

"I'm here." I called, garnering no answer in return. I put our food on the small desk in the entrance before making my way to Indie's sewing machine, finding her concentrated on a piece of sleek underwear and her earbuds in. I waved to get her attention, watching as her amber eyes looked up and her sewing paused. She nodded at me with a grin before looking down to finish the piece.

As soon as she had, she swiped the garment from the machine and walked over to me so she could hold it against my pelvis. She cocked her head and pulled out a notepad from her sewing apron to make a mark before pulling her earbuds out and fixing me with a satisfied grin.

"Black is so your color." She sang as she walked past me toward the food. I rolled my eyes at her antics before following her. "Anyway, I have three sets I need you to model for me."

"Just put my food in the microwave." I said. She giddily nodded before rushing to stack both our meals in the small microwave. Then, she raced back into her sewing room only to bring out three dresses, all in white with varying degrees of frills and lace.

"So, this season's theme is supposed to be purity, and I was thinking virginal wedding night, you know, and the boss absolutely loved the last set you modeled for me," She laid the three outfits over her chic couch carefully, "but that might be because we were laughing at how bad you are at modeling."

"I didn't take lessons." I rolled my eyes as I started to strip. "And we didn't have a set."

"Noted." She grinned. "Which is why we're using the studio this time, specifically my bedroom."

Indie worked at as a fashion designer and assistant to one of Gotham's top fashion studios, and the girl was always working here and there on either a magazine article or a new line of clothes to pitch to her boss. She had been using me as a model for as long as I'd known her, which had been our short stint in juvie, and she always had me trying on one crazy idea after another. It was just one of the weird ways Indie got her creative juices flowing, along with eating absolute garbage and listening to hard rock. This wasn't the first time she'd paid me to model something out of the blue, and I was sure it wouldn't be the last. At least is wasn't lingerie this time.

The good thing about this was that my pictures never ended up in magazines or articles. Indie used me as a sounding board and an idea template to pitch to her team and their boss. She liked the idea of using the body of a normal woman rather than that of the typical model, leaving her to drag me into her photo-shoots once she'd pieced her designs together. So, the only people seeing my embarrassing attempts to look editorial or edgy were a bunch of fashion designers or editors, and a fling if I ever had one.

Which I didn't because Wayne kept be busy beyond belief.

I gingerly stepped into the fitted pantsuit, simply designed for a sleek look, before slipping on the matching white handbag and heels she'd picked out. Indie directed me to the couch. She positioned me as she liked before moving everything out of the way of her shot and started snapping away, giving me directions to move here and there.

It went on like that with the other two outfits, one a gossamer gown, and the other more like a baby doll than a dress. I gave her a scathing look when she handed it to me. Only giving me a shit-eating grin in response, she snapped another shot before urging me to change again. Indie soon had her pictures, and then she had me in my new clothes to make sure everything was to my liking.

Two new pairs of fancy looking heels, a well-fitting pair of slacks and a new blouse in royal blue, a fitted grey pantsuit, two slightly snug dresses in simple black, and a nice black pencil skirt paired with a red blouse. She also took the liberty of picking out matching accessories, a purse for my computer and tablet, and a new eyeshadow palette to compliment my green eyes.

"Alright, I deem you taken care of." She nodded with a smile. "I was wondering when you'd finally come to me for a change in wardrobe."

"Yeah, it was only a matter of time, I guess." I said, pulling out my wallet and handing her my card. She happily swiped it through her little cube attached to her tablet before handing it back to me, and I winced as I saw the five-hundred-dollar expense. The girl didn't scrimp on her finances, and I was already using my friends and family discount with her. I had to appreciate her hustle, though.

"Staying for dinner and a marathon?" She asked as she typed up my reciept.

"So long as I can work on some paperwork." I nodded. She moved toward the microwave and our cold food to heat it up while I moved to her bedroom to grab the spare set of pajamas I'd left there. Once I was done changing, I could smell the scent of chowmein and eggrolls filling the air.

