This chapter is dedicated to purplepiano4 who actually sent me the idea for it. I can only hope that it lives up to the set expectations. It might be a little out-of-character, but I'm going to try my hardest to stuff it all into proportion.
"No, no, believe me, Mr. Pryor. That's the last idea I want you to get. Wayne Tech supports you completely in your… overall mission, per se. There are just a few… minor details in the contract that we'd like to negotiate down," Bruce sat broad shouldered in the leather chair, holding eye contact with the camera on the monitor that had he and the head of a potential San Francisco branch of Wayne Tech in conference.
The greasy haired blonde slick almost seemed to sneer at the head executive through the screen, a simple move that made the ebony's blood boil, but he calmed it with a discrete slow breath and held still. As much as he'd like to hop on a private jet now and fly down just to slap this man for daring to speak to him like that, he knew he had a professional reputation to uphold.
"Oh, I believe you, Mr. Wayne. I also believe you're being a bit… foolish in turning down my offer. My branch is one of the largest in the country, second to your own. I could triple your current business and Wayne Tech could slowly grow to be nationwide. What more is there to negotiate when I give you an offer that promising?"
The man couldn't have been much older than thirty, probably even younger than that with how easily he let a cocky accent glint over his bronze features in his gentle recline. His fingers interlaced behind his blonde locks and he flashed a plastic smile to the billionaire through the screen, balling hidden hands into painful sorts of fists.
"Though Wayne Tech's expansion is a big goal for the company, the welfare of my taskforce will always rank higher than the income we draw in. I'm running a company, not a plantation," Bruce folded his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed just in the slightest.
It was all he could do to keep from ending the call there. This meeting was relatively important, he had to admit, but he wouldn't work with men who deserved his ward's name more than the poor boy upstairs did. He wouldn't work with anyone like that, for that matter. That's why he was a hero, after all. Maybe he wasn't in Kevlar or spandex right now, but he could feel a right and proper Bat Glare coming on.
"Are you implying that I treat my workers like slaves?" came the snarl from the other end, "Who are you to accuse that?!"
Well calloused fingers pulled taut on the fabric of the jacket sleeves that tried to contain the ebony's frustration, the slightest flicker of an ironic smile passing over the clean-shaven cheeks.
"I'm Bruce Wayne, the head of Wayne Tech and heir to Thomas Wayne, the founder of the company. Who are you to backtalk me?" he calmly released his breath with the firm words, a bit of confidence bubbling back up at the panicked look to cross the man's face and leave him flustered.
"Ah, yes, well- um… I uh, right away, Mr. Wayne. I'll try to fix that," Mr. Pryor bowed his head, shame written harsh into his expression as he studied the surface beneath his heated gaze.
Bruce calmly returned his hands to the desk's top and interlaced his fingers boldly, the ghost of a smirk outlining his lips.
"You'll do more than try. Those men and women are human beings, in case you forgot, and they deserve all the rights that you and I both have, especially in their place of work. You work out those kinks and send me the revised copy tonight, alright?"
He leaned forward a bit and looked just a bit over his eyebrows, a look he often gave Dick when he was scolding him for leaving his clothes on the floor. There wasn't a greater feeling in the world than pulling rank, especially to someone with this sort of attitude.
"Yes sir, Mr. Wayne, sir," the sheepish reply was stuttered out.
The ebony relaxed in his seat, holding his smirk now without even a drop of hesitation. It lasted for a while, a comforting sort of tone accenting the air until he felt like he was in a throne of sorts, up until the door to the conference room clicked open and a quiet throat clearing drew his attention.
"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne?" it was a new intern from the mess to his tuxedo and the nervous fluster to his voice, "You're needed in conference room 2B."
Bruce made a discrete gesture to indicate he was sort of in the middle of something before turning his head and narrowing his eyes a bit, as if saying there had better be a good reason to the intrusion.
"It's your ward, sir. It seems, ah, well, you better come see this," the quirky teen rubbed anxiously at his neck, fidgeting in his place.
The words alone sent a chill down the billionaire's spine and his fingers trembled just a bit, every worst case scenario running through his mind at a million miles an hour. Dick had been complaining of a headache before, maybe he was hurt? He might've staggered down the hallways and gone into the first conference room he could find to try and find him. His ward could be off somewhere, unconscious and throbbing in agony. He couldn't rush to his feet fast enough.
"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Pryor. I have some business to attend. We'll talk later," Bruce cut the call after a brief nod and then was following the intern in a near dash down the hall, spotting the certain conference room door ajar.
If his heart hadn't been running rampant enough, it was going a million miles at this moment and he shoved past the poor kid, wrenching the door open. Lucky to say, what he saw inside definitely wasn't what he had mapped out in his head.
Dick was standing on the edge of the conference table in a knee high pair of rain boots that he had gotten from God knows where, a throw tied loosely around his neck like a cape and hands set to his hips in a cocky sort of stance.
"I'm telling you, ladies and gents! Rocket boots! That's the only way to go from here!" Bruce caught as he walked in, standing with his lips agape in the doorframe.
The fourteen year old turned his head and caught sight of his guardian, grinning ear-to-ear and raising his head in a proud sort of nod.
"About time you finished up, you old codger! Come on, help me talk some sense into these guys! Not for public sale, but maybe for the army! Quick escape, double tap and you're up, up and away!" the ebony threw his hands up dramatically in a sporadic burst of energy, a giggle tracing out his lips.
Bruce bowed his head into his hand and tried not to smile, swallowing a laugh but his chest still shaking as if he actually was laughing. This was better than him being hurt, when it came down to everything.
"Seeing that he isn't going to help me…" Dick sighed and ran dramatically along the conference table, using his acrobatic skill to gracefully leap over and land a jump past three sets of lamps and worksheets, earning curious grins of the Wayne Tech members. "You guys perfected a rocket car, bullet proof material and guns that shoot grappling hooks! All that stuff—previously impossible! How different are rocket boots from rocket cars?"
A woman, maybe late thirties, raised a shy hand and a generous rain boot gestured her way.
"There's a lot of difference actually, Mr. Grayson. One is a car, the design of which has been… perfected and modified throughout the ages… while the other is a shoe that has had no previous electrical modifications if you don't include light up shoes or shoes that make noise," she calmly managed out with a smile that said she had three kids back home waiting for her.
Dick dropped into a crouch and held out a hand to her with a grin harsh on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes.
"I include light-up shoes and the shoes that make noise because, like rocket boots, those are cool," he straightened up and jumped back to his footing at the head of the table. "Now, I don't mean like strapping fireworks to some Nikes and calling it a day. I say, we run some metal together over an inner electrical circuit, do some fusing and some test-runs and then send the final product to Batman and the rest of the Justice League. Where's that spirit?"
Those listening chuckled softly into their hands, trying to remain calm in front of their boss, but even Bruce had a grin over his lips as he walked over and scooped his ward from the table. The little ebony squirmed and kicked the whole lift to the floor.
"The world isn't quite ready for rocket boots yet," he tousled Dick's hair just to annoy him and took a step back to avoid the teasing punch, "but I'll see if I can sketch up some plans for a later project."
The words swelled the ex-acrobat's chest with a special kind of pride.
"Now, back upstairs or I can call the school and get you some more homework to do," Bruce patted the pale shoulder and sent the fourteen year old jogging down the hall with a faint giggle following him like a shadow.
-F.J. III
