Chapter Text
He stares at himself in the mirror. Straightening the knot on the black tie to his black Tom Ford tuxedo. Bruce asked him to attend his latest philanthropic endeavor, a charity gala, at the Gotham Metropolitan Museum of Art. Every year they hosted an extravagant dinner party for the rich and famous to raise money for the annual fashion exhibition. He planned to skip the red carpet. Skip the actress that invited him as her escort, and if he could skip it all together, he preferred that. But he wanted to do right by Bruce. It was the least he could do for him since Bruce adopted him and essentially made him heir to the Wayne family legacy. The first of his duties, as an active board member of the Wayne Family Foundation, was to choose which philanthropic ventures the family would be donating to that year. While he preferred to donate to local group homes and after school programs, the Gotham Met Gala was essentially required attendance by the families on the board of the museum. His adopted one being one of those families.
He ran his fingers through his coarse dark brown hair and tried to tame the loose curls with a light moose, getting it as smooth as he could while making it look somewhat effortless. He took one last look in his bathroom mirror. He wasn’t that vain but it was a fashion gala, and ran down the stairs to meet Alfred in the kitchen.
“Looking good Master Grayson,” Alfred greets him.
“Why thank you Alfred!” He smiles at him brightly, excited to see what their estate manager prepared. Butler was too small of a title for all of what Alfred managed to do for them.
“Pre-gala meal?” Alfred asks all-knowingly.
“Yes what’s on the menu?” He asked excitedly.
“Chicken salad with cherry tomatoes on brioche bread.”
“Sounds perfect.” He perched on the island stool as Alfred slid a perfectly plated sandwich to him.
“And what’ll you be having to drink sir? Scotch?” He chuckles.
“Nan, too early for scotch. I know I’m not a social butterfly and could probably use the liquor to loosen me up, but maybe something light? Club soda?”
“Sure Master Grayson.” Alfred pours him club soda in a tumbler and then splashes a bit of gin in it. He shakes his head. “Can never be too sure sir. We need to make sure you charm like the Wayne you were raised to be.” Alfred pours himself a glass and taps their tumblers together in a toast. The splash of alcohol didn’t even give him the slight tingle of a buzz but he would try his best. There were never any guarantees.
She winced as the last of the buttons on the form fitting gown she was wearing was fastened. It fit her perfectly but he liked it snug to give her cleavage the extra lift. She looked like she was a body dipped in jewels with the deep brown illusion mesh matching her skin tone perfectly. The styling assistant slid her auburn and blonde perfectly coiffed, soft waves to one shoulder, as to not hide the daring neckline of her gown. Her makeup artist finished the final details with a bright gold eyeliner that framed her eye shape and dramatic lashes to emphasize her sparkling green eyes. Her beauty was mesmerizing and otherworldly. It was why Justin Cole, the designer, had chosen her for his muse. This was his biggest night as a designer and it was imperative that she look every bit of the perfection that he projected onto her. She didn’t usually mind the expectation of perfection, but her thoughts were somewhere else this evening. The assistant placed nude Jimmy Choo pumps on her feet and she was essentially ready to head out to the gala with him.
“Let me see your lips sweetie.” She turned her head to the artist who painted a deep seductive red color on her lips. Just then a warm hand touches the small of her back.
“You look divine, just as I imagined,” Justin whispers in her ear. She blushes under his touch.
“It’s all you’re doing honey. You’re a genius,” she gushes.
“But I’m not sure where all this creativity would go if I didn’t have you guiding me.”
‘We make a great team,” she beams at him.
“Absolutely.” He kisses her cheeks. “That is why you will beguile me and wear these Harry Winston diamonds tonight! Especially crafted for this dress and you.”
He opens the black box and clear white sparkling diamond chandelier earrings twinkle back at her. Her mouth salivates at their beauty. It included a diamond studded cuff to match. He brushes her hair back to expose her ears to him and her skin heats up at his close touch. After he clasp the chandelier earrings on and fixes the cuff to her wrist, she stares at her reflection.
“These are conflict free diamonds right Justin?” She asked, holding her breath, stroking the earrings, awaiting his answer.
“Of course darling. I remembered your stance on diamond mining. And that’s why they specifically made this set for you baby girl,” he reassures her.
“Perfect. You always think of everything. Ready?” She kisses him on the cheek as she grabs the trail of her dress to climb into the sprinter that would be taking them to the gala.