It was going to be a good dinner.


I woke with a start at my alarm. Rolling over with a groan, I tapped it off and took a deep breath to greet the day. Three-thirty A.M. I swept myself out of Indie's lovely, soft down comforter and into her bathroom to quickly shower and get changed into one of the black dresses indie had picked out. I was neatly curling my hair to put up in a sophisticated bun when Indie stumbled into the restroom with bleary eyes.

"You have a phone call." She mumbled, handing me my device. With a yawn, Indie settled herself on the bathroom counter and leaned on the mirror with a dazed look in her eyes. I looked down at the caller ID with a grimace before picking up.

"Good morning Mr. Wayne, can I do anything for you?" I placed the phone between my cheek and shoulder so I could keep working.

"Yes, my dry-cleaning needs to be picked up with morning." He said with a good-natured voice. "And I'd love some coffee while you're out."

"Of course, I'll tell Ricky to stop by Lauren's on our way to the office." I offered, finishing the last curl delicately before moving to open my makeup pouch.

"Oh, no. The dry cleaning today will be at Paulo's." Wayne corrected. "And I'd prefer my coffee from the west side of town."

I almost dropped the phone in shock. Paulo's was on the east side, and it was the shittiest upper-class dry-cleaners in the city. On top of that, why did Wayne need coffee from the west side? I took a deep breath before shutting my makeup pouch and calmly shoving my amenities back into my large purse.

"Understood Mr. Wayne. I'll have it done." I kept my voice even as I unpluged Indie's curler in a hurry and started toward the bags she packed for me last night.

"Good. I hope you're on time." And he hung up.

He hung the fuck up.

I wanted to scream, I was so frustrated with him. Which wasn't new.

Resorting to my last measure, I dialed Ricky in a hurry, praying he was awake. The man would have to be my saving grace yet again, and I knew the man would have me where I needed to go quicker than I could scream all my favorite names I liked to call Wayne.

In hindsight, that might take a long time, so it's a bad analogy.

"Ms. Lee, good morning." Ricky greeted, sounding cheerful despite the obscene hour.

"Ricky, I need you at twenty third, Stanton Street. Bring something fast if you can." I rushed to pack my old clothes in the bags Indie got before rushing down the stairs.

"Already here, Ms. Lee."

I spotted the nice sports car we only used in an emergency like this. Ricky had a handy-dandy license plate on it that read 'exempt' so we could break as many speeding laws as possible. I threw my bags into the back and practically launched myself into the passenger side, buckling up and pulling open my purse.

"Morning Ricky, we'll be heading to Paolo's then a west side StarLuck today." I said as I pulled out a small bag of bobby pins and started pinning my hair up. "Do I want to know how you knew this address?"

"Your phone is outfitted with a GPS." Ricky gave me a calm smile, shifting into gear. "Might I say, you look lovely today. Did you change your hair?"

"Ha, ha." I smiled. "Thank you for the compliment though, I'll try not to get foundation on the upholstery."

"Yes ma'am." He nodded, and we were off. Luckily Four-fifteen traffic was dull and we were able to make it to Paulo's in record time.

I had one eye fully completed with eyeshadow and mascara while the other was plain and naked as the day I was born, but I practically skidded into Paulo's, shoving the company card at him and waiting for him to get me Wayne's suit. With the tapping of my heels and barely suppressed look of fury on my face, I assumed the attendant was able to get the idea I needed to move quickly. I was out of there and back in the car in four minutes.

We raced down the streets to the west side where I had to deal with a sleep-deprived teenager, this time with a full face of makeup. As I waited for him to make the latte, I printed Wayne's itinerary from my company phone. The teenager handed me the drink and I was bounding out the coffee shop at full speed again, launching myself back into the sports car and putting the coffee in the cup holder. Like that, Ricky was off to Wayne Enterprises. I had enough time to pull my phone, tablet, and wallet from my bag, put on the pair of fake diamond studs Indie packed, hang my badge around my neck, and take a deep breath as we pulled up to the front of the building.

