Let's Make STEAM : Chapter 3 ♪ Fridays
link to masterpost
summary - Meetings with Lex every Friday
a/n ; Lex is written on the perspective that he has cha(rizz)ma and that he can’t get enough of you.
Enjoy!
4 WEEKS UNTIL SHOWCASE
While gazing at the sun, caffeine in hand, you felt that familiar heaviness.
Today is the day. The first day.
Taking a sip, you tried to picture what the rest of the day would look like. Practice, you probably needed to take notes, the check in, probably a lot of ass kissing, the outfit you wear, charming but not campy, the list goes on.
Looking away from the sunrise, you begin to get back into bed. You hoped your nervousness wouldn’t affect your dreamy creative output.
11:46 AM
With a yawn you pulled up your pants. Usually your naps were not only short but fulfilling, and this past one hadn’t been any of the sort. You’d wake up rested, with bright new ideas for compositions. This second sleep felt—in a way—completely dark.
That has never happened before.
Lobbing your heavy limbs to your closet, you went searching for an outfit suitable for a meeting with Mr. Luthor. You hardly knew what to wear. You couldn’t rehash the business professional outfit from last time, it’d be too stuffy and he would definitely notice. You can’t let Lex Luthor think you only have four good formal outfits, even though you do.
You pick out one of your oldest ensembles. Brown, yellow-ish undertones, fitting for the night life you’d be accustomed too, but maybe too personal?
He’s put me in such an odd position.
You have to balance something chic for dinner, but not too eye catching. This wasn’t a date after all.
With a sigh, you pull out your oldest, most well loved black outfit. Black can never let anyone down, it’s already formal. But it’s had so much tender love and care… You could only hope the restaurant had low lighting.
This is the best I’ve got.
1:57 PM
Typing away on your computer, you realized you needed to spend money on a neck pillow. Your couch was, admittedly, very comfortable, but it couldn’t offer timeless neck support.
Attempting to forget your discomfort, you looked back at what you were doing. You knew it was early, but formulating lesson plans could prove helpful later on.
You’ll continue your tenure at Metropolis University soon enough. It may be May, and classes just ended, but you’ll be back in August soon enough.
5:30 PM
Rehearsal is in session.
You tried to take notes as much as possible, jotting down quick notes as your band would sight read new charts. Admittedly, you all were having some trouble. Latin jazz was baked in syncopation, stern articulation, dramatic dynamics, and if you weren’t all in sync, it was easy for things to fall apart.
Not to mention, your poor trumpets were dying not even 30 minutes in. Arturo Sandoval—though a living legend—was fond of torturing himself through notes above the staff.
Hell, even you had trouble. If you didn’t stretch your hand from one side of the piano to the other while maintaining a good harmony you could throw the whole band off.
But luckily for you, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve all played music like this. You were in no duress, but would Mr. Luthor feel the same?
You wondered if you should lie.
6:50 PM
You looked at your clock on the wall. You needed to stop now if it meant you could meet Mr. Luthor on time.
“Alright gang,” you began, “let’s wrap it up.”
Delano looked bummed. “Why so early? I was having fun.”
“Says you. Shit, I was ready ‘bout an hour ago,” Via hissed, already putting away her tenor saxophone.
“Not as ready as I was.” Winnie argued, “Trumpet 1 on “A Night in—mothafucking—Tunisia” Latin style is no joke. It’s already 11/8, now I have to play so high I could rival Uranus?”
Lee chortled. “Heheh… Ur-anus.”
“Of course you find that funny.” Sonny sighed.
“Why’d you have to write it that high anyway?” Winnie pointed at you.
“Sandoval-like is what’s requested of us, very unfortunate for the trumpets. I didn’t make it easy on myself either,” you chuckle, holding up your hands in defense.
Winnie seemed unsatisfied with that answer.
“Anyways guys,” you gazed at the clock: 6:55, “I really need to get going.”
Trent raised a tired brow. “Where to?”
“A meeting with,” you halted.
You had a feeling that you shouldn’t tell everyone you were going to a meeting with Lex Luthor at a restaurant. Even though you know it’s just a meeting, you didn’t have the time to hear everyone’s suspicions and opinions on the matter.
“—my bed.” You continued.
Julius frowned. “So I’m guessing no ice cream shop tonight?”
