Billion Dollar Vengeance

Chapter 3: Wrong Thing To Do

"Oh, my God! What happened to your face?"

Carly nearly shouts at me as we get out of the van at Wayne manor. Until now, I've been driving the van, and the big purple and yellow bruise on my swollen jaw is on the left side.

"Oh." I roll my eyes. "No big deal. Just had a little tussle with a mugger. He wasn't armed so I didn't cooperate."

The two girls stare at me wide eyed. "That's badass," Stella mutters.

My half smile is more like a grimace I'm sure. If only I had a mere run in with some scrawny drophead looking for cash. Thankfully, Miss Dory comes out to greet us, saving me from any further explanation or detailed account of my night.

"Good morning, ladies." She smiles warmly until she sees my jaw. She doesn't say a thing, but her expression grows stern.

"Hey, Miss Dory. Any special instructions?" My heart starts to beat a little fast. In all the chaos last night, I entirely forgot my encounter with Bruce Wayne yesterday. But it comes rushing back now. The pointed stares and personal questions. Not to mention the warmth of his proximity, in contrast with the cold shadow I shared personal space with last night. I didn't get near enough sleep to talk to Bruce Wayne today without dissolving my polite exterior.

Her expression warms. "Just the usual. No Mr. Wayne's room."

Of course. But at least that means he's home. Though the odds are slim that he can't sleep two mornings in a row. I clear my throat to clear my thoughts. "We'll tackle the guest wing and the library today, then."

Miss Dory totters back to the house as we finish unloading our gear and get inside. I send the girls to the guest wing of the house, which has its own living space and bar along with several bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. They never get used, so there's not much to do besides dusting and vacuuming. And I head to the library by myself, feeling stupid and expectant at the same time.

Something horrible happened to me and Jenna last night. It could have gone much, much worse, but it was still bad and terrifying. And my way of coping with it is to pine after two men I can't have. Two men I shouldn't want. I could at least pair it down to one. But the masked vigilante hardly counts as a man. He's more like an elusive shadow. I get the sense he doesn't even have a phone number.

Yet here I am, dusting old books and contemplating if it's about time I rent a lift again to dust the chandeliers in the spaces that have obnoxiously tall ceilings in between thoughts of two different intense stares. I keep the music turned down in my headphones in a secret hope that I'll get company today. But after an hour, I've ridden the library ladders to dust off all the top shelves of books. Climbing down, I get to work dusting the lower levels that I can reach without the ladder. 

A low voice says my name right in my ear from behind. I yelp, jumping and spinning, dropping my duster and raising my fists, ready to swing even as a sharp pain shoots up the one I used to punch last night. But big hands wrap around my balled fingers as I come face to face with Bruce Wayne.

Breath rushes out of my lungs, my heart pounding in my chest. I rip my headphones out and shove them in my pocket as I look at his pallid face and serious expression. "I didn't know you knew my name." It's the only coherent thought in my head.

He ignores my breathy words as his blue eyes travel over my face. His jaw clenches as he focuses on my own jaw. Then his hand reaches up, and with one finger, grazes gently over the swollen bruise. I blink, my entire body flushing with goosebumps. He smells clean and oaky, his long straight hair brushed away from his face. He looks more tired than he did yesterday, but much more put together.