And I was off again, this time to the back of the car to pull the nice purse Indie got, shove my devices in it, walk around the car to press a thankful hand on Ricky's shoulder as he passed me Wayne's coffee and dry cleaning through the window, and practically sprint to slide my badge through the doors of the building and get into the elevator.

I was five minutes behind schedule at four forty-five A.M. With a frown, I stepped onto our floor, dropped my purse on the desk and made my way to Wayne's office. Knocking politely, although I knew he wouldn't be in there, I opened the door gently before popping open the built-in cabinet at the far side of the room and hanging Wayne's dry cleaning. I gave the ever so slightly wrinkled clothes a look of distain, knowing he'd send me to get them re-done when he found the slightest wrinkle in them, and moved to put his coffee on his desk.

Stepping out of the office, I sat down at my own desk and pulled the itinerary and filing sheet from the printer at my feet, and neatly slid it into a manila folder along with the black card I'd received from him yesterday.

Once Wayne waltzed in at Five A.M. on the dot, he walked by my desk and picked up the manila folder with a 'Good morning, Robin,' before walking into his office. I barely looked up from my typing

As soon as his door closed, I slammed the closest desk drawer open and grabbed the stress ball I kept just for occasions like this.


It was one in the afternoon when I our elevator doors slid open. I glanced up with a flat look before looking back to my computer. He was a tall, dorky-looking guy with thick-rimmed glasses, a plaid button-down accompanied with a clashing tie and brown suit jacket. However, the man had a jaw-line stronger than my annoyance for Wayne, and I could dig the dorky look.

"Good afternoon." I greeted politely, plastering on a fake smile.

"And good afternoon to you." The man gave me a shy smile.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm here to see Bruce Wayne." He scratched the back of his neck. "he promised me an interview today."

"Ah." And interview was not on the itinerary. "Name?"

"Clark Kent of the Daily Planet." He offered.

"Right." I nodded sweetly before dialing Wayne's office phone. "Mr. Wayne, I have a Clark Kent from the Daily Planet here for an interview."

"Send him in." Came Wayne's reply. I fought not to suck in a sharp breath.

"Understood. Just a reminder you have an exec meeting in five minutes." I said sweetly as I looked up at Mr. Kent. "He'll see you."

"Thanks ma'am." He nodded. Before the man could move, Wayne's voice crackled back to life, if only to give me hell.

"Robin, move that exec meeting back an hour or two, will you? This might take some time." Wayne said.

I felt my smile become tight.

"Understood." I answered back as I politely waved Kent through the door. As he vanished from my sight, I took a deep breath before dialing the tech branch to patch me in.


"You really shouldn't pressure your secretaries like that, Bruce." Clark said as he came in. "And what happened to Lacy?"

"Please, I've had five different secretaries since Lacy." The man sitting at his desk painted a stoic picture as he looked over the document. "And Robin will handle it."

"Do you use that 'moving things back' line often?" Clark took a seat on the couch in front of the desk while listening in to the secretary's phone call.

"No, I was informed to let you know the meeting will be pushed back two hours." Came the clipped tone of her voice, very unlike the polite picture she painted before him a few seconds ago.

"Usually I cancel." Bruce stated. "She's good at moving things around at the drop of a hat. I've needed someone like her for a long time."

"At least he didn't cancel this time, Mr. Lynch. Yes, yes I know that would be the fifth time this month."

"Is there any reason you're here to see me at work?" Bruce asked, looking up from his paperwork.

"There's some suspicious activity in Hawaii." Superman said, straightening his shoulders and putting on an authoritative look. "The signal to the tower has been cut for everyone, even our emergency contect devices aren't working, and Martain Manhunter hasn't been able to fix it."