You kiss your teeth, you forgot about that. Since this practice was so late, many times the members of the band would eat dinner before practice. As a tradition, you’d all treat yourself to a well earned dessert afterward like a family.
“No, sorry friends. This headache and the love of good rest urge me to go home.” You replied bashfully.
“I hope you rest those hands too. We’re gonna need you in tip top shape tomorrow morning.” Earl smiled. “Can’t have you cramping.”
You laughed. “Don’t jinx it.”
7:30 PM
You were just on time, and by the hair on your chin too.
The Aether, to your surprise when you arrived, is a restaurant located on the top of Lord Hotel. It’s higher than where your original meeting with Mr. Luthor was. You paid no attention to the name of the place, but maybe you should have? It touches the first layer of the clouds.
And, to your surprise, it also slowly rotates.
Upon your arrival, you were immediately recognized by the host. He then guided you past a lot of expensive looking individuals to a private sector of the rotunda.
There, sitting by the window lined wall, was Lex Luthor.
You clutched your more stylish bag tighter.
With a close of the door behind you, he was alerted to your presence.
“Good evening, Director.” He greeted, walking to meet you with an outstretched hand. “I hope you had a pleasant drive here.”
You chuckled, returning his hand shake. “Oh I don’t drive in the summer, but it was a wonderful walk.”
He raised his eyebrow, lighting touching the small of your back to usher you to your seat. “You walk in the city seasonally?” He looked like he’d never heard the concept.
“Yes sir,” you replied, pulling out your chair and sitting in it.
You noticed the water and bread in front of you. The water was in a tall glass, chilled, with no ice. The bread was a small loaf delicately seasoned with what looked like a small leaf, olive oil placed next to it in a small container, all on top of a neatly folded white napkin. It matched the one that stood on the top of your plate, silverware delicately placed on either side. In front of your plate was a small red menu coated in leather and gold letters embossed on it that spelled out: liquor.
You had never known this level of bougie.
“What’s stopping you in the winter?” He asks, sitting in his own chair across from you.
“The weather, mostly. That and people can be maniacs to pedestrians in the winter—” you cut yourself off, “Not that people aren’t insane all seasons, but more show up when snow’s out.”
Small talk was not something you were fond of all the time. One minute it’s a great way to break the ice and loosen your nerves, the next, it’s another method to sound uncouth.
He looked like he was enjoying himself. “I admire your reasoning. Speaking of, how do you reason your progress has come along since we last met?”
You began to pull out your journal. You made a mental note to begin taking notes every day, not just Fridays. “Well this past week we’ve been honoring your request and prepared some pieces of mine to perform for the first bit. It wasn’t difficult, I’ve written much bossa nova in the past.”
He took a sip of his water, reminding you of the water and bread in front of you. You hadn’t eaten since lunch.
You continued. “Today was our first day delving into what you require for the last bit.”
“I can tell.”
You scrunched your brows. “I’m sorry?”
“Your handshake was different than how it was when we first met. You’re tense.”
You reflexively slackened your body. “I didn’t realize,” you admit.
He laughed at your reflex. “Unfortunately,—and correct me if I’m wrong—you can’t unflex your hand. All that playing would require some outside assistance.”
“You are not wrong, sir.” You laugh with him, messaging your hand with your other hand.
“But regardless, it was successful, yes?”
You take a big swig of your water, doing a double take from how smooth it is. Who knew water could be smoother than it already is?
“Plenty. I will be honest, we had some road blocks but it was no big deal,” you wave off.
You were both promptly interrupted by your server, who introduced himself and offered you both your first course and two wine glasses. Apparently the other four courses would be on the way.
“What wine would you like?”
Mr. Luthor spoke first, “Gagnon-Kennedy Zinfandel if you have it.”
You don’t even know what those words mean.
“We do sir! And for you?” The waiter looked at you.
“Uhm, water is fine.”
Just take the easy route.
“Nonsense.”
Fuck.
“Something sweeter for my companion please, pinot noir perhaps? Any vineyard is fine.” He requested for you.
At least he asked for you.
You’ve drunken alcohol before yes, of course. But you’ve never really had wine. If you did it was white wine and that’s all you’d known it as, no specifics. Red wine—you presumed—was an entirely differently world.
With an enthusiastic nod, your server walked away.
“Forgive me for asking but, have you ever tasted red wine before, Director?”
He could see right through you. “No,” you replied flatly.
