Sunday, 7 March 2010
The World's Most Eligible Playboy - Interview with Bruce Wayne
By Lois Lane, Chief Reporter , The Daily Planet
File photo of Bruce Wayne
Bruce Wayne is the public face of Wayne Corp., but has always been an enigma. Those who know him well credit him with leading the organization's turbo-charged growth over the last two decades.
With a net worth of around $38-billion, Bruce Wayne is one of the richest man in the USA and the fifth richest in the world. He was selected as the Businessman of the Year in 2009 and is the proud owner of the world's most expensive private residence, Wayne Manor, which he inherited and refurbished for a mind-blowing $3-billion.
The manor is built in the old Southern style, sprawling across beautifully tended lawns. A tower block on the edge of this prime piece of real estate in Gotham is the newest addition to the billionaire playboy's home. The tower is 27-stories high (actually 55-stories in true height, but only 27 floors) and features 7 separate floors for his car collection alone. Wayne is known globally for being one of the toughest and most savvy businessmen of the modern era. Although his position was inherited, his wealth wasn't. Wayne worked hard and amassed one of the world's largest fortunes, building on his father's two medical patents and early research organization.
Bruce Wayne's father was a prominent doctor in Gotham. The billionaire's personal tragedy is well-known. His parents were killed in a mugging incident while the family returned from the theatre, leaving the young Bruce an orphan at an early age. (Read more about it on page 6)
While he was still only a child, he was already being groomed and was next in line to keep the family company thriving not only in Gotham, but on a global scale. Bruce excelled in school when he was young. Completing his education at Harvard was just another point in his by then brilliant academic career. When he was twenty four years old, Wayne undertook a regimen of austere physical fitness. This took him to far reaching places – India, Nepal, Japan, China – and lasted for slightly more than two years.
Returning to head his father's company, Wayne Corp, he initiated a few key moves for the company, including the backward integration from pharmaceuticals into Medical Research and further into petroleum and petrochemicals. Bruce Wayne was to shape a global empire that involved very diverse technologies, raising manufacturing capacities went from a few hundred thousand tons to over twenty million annually. Thirty percent of the shares of Wayne Corp are held by the Wayne Trusts set up in memory of Bruce Wayne's parents. The Trusts run several charitable organizations in Gotham and across the globe. (For a more complete story, read about it on .com )
Wayne is one of the world's best and brightest businessmen and biggest philanthropist. He's also the worlds most eligble bachelor.
"Where the hell is he?"
Hal Jordan glanced at his watch, then around at the lobby of the posh luxury hotel. He'd been ordered to pick up his agent at 7:30 a.m.—sharp—only to get here and discover the man was a no-show, damn it.
"I should have told him to find his own way to the damn meeting," he muttered.
And he would have, too, except something about Julian's tone had warned Hal that his chauffeur services weren't so much a request as they were a command performance. At least the digs were nice, Hal thought, doing a slow sweep of the hotel lobby. He stood in an atrium, one that rose up at least thirty stories high. Fancy, wrought iron railings rimmed the interior. Each room had its own balcony, one that overlooked the center of the hotel. A waterfall tinkled in the distance. Plush trees and carefully placed potted palms shielded guests from other visitors' views. It felt and smelled like a rain forest, the air thick with moisture and the scent of fresh earth.
"There you are."
Maybe all that carbon monoxide had affected his brain because that sure sounded like…
"You ready? Let's go. We're late. Took me forever to get to the lobby."
Hal's brain refused to reconcile what his eyes were seeing. Standing before him, looking as calm and cool as the lawyer Julian professed her to be, was Fanci Webb in a dark blue skirt suit, hair smoothly slicked back. Hal recognized her from the power ring visual his ring had projected.
"I'm Fanci, " said Fanci Webb, gleefully, noting his obvious shock, "and I'm here to…."
"I know who you are. I recognized your voice. I never forget a sexy voice when I hear it. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Hal interrupted her angrily, raising his voice to decibels that hurt Fanci's ears.