"How long are we looking at?" Batman fixed him with a calculating look.

"Three days, maybe a week." Superman noticed an untouched cup of coffee in Batman's hands. "It would be best if we left immediately. Flash and Sheyira are waiting."

"Understood, walk me out."


"Robin, sweetheart, clear my schedule for the next week, I'm on vacation starting now." Wayne was walking out of his meeting with the reporter with a megawatt smile, all buddy buddy. He had an arm slung across Kent's shoulders as if the man had known him all his life. Kent looked flustered, though he made no move to stop my boss from manhandling him. I almost dropped the phone in the middle of my conversation with the head of Wayne tech.

"Where are you going?" I called to him as he entered the elevator with the flustered reporter in tow.

"Hawaii, I'll try and pick you up something nice." Wayne flashed me the smile he flashed everyone as the elevator doors started to close. "Aloha!"

"Ms. Lee, do not tell me I heard what I think I just heard." The man on the other end of the line snapped.

"I am so sorry Mr. Lynch." My voice wavered. "I had no idea he was going to just—I didn't even have Hawaii scheduled on his—why does he do this?!"


A week without Wayne was like hell on earth. The man was a nuisance when he was around, and a down-right enemy when he wasn't. It was on me to juggle his paperwork and push his meetings back, file his taxes and keep his employees at bay while he goes off gallivanting in Hawaii of all places.

The face of the reporter he'd left with was burned into my mind using the fires of my frustration at how insane the situation was. If he ever came across my desk again, Wayne wasn't in. If anyone from the Daily Planet graced my presence, Wayne was practically dead.

Unless an interview was on the itinerary.

After a week of downright torture, it was finally a normal morning. A normal, easygoing morning. I didn't even get a call from Wayne to have me perform some outlandish request. Everything was normal.

The morning Wayne was supposed to be back in the office, I had picked up his dry cleaning and gotten his coffee, like usual, made my way to the office, like usual, dropped my purse on my desk, like usual, knocked politely on the door, like usual, didn't receive an answer, like usual, walked into his office to see a handful of superheroes, like usua—

Hold the fuck a minute.

I blinked at the supers in my boss's office who stared back at me in slight shock. My gaze quickly traveled to my Boss's desk and standing next to it was Bruce Wayne dressed as the Batman, minus the cowl. There was silence for a few seconds, before I felt my face shut down into the usual calm expression I had do dawn when dealing with Wayne's bullshit.

I was not going to even begin processing this without at least five espresso shots or some tequila.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne." I greeted politely before moving to deposit the dry cleaning in the cabinet. I could feel all eyes on me, and for once I was grateful I'd pulled myself into that professional looking pencil skirt and blouse. I turned to approach the desk and deposit the coffee "Latte, east side. I'll email your itinerary today."

As I put down the cup, I looked at him with tired eyes. He was absolutely filthy, and I just had his office carpet steam cleaned.

"Is there anything you wish to discuss, Robin?" Wayne asked, cold and calculating. The air was tense, I was sleep deprived, and for once I couldn't bring myself to politely put on a smile and put up with all his bullshit.

"Yes sir." I confirmed, face fallen into my usual deadpan expression. "You have an exec meeting in an hour and I am not dry-cleaning that suit."

There was a beat of silence. I thought I heard someone choke on air.

"Get back to work." He sighed, and for once I felt the triumph of giving my boss a small taste of the frustration he caused me on the daily.

"Understood."

And like that, I passed all the supers, not daring to look them in the eyes to receive their judgement. I quietly stepped out the door, looked at my desk for a split second, nodded, then moved to the elevator and made my way to the employee break room.

I fucking deserved those espresso shots.


"Is it safe for her to leave like that?" Wonder Woman asked as the little secretary left.

"She won't go far." Batman said pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Her name is Robin." The flash said in a daze, still staring at the door where the secretary disappeared. "You're kidding me, right?"

