#personalassistant!reader

The two of you had created an unsaid pattern in the office. He comes in at 9:30 on the dot, coffee (black, no sugar) must be ready and on his desk, schedule for the day sent via email the night before and reminders throughout the day. Mostly simple.

It took ages to learn how he wanted things done, when he wanted them done but you always did take information in quick and well you really loved learning. (The paycheque was incredibly generous too)

─── ✦ ───

You’d been typing out the list of guests to the next Wayne gala, adding in Damian Wayne deemed “tolerable people” while removing people “unsuitable” for his tastes (which were rather a lot of people) when he walked in.

The infamous Tim Drake. Current majority shareholder of Wayne Enterprises and third adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Though it was a little ironic you were starstruck by his reputation and power even with Damian Wayne as your boss he seemed wildly different and thus intriguing.

Besides the noticeable black circles under his eyes, his skin was smooth, silky black hair almost falling past his eyebrows and though his suit was rumpled you could clearly tell it was handcrafted for the man. His thumbs frantically hit his phone’s keyboard as if he were racing against its capabilities.

His eyes didn’t even reach yours when he spoke, tired voice lilting out his mouth, “Hey. Damian said you were doing the guest list, are you done?”

As you voiced your surprise, he lifted his eyes and suddenly stopped. Unmoving, lips parted like he was about to speak but nothing came out. Short circuit over.

His eyes flickered across your face, your form. He was cataloguing. Every inch of you, from your hair type and your eye colour to his estimate of your shoe size was being filed in his server of a brain.

“Sorry Mr Drake, are you alright?”

His hand came up to his head, his fingers carding through his hair though the hair obstinately moved back. “Uh—ye-yeah sorry. What did you say again?”

Your mouth started moving, not noticing how he zoned out again. He was staring… but how could you question him? He’s… well he’s Tim Drake.

His cheeks flushed when he realised he didn’t hear a thing you said again. “Right thanks uh—sent it to me when you’re done.”

Damian walked in, pinning Tim with a weird (for lack of a better word) stare. “Drake. What business do you have here?” “Just uh… asking about the guest list.”

“Right well. You can leave now.”

─── ✦ ───

The next week was… interesting to say the least. After one meeting with him Tim Drake seemed to be desperate for more. He dropped coffee off at your desk after you’d dropped Damian’s off. He stopped by to “say hi to Damian” about 3 times a day and kept offering you help “should you need it.”

It shouldn’t have shocked you when he walked in and asked you to call him by his first name and not “Mr Drake” but it did. He came into your office in a hoodie instead of the usual black suit, his hair was tousled and his hands were nervously in his pockets.

“So…” he said your name, almost cautiously as if you’d run away at his use of it.

“Yes?”

“Do you remember that Wayne gala guest list you were creating…?”

“Oh, yes of course, I thought I sent it to your assistant two weeks ago. Though I don’t mind resen—“

“Ah well yes you did. I just—well I need a plus-one and I was kind of thinking of asking…you.”

“Me?” You pointed at yourself. “Uhm…well I… that would be… I’ve never gone to anything like this.” “That’s fine, I’ve done it since I was 13. I’ll teach you.”

With a hesitant but hopeful sigh you smiled. “Alright Mr Dra—Tim, I’ll be your plus-one. Thanks for inviting me.” He flashed you his signature well-talked-about smile before shoving his hands into his pockets and strolling out.

You definitely didn’t hear Damian “tt” at Tim’s air punching when he came into the office.