He pulls up to the gala entrance in his classic Porsche Speedster and tosses his keys to the valet.
“Don’t scratch her buddy.” Dick hands the valet a $100 bill and winks. “It’s a family heirloom.”
“Don’t worry bro. I got you.” The valet winks back at him and revs up the engine to taunt him. Dick shakes his head and turns toward the entrance. He was hoping to avoid the red carpet for this event, but it looked like the main entrance was his only choice.
“That’s Bruce Wayne’s son.”
“He’s handsome.”
“He’s single.”
“What a come up.”
He hears the reporters blatant chatter. It was not like they were trying to be coy about it. His cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment at the attention, but he tries to keep his focus on the front doors and not at the media frenzy outside.
“Mister Grayson. Mister Grayson over here.”
He was shocked someone knew his name and actually broke his stride to see who. He spotted a young reporter and camera sticking a microphone out to him.
“A word with us Mr. Grayson please,” the reporter shined a friendly smile in his direction. Fuck, he did promise Alfred he would make a good impression for the family name. This could be an opportunity. He walks over slowly to face the cameras.
“Right here Mr. Grayson, stand at this marker.” The cameraman directs him. He stands where he is told and poses for the picture.
“Wonderful, you’re a natural!”
“Thank you sir,” he replies shyly. He feels his face flush again at the compliment but stays put for the reporter.
“Mr. Grayson, you look dapper this evening, who are you wearing?”
“Tom Ford.”
“Excellent choice and will Mr. Wayne be joining you this evening?”
“No, unfortunately Bruce is away on business, but I’m here on his behalf. Making sure we make a difference this evening with a donation from the Wayne Family Foundation.”
“Of course, and on fashion’s biggest night no less. Was there not a beautiful actress or model to be your date?” The reporter had finesse. Dick could only imagine the platinum blonde actress they could be referring to.
“No, no date for me this evening! Maybe I’ll have better luck next time,” He brushed the question off.
“Absolutely! Thank you for stopping by Mr. Grayson.”
“No problem. Enjoy your night.”
He nods and strolls into the entrance avoiding any press. One interview was more than enough.
She steps out of the sprinter gracefully to a flurry and flash of lights. She holds tightly to Justin’s arm as he guides her to the first marked position. She poses effortlessly. Smiling genuinely and answering questions as quickly as she can as she makes her way through the frenzy.
“Gorgeous work Justin!”
“Beautiful gown!”
"She is flawless!”
“You did it again Justin!”
She poses and Justin gives the details about his design and thanks the sponsor for their table that evening as they make their way through the doors. The whole procession lasts for about half an hour and she can’t wait to get inside even though she loves this job and being photographed in Justin’s creation. Something else was nagging for her attention.
He kisses her on the cheek for one of the cameras and the crowd cheers and she smiles at him brightly. For the most part, they tried to keep public displays of affection to a minimum. Although their relationship had been rumored and all but confirmed for the past ten years of them working together. Justin discovered her. She was a tall, lanky, awkward, immigrant teenager, who had just arrived in New York City, accepted into New York University to study archaeology and anthropology of African civilizations, when she bumped into him in the subway. He was immediately captured by her deep brown skin, her naturally auburn red hair, and ethereal green eyes. He had never seen a woman like her and there was no way he was going to let her out of his sight again.
Over coffee, she told him she had never thought about modeling, before she met him. That her interests were in the history and the future of West African nations and how she could further protect them from past and future threats of colonization. He convinced her of the ambassador role and goodwill she could do with the access modeling could afford her. His charm and ability to relate to her was his super power and soon after she became the face of all of his campaigns, his fit model, and the finale model for his shows during the formative years of his line. Eventually, after their business relationship started to become their primary focus, he wanted her to leave school but she refused. As soon as his brand became profitable and more well known, so did she as a super model.
Her final year of undergrad, she did a five page spread for British Vogue. Flying from London, to her NYU graduation within the same 24 hours. The more she and Justin worked together, the more romantic the relationship grew, organically. Outside of her academic pursuits, she was highly interested in fashion and the sourcing of fabrics, materials, and embellishments of garments. She also spoke multiple languages and it became useful for his business. She wanted to pursue a graduate degree but love, adoration, fame, and money led her to travel the world with Justin instead, modeling not just for him but other world renown designers, building a name for herself with his blessing. In between work, she made time to tour museums. Learning about their acquisitions and where they came from, and taking meticulous notes. Gotham Metropolitan held some of the best assets anywhere in the world. She would do her job as Justin’s partner and muse tonight, pose for endless photographs, speak highly of the brand and Justin’s talent. If she just so happened to use this opportunity to her advantage, who could blame her.