The Batman glowered. It was bad enough his cowl was ripped from him mid escape from a flaming volcano and he'd need a new one, but now his secretary was very aware of his identity. Though, her reaction was roughly what he'd assumed it would be.

"Should you call her back up here?" Superman asked, also staring at the door where the woman disappeared.

"Like I said, she won't go far." Batman pressed as he sat behind his desk. "We'll wait here until the Zeta comes back online."

There was silence. Many of his co-workers were still sending uncomfortable glances at his office door. Batman fought off another sigh as he opened up the security camera network and located his assistant in the employee lounge, stationed at the small coffee bar being served several small cups of espresso. He then pulled his tablet out from his desk, opened a list of numbers and selected the one he needed.

The Barista's voice came clearly through the speaker.

"Robbie, why don't I just settle you with a nice large thermos of Irish coffee. You've had seven of these already." The man looked at her with a glint in his eyes, though he kept pouring her shots. "If you wanted something to wake you up though, I know just the activity."

"Like I have said plenty of times, I am never sleeping with you, Duncan. Like, ever." She said, throwing back another espresso shot. "And no drinking on the job."

"Why are you down here so early anyway." The man leaned over the counter with a lascivious grin, settling himself directly in the secretary's line of sight. "Miss me?"

"You and your multiple STDs?" She drawled, Shoving the mans face away from her personal space with a defiant hand. "Not really."

"I had the clap, like, once." He grinned, as if remembering a fond memory. "And if that night could somehow be repeated, I'd get it again."

"Once is enough, you're disgusting, stop hitting on me." She glared. "I have enough to deal with today without adding you on top of it all."

"C'mon baby, lets make us a thing." The man pursued, obviously determined. "Let me get that number."

"And let me get back to work." She snapped, standing and throwing back the last shot before turning right around and leaving.

"She's making her way back up here." Batman shut the cameras off.

The heroes quieted down for a few minutes, the only sound breaking the silence came from the phone relaying the elevator doors opening and closing in the next room, along with the clicking of heels. Soon, the sound of typing filled the air. Batman pressed the com button on his desk phone.

"Robin, push that meeting back to tomorrow and cancel my two o'clock reservation." He ordered.

There was another long silence as the typing stopped. The loud open and close of a desk drawer came from the phone's speakers.

"Understood, Mr. Wayne." The calm, polite reply was a stark contrast to the frustrated noises from the lobby. Batman shut the phone down, and the heroes were left in complete silence again.


The afternoon swung around, and I had yet to see any heroes leaving Wayne's office. I assumed they wouldn't be waltzing through the front door. Maybe they'd climb out one of those ridiculous floor-to-ceiling windows Wayne had me get the company contractors to install three months ago. The image of superheroes free falling from the side of Wayne Enterprises put a small smile on my face. That'd be a sight I'd pay to see.

"Robin." Wayne's voice came from the damned phone on my desk. I debated not answering for a second. It would serve him right for making me put up with both his hero and corporate bullshit.

I pressed the com button on the phone.

"Yes Mr. Wayne, what can I do for you?" My voice was kept in the polite mask I'd adopted and perfected since working for the lunatic.

"I have sent you a list of lunch items for you to pick up." He instructed, voice devoid of the usual good-natured cheer. I assumed Wayne was stricter when he was moonlighting as the caped crusader. "I want them here within the hour."

"Understood." I said just as my phone notified me of a new email. I opened it up and saw the copious amount of food he'd asked me to pick up.

It was composed of eight different restaurants, one of which I was sure had the entire menu listed. I felt my eyebrow twitch as I looked at the clock. I had roughly forty minutes. At least this wasn't the most outrageous thing Wayne had me do for him. I started calling the places and putting in orders under the company name, using the guise of shopping around for a place to cater an event in the near future. That would get the food made faster if they had some incentive, real or not.

