Sorry for the delay on this chapter! I hope you enjoy it, though.
Chapter Three
Punctual
After a few hours, the quiet humming of my computer slowly lulled me into a deep sleep. My head was resting on my keyboard, my nose pressing gently on the letter "N". I suppose I was more tired than I had originally thought. Before drifting off into a nap, I had written down all the important details of the charity event from a little earlier.
A knock on my office door woke me with a start. The keyboard had left an impression on my face; it began to grow more and more red. "Uh, come in," I said drowsily. Looking at my clock, I noticed the time—12:45 p.m. I should have gone home hours ago.
Ricky walked in. "Bertinelli, are you stupid or something? You didn't go home, did you?" His arms were crossed in front of his chest and he leaned against the open door.
"I had planned on it. But that didn't really work out." He finally took recognition of my face and what the keyboard had done to me while I was asleep.
"Out of all the places to sleep in here, you decided to use your keyboard as a pillow. You have one of the best offices on this floor, next to mine, of course. There's a couch in here, along with two very comfortable chairs. Not to mention you have your own house to sleep in."
"I had a lot of stuff I needed to get done." He pushed himself off the door and walked behind my desk, looking at my computer.
"Really? Like typing 87 pages of nothing but N's?"
"Shut up," I mumbled. Ricky chuckled to himself and began to exit my office, but stopped before he reached the door.
"I had this crazy notion that you were actually going home last night. You know: to clean yourself up. You also said that you'd call Bruce Wayne in the morning. It's now 12:47. Instead, he's decided to call my office half a dozen times in the past hour alone. I couldn't keep blowing him off, so he's coming in to speak with you personally. He's a very punctual guy: when he says he's going to be here at 1:30, it means he's going to be here at 1:00. That's just how he is. If I were you, I'd clean myself up a bit. And do something with that hair—it looks like it's been glued down in a matted…mess."
"Ricky, I really don't understand how your wife puts up with you." He grinned before exiting my office.
"Clean up…use the restroom sink if you have to. I'm sure you have spare clothes around here somewhere…hell—you're still in your dress." He shook his head and closed the door behind him, returning to his own office.
I sighed, rubbing my eyes and slouching in my chair. There was a compartment in my desk used specifically as my "clothes drawer". I even labeled it with a Post-It note. Inside I had a pair of black pants, blue jeans, a green blouse and a red hoodie. If Bruce Wayne was coming in to my office, then I'd definitely need to dress in my office attire. I quickly grabbed the blouse and black pants, running toward the restroom.
Precisely 20 minutes later, I had exited with my hair slicked back into a ponytail, dress in hand, fresh clothes on, and newly applied makeup. I was "decent", as Ricky would put it.
Opening the door to my office, I gasped in surprise. Inside Ricky and Bruce Wayne were seated in my chairs, looking somewhat amused.
"You were supposed to call." It was all I could do not to turn away in embarrassment. I smiled a somewhat gaping smile and shook my head.
"I'm sorry about that. It was—I had—something came up."
"Yes, of course. Sleeping can sometimes inconvenience things."
Ricky patted the arms of the chair, raising his eyebrows. Quickly he got up and sighed. "Well, I'll let you two have at it. There's no need for a third party." He exited my office, closing the door behind him, not once looking at me. He knew what he was receive if he did: the death glare. It was either that, or a slap to the head.
I sat down on my computer chair and quickly began busying myself around the desk. Papers needed stacking, a pencil needed sharpening, and things needed to be locked away in the desk drawers. "So…Mr. Wayne."
"Ms. Bertinelli."
"How did you enjoy your night?"
He stretched back in his chair. "It went over quite well. I met a lot of interesting people. It was just unfortunate that you had to leave early from the festivities."
I chortled. "Well, like I said earlier: sometimes, things just come up." My nerves finally calmed down to where I was able to act normal once again. I was no longer fidgeting at my desk. "So…interesting people, you say?"
"Yes: one man by the name of Benjamin Hawks. He seemed to take a keen interest in my actions." Quickly I shot a glance at him and before he could continue on his monologue, I interrupted.
"Benjamin…Benjamin Hawks? An older man, balding, with a woman latched onto his side?"
Bruce gave me a puzzling look. "Yes…you met him?"
"Let's just say you aren't the only one he took a keen interest in. He's quite an odd man—very intelligent when it comes to people and socialites—but very odd, indeed. I only met him last night and already he seemed to know so much about me."
"Such as?"
"Well, for example…last year I left the company for a while to travel. I went to Europe, specifically Italy. I didn't tell anyone but my boss. But even then, Ricky wouldn't have said a word to anyone about it…Now that I think about what he said, it's not that odd. After all, Lucius Fox asked about the same thing last night."
"You are a rather well known reporter. Someone like you doesn't just disappear from the spotlight unnoticed."
"Sort of like you, right Mr. Wayne? I recall that people thought you were dead for quite a while."
"Well, that's true. What were you doing in Europe?"
I gazed at him, narrowing my eyes. He was keeping the focus on me. It was compelling. "I was traveling. And you? What were you doing all those years?"
He paused, smiling at me. "Traveling."
"I see." There was an uneasy silence between the two of us. I was reading him while at the same time, he was reading me. But I refused to let myself be unnerved by this man.
