Amongst the Acting Powers, Chapter Two
Amongst the Acting Powers
Chapter Two
[ 1 | 2 | 3 | ? ]
"Are you low-balling me?" Lex snaps when the call connects.
"Jesus fuck," Tony says blearily, "it's-it's not even nine, why are you-"
"I've been researching your production facilities for the last two months, Stark," Lex says stiffly. "My materials and labor cost estimates are accurate to the nearest hundred-"
"I just, I really need you to call me back. Give me an hour. Give me two. Fuck."
Lex hangs up, seething.
Lex calls back exactly forty-two minutes later.
"What," Tony whines, voice thick with sleep.
"This project estimate should be three times higher," Lex hisses. "At least. Do you need to fire someone? Is Stark Industries hemorrhaging money?"
"Oh my god, are you actually complaining that it's too cheap?"
Lex glares down at the beautifully prepared proposal on his desk. Some poor designer had no doubt spent a long, sleepless night prettying it up. "I had a budget for this endeavor. There was a committee appointed to oversee allocation of funds. There were color-coded spreadsheets and two very concise pie charts. As we speak," Lex growls, "A team of lawyers is preparing tax documentation. Documentation that will be rendered obsolete when I provide them with your terms, which are literally insane."
"I told you it wasn't a money game!" Stark mutters miserably. He sounds muffled, like his face is pressed into a pillow.
"Why would you sell to me at cost?"
"You are a lunatic. There are no antivillains, and I revise my earlier assessment. Please don't call until I'm sober, you are a very intense man and I can't even handle you right now."
Lex keeps the energy proposal on the corner of his desk until about noon, studiously working through anything and everything else that might require his personal attention. When he runs out of busy work, he cancels his lunch meeting with the mayor and orders in. Then he reads through the proposal for the fifth and final time.
It's not that Lex has any problem at all applying pressure to make business deals more profitable; it's not that he hasn't taken advantage of poor negotiation skills, misinformation, inexperience, and-on at least a dozen occasions-his personal sex appeal to keep price tags low and incentives high.
What Lex has a problem with is getting something for nothing. It's been programmed since birth, into his bones, in every conceivable context, that there's no such thing as a free lunch; that there are no gifts, only IOUs; that this deal is, fundamentally and overtly, too good to be true. It triggers all kinds of internal alarms.
There has to be something Stark wants, another side to this that Lex, for the life of him, can't pin down. He's never been in the habit of making deals without perfectly articulated terms.
Briefly exasperated within the quiet, carefully structured confines of his mind, he passes on the bid to his lawyers and forwards a rough outline of intent to the City Council. It's mostly formality; he owns roughly half of the elected officials. He'll get the approval, and hold off on the project until Stark gives him a straight answer.
"I didn't know your first name was Alexander," Tony says, much later. He'd charmed his way into Lex's office without so much as a phone call, sleek and put-together beneath his iconically mussed hair.
Lex makes a mental note to have a very serious conversation with his secretary and head of security; possibly terminal. But then he notices that Tony hasn't yet taken off his sunglasses. He's probably hungover.
Lex forgets about administrative reorganization in favor of a tiny, amused smirk.
"Anthony Edward Stark," he says lightly, setting aside a stack of patents pending. "Can I help you?"
"You didn't call me back. Also: why are you in the office on a Saturday?"
Lex blinks slowly. He fights the urge to check the date on his watch. He says, very clearly, "It's Friday."
"Oh. Huh," Tony says. "Thought maybe I'd slept through."
"If you have a contract modifications-," Lex begins, because he is a very busy man and Tony has a way of throwing a wrench in his hyperorganized schedule while appearing to do nothing whatsoever.
"Oh, no, that's a done deal. I mean, as soon as you sign it. I'm not here about that, I'm here about the antique store off 53rd."
Lex waits, but Stark seems more interested in fiddling with the rose-cut paperweight on his desk than their actual, real-life conversation.
"What is this? It's not ruby."
"No," Lex agrees, "it isn't." Too heavy, not enough luster. A texture like metal, but clear as flawless crystal.