I had managed to get through half the orders when I hopped into the SUV, nodding to Ricky. We were off quickly enough, grabbing a mix of Italian, Chinese, Indian, Vietnamese, and American. On our last stop, where we were to get the entire menu from McDougal's of all places, I added a meal on for myself. Wayne wouldn't notice another burger and fries in the midst of the heart attack he was giving one of his guests on company time.

Ricky helped me stack everything neatly in two large bags I could man-handle into the building. Looking up, the receptionists gave me a pitying stare, though none made a move to help me carry my burdens. Everyone in a secretarial, reception or PA job knew steer very clear of any and all of Wayne's personal business. The accounting side was close to figuring it out too, but they were a step behind the rest of us.

Once I had finally hauled everything in to the lobby, I lightly put my meal down on my desk for safe keeping before making my way to the boss's door and prodding it open with a heeled foot. I struggled into the room, not paying attention to the stares given to me by the heroes who were still there for whatever reason.

"You didn't knock." Wayne commented from his desk. I had to look around the large bag in my arms to see him, but he was there, all composed and still filthy.

It was a struggle not to give my boss the most unimpressed look I had ever been able to conjure. I knew the man was insane, but even he knew I couldn't magically grow another limb, rip it through my silk blouse, and knock it on the door to serve some politeness or professionalism. However, my politeness stayed in place.

"I assumed you didn't want a dent in your door from me kicking it, Mr. Wayne." I quipped back, carefully putting the mountain of food I'd acquired. I opened them all back up and made a move to start pulling them out.

"That won't be necessary." Wayne stopped me with a raised hand. "Go eat your meal."

Thank fuck, the only instruction I actually wanted today.

"Yes sir." I nodded, making my way to the door when someone other than my boss stopped me.

"Batman, please." A woman's voice chimed, and the tall, intimidating female stepped into my path. "We should discuss this."

I briefly contemplated sidestepping her, but I was sure she'd just punch me or something and I'd end up with a broken nose. I also didn't want to piss off Wonder Woman. Sadly, my fries were getting cold and I was weighing the pros and cons of just going for it.

"She's a civilian that knows the identity of a leaguer." Another voice, slightly familiar pipped up. I looked over to the far side of Wayne's office to see Superma—he is not that fucking reporter. I mean, sure his hair looked better taken care of, and he ditched the specs and plaid, but that was a distinctive jawline and voice. All I could do was stare at the man as he came to stand at the side of Wayne's desk. "And she should be treated as such."

"She only knows my identity." Wayne said, still acting cold and calculating. "I will handle it."

"On the contrary." Another of the heroes spoke up. I glanced to the most outlandish looking of them all—Martian Manhunter. He wouldn't. "She now knows two."

Okay, maybe he would.

All heads snapped toward me with suspicious looks, probably wondering who it could be I'd figured out. I didn't say anything, just looked at my boss and hoped for the order to go eat my fries. I just wanted my fries. I had gotten three larges just for today.

"Robin," Wayne looked at me with hard eyes, "explain."

I felt my face fall into that deadpan expression. Well, fuck politeness now. In that instant, I turned to the hero of metropolis with a look of annoyance.

"Clark Kent." I lazily pointed at him. The man's eyes turned hard as stone, now overly cautious.

"How—" he began, but I cut him off.

"The next time you waltz in that lobby and force me to work triple haul for a week, and then proceed to show up again moonlighting in a distinctive set of undies and tights, make sure you do it with something more convincing than a pair of glasses and an ugly tie." I waved my hand at the large man. "I remember the faces that make my job infinitely harder."

"Is that so?" Wayne asked from his desk, garnering my attention.

"Yes sir," I nodded, crossing my arms. "Yours happens to appear in my nightmares."

Someone else proceeded to choke on air. I locked eyes with my boss, daring him to contradict the absolute hell he put me through every time I came to work. I could tell exasperation was close to entering his eyes, and I prayed I would see it. Just this once.