"Surprise," she said, coolly, the brown briefcase that she held brushing her knee-length skirt.
"Julian sent me to handle this meeting."
"Excuse me?"
She wore thick-rimmed glasses today, the kind that were supposed to make her look stylish and elegant. All they succeeded in doing was to make her look more like a bookworm.
"I'm supposed to accompany you to your meeting with Mr. Hannigan," she responded.
"But…I thought Julian said he was firing you."
She scooted closer to him. Hell, she even leaned in and peered up. "'Fraid not, Hal," she said, a smile spreading across her face, one that wasn't the least bit amused. "Not for your lack of trying, however."
Actually, he hadn't mentioned firing her to Julian at all. It was Ollie who'd suggested the idea after Hal had called to complain about Fanci's telephone call. Once Hal had calmed down, he'd realized Fanci might have a point, and in the end he'd decided to agree to the publicity not to race. He was still pissed off with her arrogance but he'd changed his mind about getting her canned.
"So you haven't been fired?"
"Nope," she said quickly. "In fact, I got a promotion."
Why did he have a feeling he wasn't going to like what was coming next?
"I'm your new agent. Well," she quickly amended, "I'm technically a junior agent. Julian was so impressed with the way I handled you, that he thought I should do it from here on out—you know, manage you as if you were my client."
"No way."
"Yes, Hal." She looked so damned smug about it, Hal felt his cheek begin to twitch. What was it about her that always managed to do that to him?
"Julian's my agent," he snapped. "I signed with him. You can't be my agent."
"Oh, he's still representing you. But after what happened with The Daily Planet and Lois Lane, he thinks you need a little extra…" she pursed her lips, tipped her head side to side, "…push to behave, and so I'm it."
Hal reached for his cell phone.
"Don't bother. He'll just ignore you."
"Then I'll leave a message."
"He'll ignore those, too."
"You're not my agent."
"Junior agent."
"Whatever."
"And I'm afraid you have no choice. It's in your contract with SMWW. Paragraph 18, section A, bullet 18.3.1. Agent can, if Agent so desires, appoint a Junior Agent to handle Client if the Agent deems it necessary." She lifted a brow. "Or did you not read that, either?"
"I read it. Of course, I read it. I read every page of my contract." In a way. He'd just fallen asleep after the first page. "But just because I read it doesn't mean I have to agree to it."
She released a laugh that was damn near a snort. "Yes, Hal, it does. You signed that contract, thereby agreeing to every word. But if you don't like it, fire Julian."
That robbed him of speech for a moment. "Excuse me?"
"Look," she said, "I don't want to work with you any more than you want to work with me. If you fire Julian, then you'd be doing me a favor. We wouldn't have to work together and I wouldn't be at fault so I could keep my job."
She didn't want to work with him?
"Then what was all that crap about never finding another agent?" Hal asked.
"I lied," she said. "In my briefcase I have a list of agencies who might be willing to work with you. I'll give it to you if you want."
"You're a piece of work," he said.
"I'm just trying to make it easy on us both."
"No," he said. "I'm not firing Julian. You're stuck with me."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," he said, although damned if he knew why.
"Fine. Let's go."
He didn't follow.
"Or not," she said. "I can do this alone. I have a feeling whatever Mr. Hannigan has to say won't be pleasant. But don't worry, I can take it on the chin for you. That's my job."
"You're not seriously going without me."
"Yes, Hal, I am."
And she did. Fanci hailed a cab, gave the cabby JHE's address, and headed off to James Hannigan Enterprises without breaking a sweat. Well, all right. Maybe her hands shook. And maybe her heart beat as fast as a hyperactive poodle's. And maybe she had to resist the urge to close her eyes and groan.
There was an aura of power about Hal Jordan that had unnerved her completely, or was it that raw sensuality that seemed to blaze from his golden eyes? He was everything a man should be and more. He was one man who lived up to the promise of his voice. The clothes he wore were well tailored, expensive and sophisticated – so there was money somewhere or had been. His features were chiseled in a ruggedly handsome way, the square jaw accentuating his masculinity. He made her achingly aware of her own femininity and inadequacies.