“You have not lived then. I’m honored to be your first introduction.”
You pursed your lips in attempt to hide your embarrassment. “I appreciate you putting me on, sir.”
“Lex.” He retorts.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Call me Lex,” he starts, shuffling in his seat to lean in closer to you. “If I’m being honest, Director, I would like for us to be friends. Friends have no formalities.”
You gave a look that suggested you weren’t expecting that. “A toast to friendship then, Lex?” You request.
He continues to smirk. “When we get our wine, yes.”
You looked down at your food in front of you. It was some kind of clam, two of them, probably an oyster glazed in an unknown oil and what looked like pepper. You pick up your fork and attempt to scoop out the contents.
“I hope you’re fine with me taking the liberty of a pre selected menu.” He apologizes, picking up one of his oysters and drinking it’s contents like a glass.
“I don’t mind. I can be indecisive so I appreciate the decision,” you mutter.
He slurps down his last oyster, wiping off his hands. He licks his lips, looking at you. “But you were saying before we received our food…” he beckoned you to continue.
“Yes, I was talking about road blocks right?” You look at him for confirmation.
He nods.
You take out your notes. “We had some trouble with sight reading a piece I had made. It’s a rendition of a Night in Tunisia by Duke Ellington but more Latin inspired. It took the whole rehearsal to wrangle but we will be getting it in no time.”
When you looked back up from your notes, you’d realized from the way he was gazing at you that he probably had no idea what you were talking about.
“You’ve heard of Arturo Sandoval so you’ve surely listened to Duke Ellington right?” You ask, testing the waters.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he conceded, shaking the boat.
You’re surprised. “Well, uhm, let’s just say that the piece is technically difficult. And by technically, I mean—”
“—technique.” You both said in unison.
You both laughed.
Your wine arrived, but Lex urged you to continue.
“And if the original piece is hard on its own, shifting it to an Sandoval-like composition made things harder,” you grimaced.
“How so?” He quirked a brow, taking a sip of his now full glass of no-doubt-super-expensive wine.
“Where do I begin?” You ask incredulously. “I don’t think you want to know, Lex. I can’t think of a way to explain without getting specific.”
Lex smirked seemingly with his whole body, leaning back almost as if to take in the entirety of your words. “Try me.”
“O-K, but I’m going to need alcohol.” You take a swig of your wine.
Your eyes widen.
Lex smirks harder than he was before. “Do you recall what I said before?”
He held out his wine, you hold out your in return. Clink!
You blush a little. “What did you call this wine again?”
—
Your conversations with Lex were surprisingly illuminating. You didn’t think he’d be this personable. Conversations flew and he was genuinely interested in listening to you and adding to conversation whenever necessary.
Whatever this wannabe “meeting” was was definitely more pleasant than you were expecting.
You’d made it through the last five courses without issue, possibly nerd-ing out too much about jazz in the process. Now you were faced with vanilla gelato.
You didn’t understand the difference between gelato and regular ice cream. It tasted just as good in your eyes without much issue. You charted it up to your unrefined taste.
“Now for the next time, where would you like to meet?” He inquired.
You were mid spoonful, making sure to savor your ice cream before you swallowed it. You weren’t lying about your headache from earlier, the ice cream—no, gelato, helped you a bit.
“I don’t think I could recommend you any places you’d enjoy, Lex,” you unremarkably assess, making a move to take another spoonful.
You couldn’t see it but he looked offended. “And what do you mean by that, Director?”
Realizing your hubris, you slightly choked on your gelato, quickly swallowing your recent bite. “Not in a negative way! I just mean that the places I frequent and the places you frequent reference our respective tax brackets.”
“But that doesn’t render them incompatible, hit me.” He gestures to himself.
You think for a moment.
“How about Big Belly Burger?” You survey, starting off strong.
“That works just fine, one of my subsidiaries leases that building actually.”
“Oh?” You react curtly.
He hums in response. “You’d be surprised with how many things I touch in this city.”
“Touch” is quite the operative word.
“I already am by that alone!” You fake laugh.
Please don’t tell me any more of what you touch, Lex Luthor.
He smiles. “It’s settled then. I’ll set up an appointment. Same time?”
You take another bite of your gelato in thought. Eventually you frown, “No, probably 8 to 8:30 ish. Triple B’s all the way on the other side of the city.”
“Nonsense, I can have one of my cars pick you up.”
