Chapter Text
Barbara stood leaning against the tiled wall of Villigan’s, scrolling absently on her phone and wishing the damn shift would hurry up and end. Lex Luthor was running the back, but really just pacing in the kitchen, barking orders at the few minions still lingering around.
They should have been closed, but nooooo…Lex just needs to do better than that bar across the street.
Barbara could hear him muttering curses under his breath about the staffing shortages. It wasn’t her fault, but she was paying for it.
“Barbara!” Lex’s voice echoed from the kitchen, overly dramatic as usual. “One more delivery, then you’re done.”
She groaned audibly; ears flaring out to the side. “Lex, we close in fifteen. Seriously?”
“Seriously, we already took the order,” Lex snapped, sliding a large food order into a hot delivery bag. “Besides, you’re the fastest. You can go right home afterwards.”
She narrowed feline eyes at him. “You just don’t want to leave the store.”
He scoffed dramatically. “I’m Lex Luthor. Billionaire genius, Barbara. Do you see me running takeout bags at midnight?”
“Yeah, because villains never work late hours, right?” she mocked.
She’d been leaning on the wall waiting for this fucking shift to end and her to be able to go home. She hated this job, but then being short servers when she was an investor made her must work. Lex had called it a favor, when he succeeds, she succeeds and he did always have money.
That’s how ended up here in the first place, doing fucking deliveries. Lex and her had a back and forth that worked, she kept him from screwing them all over. He tells her since she wants to be a part of things she needs to work more. Errands she needed to do. Hell, she had shows to catch up on. But she’d heard Lex’s whining over and over:
“I pay the bills.”
“I spent more money than any of you ingrates.”
“You people really expect checks?”
And of course, her personalized brand of guilt trip:
“Barbara, you’re smarter than the others. Why don’t you get it?”
“Barbara, you have to help.”
Pathetic.
“You one of the few not dumb enough to fuck up or run off,” he looks at her and then at his Rolex, “Besides, the night is over after this. I’m leaving right after you.”
She sighs, “I’ll do it, clock me out. I’m going home right after.”
“Perfect, don’t forgot the hot bag for tomorrow.”