Fanci actually groaned aloud now. Had she really told Hal to fire Julian?
She had. But to be honest, she was tired of it all. Julian was such a tyrant. And Hal appeared to be no better. And now she was forced to do Julian's dirty work. Rumor had it Mr. Hannigan had asked his lawyers to join him at this meeting with Hal, probably because they, too, could see the handwriting on the wall. Hal needed to be brought under control, and with Fanci's boss being as slimy as he was, she wouldn't doubt that Julian had known about the meeting before giving her Hal as a client. More than likely Julian hadn't wanted to deal with the matter and so he'd sent her in to take the rap.
"You trying to get a job with James Hannigan Enterprises?" the cabdriver asked.
"Actually, no," she said, glancing out at the landscape.
"You a reporter or something?"
Who was this guy? The FBI? "Actually, no," she said, hoping that he'd get the message that she didn't want to talk. She should probably take another look at Hal's contract with JHE. She'd pretty much memorized its various clauses on the way down to Charlotte, but it never hurt to take a second look.
"Not much of a JHE fan, myself," the cabdriver said. George was his name, at least according to the Operator's Permit that hung on the dashboard.
The snaps of Fanci's brand-new briefcase flicked open too fast and caught her thumb. She gasped in pain, instantly sucking it into her mouth.
Ow, ow, ow.
"I think James Hannigan is a jerk," George continued. "And that new guy they hired, Hal Jordan, he's even worse."
"I know," Fanci murmured. Boy, did she ever know. She pulled out a legal-sized document, one that was at least twenty pages long.
"Don't know what Mr. Hannigan was thinking hiring that jerk. I heard he mouthed off to some of the drivers last season."
"Yeah?" she said, her eyes skimming the first page. Terms, indemnity and termination. Those were the clauses on the first page.
"Yeah," the man said. "Apparently he called—"
Fanci's seat belt slammed into her shoulder.
"What the hell?" her driver yelled, braking as if a herd of elephants blocked him. "What does that jerk think he's doing?"
Fanci looked up, just in time to see a foreign-looking car swerve in front of the cab to the shoulder of the road. The cabdriver did the same out of self-defense. Both vehicles ended up sliding onto the gravel easement.
"Was he trying to avoid hitting something?" Fanci asked, turning to peer behind them.
"No…"
Fanci heard the man gasp.
"I don't believe it," George said.
"I know," Fanci said, facing forward again. "The way people drive always amazes me, too. But this is nothing. You should see New York."
George didn't reply. Fanci wondered if he was having heart problems or something—shock could do that to a person. She glanced out the front window, and the reason for George's speechlessness became immediately apparent.
Hal Jordan walked toward the cab.
"Oh, crap," she muttered. "What the heck does he want?"
"You know him?" George asked.
"Unfortunately, yes," she said, watching as Hal crossed to her side of the car.
He opened the door. "I need to talk to you," Hal said.
"So you ran my cab off the side of the road?"
"I wanted to talk to you right away."
"And you couldn't call my cell phone?"
"I don't have it."
Oh. That's right.
"You could have waited until we arrived at JHE."
His shoulders slumped. It was strange, because Fanci could see the fight just drain right out of him.
"I'm sorry." He said the words quickly. It was as if he had to get them out fast before he lost the ability to say them. "I should have just waited until we arrived at JHE. I'll just meet you there…"
He turned away and Fanci found herself calling, "No wait," before she could think better of it. He looked so much like a remorseful schoolboy that she couldn't resist asking, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
He didn't answer right away. She waited. Out on the road a car whizzed by. She watched as the wind from its passing caused a lock of his hair to fall over one eye. He flicked it away impatiently.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I have this horrible temper. I need to learn to control it better. It's not your fault Julian switched things up. I shouldn't have snapped like that."