"Do you have a problem with your job?" Wayne folded his hands on his desk.

"Will I get fired if I do?" I gave him a look.

"I'd like to hear your complaints." He continued, not answering my question.

"Bruce, this is not the time." Superman cut in, done with this. However, Wayne raised his hand for him to stop. I also questioned why he wanted to discuss my job problems in front of everyone, but we could have it out. I was ready.

"No, Robin please inform me of your complaints regarding your job." Wayne said.

"You have had me cancel the same meeting seven times, you have tracked copious amounts of dirt in an office I just had steam cleaned for you, you waited six months to tell me I was inadequately dressed for this job, you have had me rush all over this city for things I can find in this building, and you sent your dry-cleaning to Paolo's of all places." I counted each transgression off on my fingers. "All of which you have done in the span of two weeks. I can't tell if you get a kick out of making my life harder, but I honestly don't appreciate it."

"Who's Paolo?" Someone in the room asked, and I turned my gaze on them, cool effectively lost. The Flash was about to get educated, superspeed or not.

"Paolo is the son of a bitch who upcharges his dry-cleaning, cannot iron a crisp line to save his life, and purposely leaves wrinkles in your lapels so he can say it was your fault before he tries to charge you a second time to redo it. And every time someone sends the dry-cleaning to Paolo's, my boss, finding a single wrinkle in his collar—not the lapel, the collar—sends me to get it redone." I snapped before turning back to Wayne. "Which is why I tell the ladies on your cleaning staff to send it to Lauren's."

"Are those the only complaints?" Wayne continued, not bothering to let me know if he sends his dry-cleaning to Paolo's on purpose or not.

"For today?" I asked. "Sure."

"Nothing else bothers you?" Wayne fixed me with a knowing look. I gave him an affronted stare.

"I couldn't care less if you go gallivanting off to fight crime in some cape and tights. In fact, I'm grateful for what you do for the city, and the world." I waved my hand. "What I docare about is you leaving me to scramble to change your itinerary and call people who think its my fault you don't go to your meetings when it could allbe avoided if you just told me you had plans with the super friends."

"You can't prove that it was us who—" one of the men, green lantern cut in and I held up a hand to stop him.

"Ten days ago, the league had a huge press conference in Keystone city. It was advertised everywhere." I gestured to my boss. "Batman was present at that conference. You want to know what else was scheduled for that day? The exec meeting that has been canceled seven times."

"So, you would like to know my schedule full schedule. Is that all?" His eyes had yet to leave my back.

"I would also like to go eat my fries." I quipped as I turned to the other heroes. "And you should all eat your food, its going to get cold."

Wayne heaved a sigh as if my response physically pained him before waving me out the door. I nodded with the overwhelming feeling of self satisfaction, plastered on my polite smile, and left to my desk. I had a metric fuck-ton of paper work to get done and some fries to eat.


Wayne didn't fire me after that. In fact, Wayne didn't bother to breath the topic of him being the dark knight to me until three months after my initial discovery. The only way the man even hinted at his side job was when he slipped notes on my desk detailing the meetings and events his side job required of him.

Somehow as the days progressed, the information became more detailed, and I soon figured out I was scheduling the entirety of the leagues meetings and P.R. events around the personal work schedules and time zones of those who were involved—namely, the top dogs I'd gotten lunch for the time they were hiding out in Wayne's office. I was thankful that Wayne had trusted me with the information of those meetings and events, so my job became marginally easier.

But that was only the scheduled meetings and events, which didn't account for the more-than-occasional emergency that Wayne needed to get off to. So, I had to lay contingency plan after contingency plan for the man's wayward schedule, had five different emergency numbers separated by area code that I didn't know the purpose for on speed dial, and somehow wormed my way into getting free dinner every Thursday night.