You furrowed your brows. “Oh there’s no issue, I’m perfectly fine with walking.”
“I’m not fine with you walking.”
“I’m sorry?”
You sure have asked that a lot today.
“If you’re worried about any cost, or rather, deduction, it’s no issue. I’m offering this as a common courtesy.”
Well, that was your biggest concern. But you also mulled over the ethics. This wasn’t a date.
He could see through you. “And I assure you, I carry no ill intentions. It’s only a car ride.”
I guess it’s fine then?
“Sure, that works for me!” You agreed, albeit shakily.
“Excellent. It will be in front of your apartment complex at 7.”
I’ll have to end practice earlier.
In the midst of your mental note, the waiter comes over and brings the check. You pull out your wallet from your bag.
“I’m taking the liberty of paying tonight, thank you,” he asserts, taking the check out of your reach.
“But—”
“But nothing, Director. Different tax brackets, right?”
You can tell he meant that jokingly, but you felt a twinge of scorn from that statement. You hoped your earlier statement didn’t offend. You were just being honest.
“Right,” you concur.
10:03 PM
Closing the door to your apartment, you slackened in posture when met with the familiar air of your apartment. Everything felt slightly less heavy, the meeting with Lex today probably helping take the load off. Everything didn’t feel as tumultuous over time, and you could loosen up a little bit.
That still didn’t shake the little anxiety you had about the next meeting. You didn’t know how to feel about meeting Lex in diner that’s known you for over 20 years. What would other people think? You could only pray you weren’t the talk of the town by the next morning. You frown at yourself, you should’ve suggested something more low key—hehe.
You creep towards your bedroom, promptly collapsing onto your bed—possible wrinkles be damned—and kicked off your shoes and socks.
You felt like you were about to have a great night sleep.
—
9:41 PM
You left, and he could feel the vacancy you left in the room.
He was surprised by you yet again. He figured you’d be so much quieter for this “meeting”, feeling uncomfortable with the potential romantic implications. From what he observed, you took it seriously, on the chin. How could be so foolish to expect anything else?
He since got up and looked out the window, attempting to find you walking back home down below. Unfortunately, you and that black outfit that needs to be thrown out couldn’t be assessed among the city lights. But it was fine, he knew where you were. He always knows where you are.
In his hand was your spoon you used for the gelato. From how you were eating it, you looked like you really enjoyed that final dessert. It filled him with an unfamiliar giddiness to know that he was able to satisfy you so deeply. He hoped it was better than that stupid ice cream shop.
In his reminisce, he smirked.
He diligently brought the spoon up to his lips, recalling your own. He could only wish. Soon he opened his mouth, clasping onto the spoon. His tongue raced to the traces of your saliva, unfortunately tasting an overbearing amount of vanilla.
3 WEEKS UNTIL SHOWCASE
This week you and the band have made excellent progress.
You’ve steadily introduced new pieces for the gala, voting on which ones you should continue practicing and which ones to scrap. Luckily, you all wouldn’t have to play that long—an hour and a half at max if you could recall correctly—and you really appreciated that.
You’d been playing piano since before you could walk, you were no stranger to tired hands. But this routine of loud, bombastic music with expansive harmonic progressions began to exercise your arms with how much reaching and slamming you were doing on your keys.
Lex Luthor was putting you to the test, and you don’t think he properly understood it.
You were happy though, good things to report.
5:32 PM
You stand before everyone.
“Now everyone, before we start I do just want to reiterate that we will be stopping by 6:30. I’d already mentioned it before in our GroupMe but for anyone that was unaware, there you go.” You mention, talking with your hands.
“You didn’t mention why!” Oseye blurts out, hands cupping the sides of her mouth like a microphone.
“I think I speak for all of us that our progress has really excelled this week and we could all deserve the break,” you admit, half lying.
“True, but when have you ever been so courteous?” Julius chuckled, teasing you.
You mocked offense. “I have been plenty courteous!”
You get some looks around the room.
“Fine, I’ll never do anything nice every again. Speaking of, no Formal Friday next week!” You kid.
Everyone is up in arms about that.
You wave them off, bending down to your bag to get your score. “Joking, joking! I wouldn’t miss Formal Friday for the world.”
Not even for Lex Luthor.
You take your music and sit down at your piano. “And remember people, do your dry cleaning! Formal Friday means no jeans okay?”