Fanci glanced at the cabdriver. The guy's eyes were glued to his rearview mirror, as if he were watching daytime TV.
"Hang on," she said, slipping out of the car. They'd stopped near a wooded area, Fanci's heels sinking into gravel and the wet earth as she moved a safe distance away from the side of the road. Hal followed. When she turned back to him, she crossed her arms in front of her.
"I think you're right," she said. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."
"We did," he said with a nod. "I'm not the easiest person to work with. I know that. It's just that Julian switching things up without even calling me really made me mad. I'm sorry I took it out on you."
Fanci released a breath that was pure relief. "Well, if it's any consolation, Julian's pretty good at stepping on toes."
"I can see that."
She looked away. To be honest, she had to shift her gaze to somewhere else because Hal with kindness in his eyes was a Hal that made her legs turn into spaghetti noodles.
"Apology accepted."
His gaze settled on the cab. "You sure you don't want to ride with me to JHE?" he asked.
"No sense in wasting a cab fare."
She didn't want to ride with him. That meant sharing a car. Being close to him. Having a conversation with him.
"That's okay," she said quickly.
"You sure?" he asked. "Seems kind of silly to take two cars when mine's right there."
She glanced at his car. It was bright red, low-slung and it looked more as if it belonged on the Autobahn than city streets. White racing stripes intersected its middle—like a giant, white equal sign. Probably an expensive import of some sort.
She jerked upright.
"Hey," she said. "You're not supposed to be driving foreign cars."
"Relax," he said. "It's a make of my sponsored manufacturer. I'm legal."
"Oh," she said, and for some reason, she had a hard time meeting his gaze.
"Come on," he said. "I'll give you a ride."
"No, no. That's okay."
"I insist," he said, his big hand cupping her back.
Fanci just about jerked away. She looked up at him in shock, but only for a moment because she couldn't look him in the eye…again.
Curse it all, she thought, she couldn't possibly find him attractive?
No way.
But she did.
It didn't matter that five minutes ago she'd been muttering expletives that included his name. It didn't matter that he'd tried to get her fired. A rush of purely irrational and completely unexpected lust caused her body to tingle in places it had no business tingling, heat that radiated out from the very spot where his palm rested against the small of her back.
Which just went to show how completely illogical the human brain could be where sexual attraction was concerned.
"Come on," he said. "We'll go tell the cabdriver his services aren't needed anymore."
She didn't want to tell the cabdriver anything. She wanted to get in the yellow car and take off. The sooner the better.
But she knew if she kept on protesting, it would seem odd. Just as she knew there was a part of her—a tiny part—that wanted to be alone with Hal. Even if it was for the fifteen-minute drive to JHE's headquarters.
"We won't be needing your services anymore," Hal said to the driver, taking his hand away from the small of Fanci's back so he could reach for his wallet. "Here, let me get you some money."
"Actually, that's really not necessary, Mr. Jordan," the cabbie said. "Really. We've only gone a few miles."
"Yeah, but you would have gone a whole lot farther if I haven't stopped you. Here," he repeated, handing George a twenty-dollar bill. "I insist."
"Thanks, Mr. Jordan."
Hal had just found himself a new fan, Fanci thought, using her briefcase as a shield in front of her. The cabdriver even went so far as to call out, "Good luck at the race this weekend."
Unbelievable.
He placed his hand in the small of her back again. Fanci just about closed her eyes.
You have the hots for him.
"Come on," he said, and when Fanci looked up at his smiling face, Fanci knew it was true.
She very definitely had the hots for him. "You're going to love my car."
He opened the passenger-side door, the smell of new car filling the air, and then he touched her again, helping her into the car with a guiding hand.
Oh, lord.
She noticed then that he had creases that branched out from the edges of his eyes. And that he had rock-star hair—the strands swept back from his head and left long and wavy around the nape of his neck. And that he had a way of looking at her that made her feel exposed and vulnerable and wishing she was naked with him.
And that, miraculously, she'd started to like him.