"Need a hand with that, sweetheart?"

Rain was pouring down across Gotham City, drowning the streets in an endless cloud of grey abyss. Roads were backed up with cars and their blinding taillights and the subways were bustling with miserable faces and tired conversations that mumbled lost thoughts and aimless suggestions.

A restaurant in the Old Town was alive with rich aristocrats and hot-headed tradesman that looked into the eyes of the women sat opposite them, only to see nothing but numbers rolling across their faces.

The sweetheart in question had grown tired of her conversation being constantly interrupted, irritated by every sentence being cut short by someone else walking by their table and saying less than five words before pulling up a chair beside her.

After an hour and a half of enduring it and having her table grow by three men that had outstayed their welcome the moment they sat down, she tossed down her napkin and stormed outside with her purse in her hand, pulling a cigarette from a metal case once she found shelter around the side of the building.

The wind howled as she flicked the blue lighter with her thumb, the flame never holding out long enough to light the end of the thin cigarette that hung from her red lips.

"No, thank you."

She didn't look up to see who the deep voice belonged to, hoping he'd get the message and leave he alone before she lost what little temper she had left that night. Only clearly, she was out of luck.

"You sure? You look like you're struggling. Need a man's touch, hm?"

The way he grabbed her was subtle but his fingertips burned her wrist. Her intent to rip her arm away from his hand was stopped by the sensation of another touching the side of her neck.

She looked at him then, batting her lashes once to meet a pair of pale blue eyes that reminded her of a sky she hadn't seen since setting foot on the island, something she would've missed had they not been on the face of a sickly man with a powdery cologne and a cheap watch.

"Get your hands off me."

He just laughed, tilting his head as his eyes crawled across her face slowly, down her neck where the veins of his hand squeezed gently, across her chest and down to her waist.

"Don't be so shy. Here, let me light that cigarette for you."

With a menacingly dark smirk he grabbed the cigarette with his teeth, pulling it from between her lips before spitting it onto the ground and shifting his hand from her neck to her face, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"I said, get your hands off me."

"I heard you," he chuckled, his light eyes darkening, "But I want to know what you're going to do about it."

She drew in a long breath, rolling her eyes while he continued to hold her face in his hand, "If you don't get off me right now, you'll end up at the bottom of the Gotham River with your head chained to your feet by sunrise."

He scoffed, kissing his teeth with a shake of his head, "Is that any way to talk to a man? Did your Daddy not teach you any manners?"

She smiled then, eyes curving up with a flash of something sinister that unsettled him for just a moment, "My daddy taught me a lot of things. Now would you like to keep your balls, if you even have any at all?"

He drew in a sharp breath when he felt the edge of a blade press against his groin, eyes widening as he swallowed hard, exhaling with a shaky laugh as he attempted to keep his composure.

"Y-you wouldn't, you little bitch you-"

"Everything alright down here?"

Almost instantaneously he released her face from his grip and jumped back, stumbling over his own feet as he straightened his tie and dinner jacket, running a hand through the strands of hair pulled out of place by the rain as an embarrassed heat flooded his cheeks.

"Mr Wayne," he said with a light laugh, "I was just, just talking to uh..."

She flicked her knife away discretely, slipping it back into her purse and pulling out another cigarette. That time, lighting it with an elegant ease as the rain fell from the ledge of the short shelter above her head.

"Out here in the rain? Your suit looks like Dolce, she can't be worth ruining that, surely?"

With a roll of her eyes she took a drag of her cigarette, watching with a disgruntled impression tugging on the corners of her lips as the man proceeded to excitedly shake the hand of Mr Wayne, turning over his shoulder to glare at her a few seconds before he disappeared around the corner.

She smoked in her own silence for a long moment, the echo of patent leather shoes on the cobbled alleyway drawing closer to her and the rain continuing to bleed from the clouds interrupting her peace once more.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

She looked up from her cigarette, flicking ash onto the ground as she held it delicately between two fingers.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said coldly, "I had it under control."

"Didn't look like you had it under control."

She narrowed her eyes, "His suit was Armani, not Dolce. And I most definitely am worth ruining a suit for, regardless of how expensive it is. Can I help you?"

Mr Wayne stared at her blankly. She had a heart-shaped face with almond, honey shaded eyes and straight brows that lifted her cheekbones and shadowed her jaw. Her hair was blacker than the sky above their heads and as the rain poured for the twelfth day straight, she shook a single drop from the end of her fingers and shuffled away from a gap in the metal shelter.

"I haven't seen you in here before, what's your name?"

"Carla," she replied, blowing smoke from pouted lips.

"Just Carla? Got a last name?"

"Carla not good enough for you?"

His lips curved into a small smile as he traced her face, eyes falling to the expensive diamonds that graced her neck and the red-soled high heels that lifted her five inches from the ground. She was sporting an inoffensive black mini dress that fit her perfectly but didn't hint towards any expense, though the purse that she swayed carelessly from her fingertips had a price tag of thirty-thousand dollars.

He knew plenty of women that dressed in garments and accessories that cost just as much as the ones as she was adorning that evening, but that was the thing, he knew all of them.

"I feel like I'd remember seeing a pretty thing like you before, that's all."

She raised her brows mockingly, "I thought I wasn't worth getting a suit wet for, Mr Wayne? Now I'm a pretty thing, hm?"

"Alright," he said in defeat, nodding in acceptance with his hands in his pockets as he pushed back his shoulders, "Who are you dining with tonight? Maybe I'll know them instead."

"Maybe you will. You know the Commissioner?"

"Commissioner Gordon?" He said, an inquisitive look cocking a brow and peaking his interested.

She looked him up and down the same way he'd done to her, not attempting to hide he stare that carved its way across a chiselled, clean-shaven jaw and sunken cheekbones. His eyes were sleek and hair slicked back, an expensive watch on his wrist and a silver signet ring on his thumb. He was handsome, she was humble enough to admit that, but the way he stood out in the rain and let it's droplets soak through a custom-fit Brioni suit told her that he knew he was handsome.

"Yeah."

He frowned, "You don't look like the type to be dining in my restaurant with the Commissioner."

Her phone buzzed inside her purse and she quickly turned her attention away from the stranger to check her text, sighing when she read it and tossing the phone back into the bottom of her purse.

"Oh it's your restaurant, is it?" She asked, pausing while he tilted his head with a shrug, "Then tell your chef that my salmon was undercooked."

"I can take you to him if you want, get him to cook you a new dish. Get you seated at a better table, too. Did Commissioner Gordon have any complaints?"

An echo of loud voices could be heard stumbling down the steps of the restaurant from around the corner and a few moments later, Carla watched as the taillights of a car with blacked out windows reversed to the edge of the alleyway.

"I wouldn't know," she said, dropping her cigarette on the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of her high heel, brushing past the man soaked to the bone with a smile before tugging on the handle of the car door and slipping into the backseat, "I didn't dine with the Commissioner. Goodnight, Mr Wayne."

an;;
ahhh new book!!! I'm so excited to write this, it's something brand new to me as I've never written a Bruce Wayne fic before and I cannot wait to get rolling with the updates. I hope you enjoyed this short first chapter, there'll be plenty more coming very soon!!