7:00 PM
You stumble a little bit as you hop to get into your dress shoes. On the doorstep of your apartment complex was a black SUV, not a spec of dirt or city grime on it.
As you approached, a gentleman from the driver’s side of the car hopped out to open your door. With a thank you, you stepped up on the ledge only to meet piercing blue eyes.
You freeze in your tracks. “Mr. Luthor!” You exclaim reflexively. “What brings you here!”
You internally sighed at yourself. What a stupid question.
He offers a hand from inside, helping you into the car. He looked like he understood your reaction. “I hope it’s no issue we’re in the same vehicle, plans changed on my end and another car was no longer available. I know you were expecting a ride alone.”
The car door slammed.
“It’s no issue,” you reassure, “we can get a head start on the meeting!” You smile.
He continued to look at you. You feel the car pull off.
“So this week was infinitely better than the last in terms of preparing music for the gala part.” You take out your notes.
“In particular, we—”
“Wait.” He stopped you, stretching a hand in your direction. His hand eventually found itself near the nape of your neck, touching your outfit. He found some lint and flicked it into the void of the car. “Now continue.”
You feel your cheeks get a little hot. You didn’t pay attention to every detail as well this time in your stupor to get home. Curse your lint roller for being out of sight!
You calmly meet his gaze. “As I was saying, we’ve done better this past week. We’ve really gotten into the grit of our pieces and enjoyed playing them. Fortunately, my own compositions and even some of my family’s will be featured on the event.”
“Family?” He raises a brow.
“Ah, I meant band mates. Freudian slip I suppose.” You blush, giving an awkward smile.
“You consider your band mates family?” You couldn’t discern whether or not he was making fun of you or asking a question.
“Yes sir! We had a new edition this year but for the most part, everyone in that band has been in my life for, at least, the last four years?” You awkwardly chuckle.
You feel the car hit a pot hole.
He hummed. “Forgive me for asking, but you don’t have any family?”
“If you mean blood, no.”
He furrowed his brows.
“Not like a tragic orphan situation, they just aren’t in my life anymore.”
You couldn’t see why this mattered, but didn’t voice it.
He just looked at you. It felt like he was trying to discern whether you were real or not by sight alone, like a specimen.
You break eye contact. “Well, anyway, the music you request is coming on smoothly. Everyone is excited to play and have fun. Maybe even get a taste of the gala food if that’s a possibility.”
His gaze suddenly softened. “Yes, of course. You’d never be barred from the festivities.”
“We deeply appreciate it, and everything you’ve offered us.”
“The appreciation is all mine. Thanks to you, I have breathtaking music on display for my event.” He emphasized breathtaking, gazing into you.
—
It felt odd getting out of a rich person’s car to one of your favorite—and therefore low cost—spaces. It contrasted greatly with the ways you’d arrived previously: by yourself 21 years ago as a broke kid in need of sustenance, tired and hungry with homework to grade, with the band after a highly successful gig every summer, the list goes on.
Walking in, it was unfortunately packed. If they weren’t under a rock, everyone here would know who the two of you were, and even more so, how curious it is you’re both here together. Serves you right for suggesting Big Belly Burger on a fucking Friday.
Trying to bury your embarrassment, you get seated, walking past a ton of eyes from all ages, especially the babies in high chairs.
You lean into the familiar plush faux leather chairs and rest your hands on the crusty surface of the diner table.
Lex is sitting across from you content as ever, not a care in the world. If he also felt embarrassed, he was damn good at hiding it.
Soon enough, a lady in an old school teal apron and hat came over to the two of you with water and a pad and pen.
“What would ya two like?”
“I’ll get a vanilla milkshake and salty fries.” Best combo in the world.
“I’ll have the same.”
The waitress took away your two menus and trotted back to the kitchen.
“The other day you said you come here often?”
I did?
“Yep,” you mutter, trying to ignore the looks.
He quirked a brow. “You’re tense, Director. Something on your mind?”
“No, just discomfort. We were having fun in practice but my arms feel like they could break off any minute.” Technically not a lie.
He pursed his lips, reaching for his straw encased in paper wrapping. “Be honest, is it the place?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me just fine, Director.”
What does he want me to say??
He opened his straw with a stern tear, not even looking down as he did it. This felt like an interrogation.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, sir.” You admit, slugging your shoulders.