He could care less about fashion. He left the schmoozing, brown nosing, and wandering eyes downstairs and aimlessly meandered into the special collection for ancient African art. He stared at the jewelry of an ancient dignitary and wondered how it came to live in a glass box in Gotham. Abruptly, the sound of a slow paced strut in heels hitting the polished floor of the museum interrupted his introspection. He looks up and sees a woman dressed in an evening gown with mile long legs peeking out of a high slit and soft nude fabric covered in crystals that draped down her svelte body. Her dark brown skin was highlighted and glowing in the dim light of the closed part of the museum. She gets closer and he can’t help but to notice her emerald green eyes, and cascading auburn blonde hair. He assumes she is probably one of those models that works for some pervy designer that wanted to parade her around the event like a show piece.
“Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be here.” She apologizes quickly once she realized she was interrupting his alone time.
“No worries. I didn’t think anyone would either. Yet here we are,” he shrugs casually, never being good at mingling or small talk.
“Here we are.” She repeats and smiles back to him brightly, her teeth so bright it nearly blinds him. He takes a sip of his brandy to stop himself from saying something stupid.
“You enjoy African art?” Her curiosity of him getting the best of her.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call this art. More like acquiring stolen assets.” He answers confidently. She snorts at his comment.
“To think, I thought you were some loner rich boy, attempting to segment yourself away from the elitists in the basement. So you agree that these assets were stolen. What brings you here then?”
“To think, I thought you were just a beautiful face in a stunning dress. They were. So what brings you here?”
“You first,” her eyebrow raises in challenge and intrigue at his ability to deflect her inquisition.
“Just trying to make a difference on my father’s behalf,” he waves his hand in surrender and annoyance.
“Make a difference. Hmm. How?” She purses her lips, still not convinced by his resignation and perceived disdain with the entire evening. Although something about his sentiment felt familiar to her.
“Money. Lots of it.” He leans in and whispers like it was a secret. She smelled like honey, spice, and citrus. It was a bit intoxicating. Any closer and he could see himself drowning in it.
“What if I told you there is another better way to do that?” Her internal wheels began to spin after his confession. He gave off the air of warmth and earnestness and it made her want to trust him, immediately. Where her internal alarms would usually be blaring around rich white men, they were silent for him. Based on his tone, he seemed ashamed that he had lots of money.
“What’s better than money? That’s what this whole event is about right?” He visibly recoiled. Her intuition was right.
“This event is a facade and tax write off for the wealthy at the end of the day. Nobody is actually benefiting from any of this shit.” She rolls eyes.
“Tell me more,” he encourages her further. Not just a beautiful face playing dress up, he was right.
“Hmm.” She sized him up. “Meet me at the corner of 44th and Parkway in an hour.”
“Why there?”’ It was literally around the block from where they were.
“I’m going to teach you about real philanthropy.”
When a beautiful woman gives him instructions, he would be a fool not to follow them. He feels like an idiot waiting behind an alley, but at least he could protect her if she was in trouble. After five minutes of pacing and checking his phone map to make sure he was in the right location, he hears the same slow paced walk but this time in a sturdy heeled-boot. Was breathing in his vicinity, a keen interest in museum artifacts, and begrudging the elite, all it took for him to follow a lady into the dark? It just wasn’t very smart, but he always had a thing for dangerous women. And there she was standing in front of him, with long ash red cornrows that swayed along her waist, a skin tight black bodysuit that alternated between what appeared as flesh between the fabric. Every curve was on display, making his mouth water and her heeled rubber combat boots, though practically impractical, made her look even more alluring. His mind began turning trying to figure out how quickly she was able to completely change her look from earlier.
“I see you made it Rich Boy,” her cheery voice almost didn’t match her alluring appeal.
“I did.” He swallows.
“Good. You said you had money right?”
“I did.” He smirks.
“Short with words. I kinda like that about you.” She walks closer to him and grabs his hand. He lets her take it. Whatever she wanted to do with him, he would let it happen with little protest.
She drops something heavy, soft, but cold in his palm.
