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The ball glittered.
In the privacy of her own mind, Selina liked to toss around outdated words like 'cotillion,' but the meaning of the word debutante had changed since the nineteenth century, or whenever Regency novels were set. They were probably even more annoying now, actually. Not having the excuse of being teenagers. But the ball—in the ballroom of Wayne Manor, on one of the only nights of the year guests were permitted behind the security measures—did glitter, with chandelier and champagne and jewels and a lot of really ugly beaded trim that was apparently fashionable this year for some reason.
She'd bowed to fashion in the cut of her gown, of course, but ignored the swing toward the rococo in favor of fine black silk, accentuated at wrist and throat with diamonds.
She stared vaguely at the emeralds around the fat neck of a red-faced woman whose name she couldn't be bothered to remember, and thought about temptation. It had been years since she'd felt compelled to steal from her fellow guests at these events. She still did it, sometimes, but mostly only when she saw something she really wanted for herself. Fencing pretties for a fraction of their value was irritating and unsatisfying. She much preferred working on commission.
That didn't dismiss the itch to take advantage of the fact that she was behind Wayne Manor's security systems. Breaking into this place was the kind of challenge that only idiots took for its own sake, but she was already inside. She could slip upstairs, have a poke around, liberate something small, and be gone long before anyone noticed there'd been a theft. They'd certainly never pin it on her.
It wasn't worth it. She knew that. Though sometimes maintaining Selina Kyle's social calendar by accepting engagements that didn't coincide with commissioned work started to seem like a burden. Parties were much more invigorating when she had an ulterior motive for attendance.
Of course, you couldn't slip off and steal from the host when he was walking right toward you.
"Miss Kyle," he greeted, in the deep voice he used to command attention from his listeners. He wasn't a bad public speaker, but Selina was of the opinion he was at his best in a small gathering. He presumably dominated Wayne Industries board meetings sufficiently there might as well not be a board of directors. You certainly couldn't tell there was from the public behavior of the company.
She showed her dimple. "Oh, it's Selina, please. You've known me for years."
"And I couldn't help but notice that you're not dancing. Not bored, I hope?"
"Never by your party, Bruce. Though my partners…well."
He shook his head, as though gravely disappointed by the quality of men he had managed to acquire as guests, as well he might be, and took her hand from the table beside her champagne flute. "Well, then. May I have this dance?"
Selina replied with a dazzling smile, and made no attempt to reclaim her hand. "But of course. Always a pleasure, Bruce."
They'd danced before; they moved in the same circles, after all, when she was in Gotham or their paths intersected in DC or Paris, and Selina Kyle was the sort of woman who stayed on the right side of men like Bruce Wayne, at least so long as it cost her nothing. Even so, they had never had much more than the polite minimum of contact over the years; he was too smart to ever be the kind of mark she played with at length, and too dangerous to cross for fun—besides the resources he could bring to bear in his own right, it was widely known, in the way of unprovable open secrets, that he was involved somehow with the Owl, who had less actual power but also far fewer restrictions to contend with. Selina preferred to cultivate clientele rather than enemies, where she could.
They stepped onto the dance floor as a lively waltz sprung up. Both of them, of course, knew the steps perfectly, and he was one of the better partners she'd had tonight. He was very conscious and in control of his own body, making no accidental movements and never losing track of her, either. There was something tigerish enough, she reflected as she spun out to the end of their joined hands, about his grace and alertness to set him apart from most of the men here. If he were any less mixed up with dangerous people, she might set her cap at him for an evening, just for the fun of it.
Might. He probably wasn't the attentive type unless he wanted something from you. Or maybe if it was presented as a challenge.
He showed his tiger's teeth a little as he bent over her, tucked against his chest.
"I'd like to discuss a business proposition," he murmured into her ear. Aha.
Selina leaned back just enough to smile up at him, a lazy curl of her lips. "Business, Bruce?"
They broke apart in a brief spin as the music flared, and joined again. "I understood," Selina purred up into his ear, letting the hand on his shoulder wander inward, "that you let a certain nocturnal bird of prey handle all that sort of business for you."
"Well," replied the richest man in the world, holding her eyes like a lion, "I thought you deserved a…personal touch, Selina."
Meaning he wanted to make sure she understood he had just as much access to Kyle as Cat, probably, but it was still an expression of confidence in her ability to go uncaptured and keep her mouth shut, meeting with her in person. She held his eyes right back, because one cat she would never be was a lioness, but she smiled, because independence didn't have to be enmity.
The hand at her waist whirled her in a weightless circle, and she knew with satisfaction that they were best dancers on the floor. "You know how to make a lady feel valued, Bruce," she told him, resting her head coquettishly against his shoulder as the steps slowed again.
His smile was such a cold, deadly thing she wondered whether he was even aware that he looked as dangerous as he did gracious. No, not one to cross, this man. "I have my methods."
And that sounded like a threat even if he didn't mean it to. She bent an eyebrow up at him. "So?" she murmured through a quarter-turn. "Will I be receiving the specifications inside a delivery of fresh Atlantic salmon?"
He smiled again, but without mirth. "If your reputation can absorb the blow, I thought we might retire early, and discuss the details upstairs over a bottle of wine."
Selina raised her sculpted eyebrows and ran her fingernails over his shoulder, up over his collar to barely kiss against the skin. "Why Bruce," she purred, "what will your other guests think?"
Her reputation would suffer no noticeable harm, modern mores being what they were and she not being a blushing virgin, but his might acquire a new stain, if Selina Kyle vanished tonight. It wasn't really necessary—she was not afraid of Bruce Wayne—but she appreciated the courtesy of offering her some insurance. It showed respect. She liked that in a client.
"They will think that one of us is very lucky," he answered, and Selina chuckled. Well played.
So long as she never threatened his sense of control, she suspected, he would continue to be a perfect gentleman. She could play that game. Letting men feel powerful without giving them actual power over her was one of her oldest tricks. And if he ever did decide to demand things that were not his by right of hire, she had no doubt in her ability to lay him out and pull a quick withdrawal from the premises, though the underworld reprisals might be troublesome and bad for business, so she'd rather not have to.
As the waltz ended, and her partner kept hold of her arm to conduct her toward his table, she wondered what (or who) he wanted retrieved or destroyed that would lead him to bypass his feathered friend's resources and contact her directly.
If Wayne was going behind the Owl's back…well, she didn't think she could turn down being in the middle of that. Curiosity was her byword and her curse.
But the pay had better be excellent.