He hummed, placing his straw in his water. “Two things,” he held up two fingers. “One, it’s Lex. Two, that’s the problem.”
You couldn’t discern where he was coming from.
“I don’t think we’ve properly broken the ice. You feel like I’m larger than life and everyone currently staring at this table is confirming it.”
You don’t know what to say.
“I assure you, we are closer to being equals than anything else.”
You uncharacteristically scoff at that, wanting to take it back.
He noticed your regret. “See, that! That is what I want.” He pointed at you.
“You want me to scoff at you?” You ask incredulously.
He rolls his eyes. “No, I want you to stop performing. I said at the beginning that I would like us to be friends, and friends don’t get nervous being in public with other friends—or call them “sir” might I add.”
Oh, you got it. “I apologize, s— Lex. I hope I didn’t offend. I think you can understand how interesting the predicament of our meeting is. I don’t believe I’ve ever met with a billionaire in such an open space.”
He seemed satisfied with that answer. “I can see your perspective. But understand carefully, friends show you their whole selves at all times. Perform on the 25th, be true otherwise,” he paused, taking another swig of water, “Can you promise me that?”
You can hardly believe he’d be so perturbed by your professionalism. “Understood, Lex,” you smile.
“Excellent,” he outstretched his hand, wanting to shake yours. “Pleasure to meet you, Director of the Moonshine Band, best in North America. I’m Lex Luthor.” He smirks
You couldn’t help but laugh, firmly returning his grip. “Nice to meet you as well.”
9:54 PM
The rest of the night went without hitch, and the heaviness that had become commonplace on Fridays began to leave you.
You both talked about everything, his work day, your band day, his more annoying employees, your beloved band mates; conversation rolled off in peaceful ebbs of mutual laughter and banter, you both found a suitable rhythm. A cacophony made symphony.
“I’ve actually never had fries and a milkshake, least of all dip fries in the milkshake.” He mentioned, taking a bite of a fry coated in milkshake.
“Hold on, you’ve never had fries? Or a milkshake?”
He shakes his head. “You misunderstand, I have never had them both together by themselves.”
“You have not lived then. I’m honored to be your first introduction,” you mock him from the other night.
He catches on and he laughs at you.
The bill has been on the table for at least an hour. You both savored your food and relished in conversation that you hadn’t even realized it was almost 10 o’clock.
“Oh, let me mention before I forget. I won’t be able to meet with you next week, what’s a good alternative?”
He furrowed his brows, mid bite. He stopped himself and placed the vanilla fry back down. “If you don’t mind me asking, why?”
“The band and I have a tradition where we play in a local speakeasy for what they call “Formal Friday”.” You explain, using air quotes.
His brows didn’t stop scrunching. “Formal Friday?”
You take a sip from your water, finishing it. That was your fifth glass. “Do you know about 1920’s flapper style clothes or 1930’s zoot suits? Basically everyone attends in their best old school outfits and tries to relive the glory days of jazz and ragtime. It’s very fun and the band and I really enjoy going.”
“How quaint,” he articulated matter-of-factly.
You turned your head in question. “Now what does that mean?”
“Nothing, I’m just surprised. I’ve been in this city my whole life and it continues to be expansive. I didn’t even know speakeasies still existed,” he admits.
“But you know Arturo Sandoval?”
He gives you a look. “Business trip coincidences and actual knowledge are two different things, Director.”
You chuckle. “But yeah, and it’s gonna be awesome. Despite the contents of the event, people don’t actually have to play older music. It’s actually encouraged to play something new, contemporary even.”
“Really? Is there any occasion where people can play older music?”
“Yeah, Throwback Thursday.”
He laughed at that, “Of course, how could I expect anything else?”
You both took a beat.
“But to answer your question, we don’t have to call or anything. I trust you and your band’s steady progress.”
You smile wide. “I appreciate it!”
You take the bill before he does. It was an easy $19 to pay.
“How much is it?” He inquires.
“No, Lex. Different tax brackets right?” You smirk.
He chortles, his shoulders moving with his laugh. “Right,” he concurred.
a/n ; Fun fact, "The Aether" is a real place that exists called The Highlands in Detroit, Michigan. I've been, it's super bougie. From my playlist - From This Moment On by Ella Fitzgerald
Fun fact x2, Ella Fitzgerald and I share a birthday >:)
♪♫~⠀⠀⠀
CHAPTER 4