“Meet me in London. Bring this with you.” She lowers his voice. She lets go of his hand carefully and he already missed the warmth of it. He turns over his palm. “No, don't open it here. Keep it safe and meet me in London, Rich Boy.”
“Where? When? I don’t even know your name.” He knows he sounds a bit desperate but this whole thing was kinda desperate. And he got the feeling, just as dangerous.
“You run a foundation that supports curatorial arts right? There’s a donors meeting in two days at The National Gallery. Get us an invite. Put Kory Anders on the list. And I’ll tell them I’m with who?” She raises her eyebrows at him encouragingly.
“Dick Grayson.”
“Dick, hmm, that’s short for something? Dickson? Dickens? Dickerson?” She giggles a bit.
“Richard.” He shakes his head and shares a dimpled smile at her attempt to joke.
“A rich boy named Richard, nicknamed Dick, fitting. See you in London, Richard,” she gives him a short wave.
“Wait Kory, where are you going?” If he was going to do this, he might as well lean all the way into desperation.
“Back to work Rich Boy.” She struts away into the dark.
Kory and Justin danced the night away at the after party. She changed out of her Theirry Mugler bodysuit and into her after party outfit, another Justin Cole original, a corseted bra top and jewel encrusted high waist trousers, shortly after meeting Richard.
She liked his name. She liked his demeanor and eagerness to help. She figured it was probably due to her looks. It was not unheard of, her getting men to do whatever she wanted. But he genuinely seemed interested in helping her and disinterested in preserving the integrity of the institution in which they met. That intrigued her more than she cared to admit. She could use someone with money, access, and quite frankly the white privilege to get her into venues that even her name and notoriety couldn’t afford her.
African models were more mainstream than ever. Yet most of them could not compete with her unique looks, but she was getting older, and even though she still appeared between the age of 22-25, a model pushing 30 was not the industry standard. No matter how successful her rumored/actual boyfriend was. She pushed thoughts of this puzzling Richard, and how she could use him, out of her mind and enjoyed the rest of the night with Justin.
Once they entered the privacy of the sprinter he kissed her slowly. Feeling all over her body and making her moan in his ear. They barely made it up to their hotel room before she stripped him of his shirt and dress pants, and got on top of him. Full of adrenaline and alcohol, she rode him in her favorite position as he pulled and rubbed her nipples at her favorite pressure. She closed her eyes as she gave herself away to the waves of pleasure racking her body, but what she saw underneath them scared her. Big deep brown eyes flashed back. She screamed a little in shock and in pleasure as she came over Justin. She collapsed on his chest and he kissed her forehead. She kissed his chest and closed her eyes and prayed the brown eyes were not there to haunt her in her sleep.
Once he got back to the Manor and into his room, he immediately reached into his jacket pocket to pull out whatever Kory had placed in his hands earlier that night. Inside of a velvet drawstring bag, a green emerald, the size of a quail egg, was wrapped inside. It was the exact same stone that was in the display case where they met. How the fuck did she get it and why the fuck did she give it to him? Was he now an accomplice? His anxiety wretched up to a new level. Fucking Kory Anders. He didn’t even know who she was.
He immediately pulled out his laptop. Googling her name frantically. Images from Vogue, W, Harper’s Bazaar, every major fashion outlet naming her the new face of Justin Cole’s brand. He called her his muse. She was all over his website and social media. Several gossip blogs rumored that they had been romantically linked, more than just muse and designer, for ten years. Fuck. He was flirting with, and now an accomplice to robbery, with a woman, no, a very famous fashion model in a ten year relationship with her boss.
After Dawn, he swore off anymore relationships with high profile women. But Kory, she was gorgeous and she was different. Of course Justin took advantage of her the moment he “discovered” her talent. What sick kind of work is it to discover a woman’s beauty and then exploit them for personal gain? But Kory seemed smarter than that. Clearly she was. She stole a priceless artifact during the biggest museum event that year. And then she gave it to him. Bruce was going to fucking kill him. But she said this was how he could do real good and make actual change. Fuck Bruce and him giving away his billions to bullshit that would surely never be put into the right hands. What was her plan? He would have to get them into this donors meeting in London to find out. After several glasses of scotch, to calm his fried nerves, he finally was able to lull himself to sleep. His eyes closed and all he could see were sultry green eyes and a dazzling smile smoldering beneath him. He knew would do anything she needed. He was fucked.