"So…any good stories you've been working on?"
"Yes, actually." I pulled a file under a stack of papers. "This one seems to be taking an interesting twist. The citizens and police are calling this guy the "Joker". Apparently he's become quite popular: seven homicides where he has left his calling card, four burglaries, and two assaults. Ricky doesn't want me to delve any deeper into it, though."
"Really? Why not?"
"He says 'even for me, it's too dangerous'. This guy has a lot of connections to the crime rings in Gotham. And, like you said, I'm in the spotlight…just as you are. You have to be careful what you say, write, or print. Word spreads like wildfire around here."
He laughed. "That's true. Not to change the subject, but I'm on a strict schedule today."
Gasping, I answered, "Sorry about that. It's so easy to get sidetracked. Um…the interview." While pulling out my planner, I yawned deeply.
"You didn't go home last night, did you?"
"No," I replied, shaking my head. "I stayed here, working." There was a pause in our conversation. "What day are you available?"
"Any day this week, perhaps later in the afternoon. That way, I'm not at Wayne Enterprises working, and I can…get home before it's too late."
"How's Friday—say…7:00 p.m.?"
"We can grab dinner if you want."
This caught me by surprise. Was he perhaps asking me out on a date? "That sounds…reasonable," I hesitated. "But it's strictly a business meaning."
"Of course," he laughed. "What'd you think it was? A date?" I smiled at him, unblinking. I couldn't read this guy, no matter how hard I tried. "Just don't expect me to pay for your meal. Even though I'm rich, it doesn't mean you can take advantage of me."
I wasn't smiling anymore. He had just insulted me without even realizing it. "Mr. Wayne, it might be best if you leave soon. Your ego is too big for my office."
He stopped smiling as well. "Bertinelli, it was a joke—I didn't mean anything by it. I'll pay for it, my treat."
"No, thank you, Wayne. May I suggest McDonald's? I might not be able afford anything else."
He sighed and paused for a moment. Anything he said would only anger me further. "I didn't mean to say that you couldn't afford anything."
"You instigated it, and that's enough to set me off. You don't know the first thing about me, Bruce."
"So we're on a first name basis, now? Fine, Helena…why don't you tell me about yourself."
This conversation wasn't where I wanted it to go. If this were a year ago, Bruce Wayne would be sprawled out on the floor with a bloody lip and black eye. I wouldn't hesitate for a moment to attack this guy. Perhaps that's just a basic example of how things have changed for me over time. I've learned patience and how to control my anger. But having the richest man in Gotham insult me in my office wasn't helping matters.
"Friday, 7:00. Pick me up from my office."
"So, you don't want to talk about yourself, then."
"You said you were on a strict schedule."
"Strict, but flexible."
"That's a total contradiction."
The smile appeared again. I was still aggravated. "It'll be fine if I'm late for a few minutes. Besides, it's my company. I can show up for work whenever I want."
"Of course, you can."
"And for some reason, I get the distinct feeling that you're not a fan of people who are…"
"Are what?" I folded my arms across my chest.
"Let's just say…who are well off." He imitated me, folding his arms across his chest and slouching in his chair.
"You mean rich people. People like you?"
"Something like that."
"You know, insulting me twice in one day isn't the wisest thing in the world to accomplish."
"I'm not trying to insult you. I'm trying to make conversation."
"That, or psychoanalyze me. What are you trying to get out of this? Some deeper meaning—understanding? If that's the case, then believe me: there's nothing under the surface that hasn't already been exposed."
"I seriously doubt that. We all have our secrets."
"Including you."
"Especially me." Bruce sat up straight. "I'm just trying to figure out, as of right now, why I'm getting the cold shoulder from you."
I was tired. Extremely tired. And it wasn't necessarily from the lack of sleep. There was only so much one could take from Bruce Wayne. "Is there anything in particular that I need to bring or wear on Friday?"
He leaned back. "A nice gown and yourself, of course. We won't be going to McDonald's, I assure you. Oh, and bring anything else you'll need for the interview, I suppose."
"I'm pretty sure I can manage that," I replied sarcastically. "Good day, Mr. Wayne."
"Kicking me out already? That's fine." Bruce stood up. "Good day, Helena."
With that, he walked out of my office, shutting the door behind him. I rubbed my eyes and sighed deeply, ready to pull out my hair. I opened my email, checking for any replies or messages. There were none, so I decided to email back to Marcello.
Marcello,
Thanks for the email. Whenever you can get your scanner to work is fine. I appreciate the work you've put into this. Here's a name I'd like to throw out there: Benjamin Hawks. See if you can find anything for me. I've heard the name a few times here and there, and last night at a social gathering, he even approached me. I'd appreciate it.
And I'd love to visit you again soon: maybe a few months from now. Say hello to the family for me.
Love always,
Helena
Everyone should review because they love me...and I have nothing better to look forward to. :) Sorry if there are any mistakes that I didn't catch. I'm really sleepy.
BTW, if you didn't catch who was staring at her in the last chapter, it was Benjamin Hawks. Sorry once again if I didn't make it that clear.
One final note: for those of you who are not familiar with the comic books. Helena Bertinelli is an actual character. If you really want to know what happened, you can just go on Wikipedia or something and look it up...or you can keep reading! wink wink