If I was being honest, the last three months of my job became an absolute dream. I was less stressed, Wayne didn't make me do outrageous tasks to try and divert my attention from his moonlighting activities, and I got the immense pleasure of annoying my boss about his daytime meetings for both jobs.

The Wayne I knew before was aloof and semi-carefree—a playboy in every way. However, the new Wayne I was privy to was calm, collected, calculating, had a dry sense of humor…and easily pressed buttons. Only minor things here and there, reminding him about his multiple absences to the meetings I scheduled, breezy comments about the latest gossip concerning Batman and Superman's supposed love affair found in a raunchy tabloid I'd left on his desk one morning, and of course the petty insistence that I was still not over him running me ragged trying to keep his secret.

It was subtle annoyance that would reflect in the twitch of an eyebrow, the firm press of his mouth, and the slightly more downturn of his frown.

It still made me satisfied to see it.

However, we existed in this blissful limbo for only three months, and soon it came to a screeching halt that resulted in the hypothetical equivalent of a five-car pileup.

On a morning like any other, Wayne had a scheduled meeting with the super friends and I was to pretend he was in the office doing paperwork that didn't exist. With a coffee in one hand and Wayne's dry cleaning in the other, I made my way to the elevator without a hitch. I made it past my desk with a bounce in my step despite the heels I sported and knocked politely on the door of my boss's office with a rhythmed tap before calmly walking in with a real smile.

Until I saw Wayne sitting behind his desk and not at the super friend's meeting.

My smile faltered with slight annoyance before it became more restrained and polite. I placed his dry-cleaning in his cabinet before making my way to his desk with the coffee and itinerary I kept with me.

"Mr. Wayne, I thought you had a meeting until five this morning." I greeted, annoyed edge to my voice as I placed the cup down. "Black with two sugars, north side."

"We finished early." He took a sip of his coffee without looking up from his paperwork. The lack of attention gave me the idea to turn my back and make my way to my desk, but his next words stopped me. "Am I not paying you enough, Robin?"

I turned back, polite look replaced with a suspicious one. The last time he said something like that, I had to spend five-hundred dollars on a new wardrobe that I could have done without, never mind how bomb my figure looked in those dresses.

"Yes?" I asked, more of a tentative question than a statement. Wayne had yet to look up from his paperwork. "Why do you ask?"

"It has come to my attention that the organization we are mutually acquainted with is in need of someone with your specific skillset." Wayne finally breeched the subject.

And the wheels in my head started turning.

"Are you trying to tell me that nobody in the justice league knows their ABCs?" I quipped, earning a twitch of an eyebrow. "I mean, really, you're asking me of all people, to do your filing?"

Wayne sighed that sight he reserved for when I was being extra petulant, which had only been three times in our knowing each other, before he handed me a file. Opening it, I saw it detailed the descriptions of the job.

The top portion was 'ability to be discreet and adept at keep the privacy of all those involved'. It was underlined and bolded. I fought the urge to sneer at the page. It might as well have been written in comic sans font with how unprofessional it presented itself.

"The league compiled notes on the requirements for the person to take on this job." Wayne continued as I read down the list. "I thought you might be interested in the job, as it would not interfere with your work here."

My eyes landed on the paycheck, and my heart stopped.

A six-figure salary for the equivalent of just knowing my ABCs. I glanced back up at the man who had now put down his paperwork and was watching my reaction. I gave him a skeptical look before closing the file and placing it down on his desk.

"Are you offering or am I applying?"

"Offering." He clarified, expression pulled into that pokerfaced I'd come to loath. "Do you have any reservations?"

A beat passed.

"I'm not doing any dry-cleaning."

And that was how I started working in space half of the week as the glorified receptionist to the Justice League.


So... I did a thing. Not the thing I was supposed to do, but a thing. I like the thing

For those waiting on my other story, I'm like three quarters done with the next chapter. Here's an interim. It wasn't on my poll, but I really like the idea.

Please enjoy