"Hmm," Tony says, setting it back down. Lex's fingers itch to reach out and straighten it, line up the faceted edges exactly as before; but then he sees that Tony has already done this. "Anyway, about this antique store. And dinner."
"I have another three hours of work ahead of me," Lex points out, glancing at the clock on his laptop.
"So I'll pick you up at seven," Tony says, shrugging.
"Eight," Lex allows, giving in. "Though I doubt your antique store will still be open."
"I'm sure we'll figure something out," Tony grins, giving a little two-fingered wave as he exits the office.
Lex writes sharply-worded emails and makes pointed and ungentle phone calls until six o'clock. Then he signs off on four separate charitable donations. Because he takes perverse pleasure in giving Bruce indigestion, one of them is for the Martha Wayne Foundation; he makes sure to include a heartfelt letter along with the check and the documentation.
The altruists always find Luthor money distasteful, even if it benefits a good cause. It is Lex's well-informed opinion that this is irrelevant and counterproductive, but orders of magnitude separate his sensibilities from those of men like Bruce Wayne.
And Clark Kent, but that is an avenue of thought to navigate only under duress.
After Lex has finished, he has a fresh suit sent up. Then he takes a shower in the corporate fitness center.
By seven-thirty, adjusting his silver silk tie and smoothing the lapels of his charcoal-and-aubergine blazer, Lex studies the sharp angles of his face in the mirror and wonders if he's trying too hard. Then he wonders who, exactly, he means to impress.
He's half made up his mind to change back into his previous clothing when there's a spastic knock on the door. Tony walks in without waiting for an answer.
"You're early," Lex says, turning to face him as he crosses the room.
"So are you." Tony takes in the lack of paperwork on Lex's desk. Then he takes in Lex, and his eyebrows shoot up. "Lookin' good, by the way."
Lex gives him a brief, perfunctory smile and tries not to look pleased. "I assume you have a plan for the evening?"
"Something like that," Tony says, catching his elbow. "Hey, can we trade ties? I don't know if I can really get away with slate and powder blue."
He can't, in fact. Lex purses his lips for two thoughtful seconds. He accepts that, perhaps, silver is quite bright against the almost-black of his pressed collar. But it would bring out the high polish of Tony's pale Rolex. "That's fine."
He reaches up to remove the tie, but Tony bats his hands away and works the knot loose with quick fingers. "Good to know you're a man of reason," he comments.
"That is the image I try to project," Lex replies, holding very still.
When they're all sorted out, Tony ushers him through the doors and onto the elevator. In the confined space, he keeps catching whiffs of Tony's cologne. It's different from earlier, subtle spice and citrus, and without the augmentation of grain alcohol.
He supposes he should appreciate that while it lasts.
"So if you don't mind slipping your security detail for a couple of hours," Tony says when they get outside, unlocking a shiny yellow Lamborghini from his key fob, "I drive like a lunatic."
Lex slides onto the supple crimson leather of the passenger seat. It's a nice night, and Tony has the top down. "Is that meant to be an incentive?"
"You," Tony grins fiercely, sliding on his sunglasses and shifting her into gear, "have no idea."
Tony takes corners in excess of fifty miles an hour. He weaves through traffic like a California motorcyclist, sticking to the raised Metropolis skyways for the sheer rush of wind in his hair. He blows so many yellow lights that Lex feels the need to instruct Mercy, surreptitiously and via text, that under no circumstances should any notices of offense for STARK 17 ever leave the traffic control review desk.
They barrel through a tunnel, the LED floodlights one long, unbroken blur in the gloom before the sky opens back up. It takes Lex awhile to pin down the sense of nostalgia: that Tony drives exactly the way Lex did at twenty-one. It takes longer for Lex to realize that Tony must really miss flying.
They get to the restaurant at a quarter to nine, and the maître d' takes them to the back of the house. There are two bottles of chilled pinot bianco waiting for them, and a low-hanging lamp casting the edges of the intimate booth in shadow.
"It was entirely too difficult," Tony complains idly, after the wine is poured and they're left alone, "to find a single five-star restaurant in this leviathan of a city that LexCorp doesn't already own."
"It's a private establishment," Lex murmurs, looking over the menu with approval. He hasn't eaten here in several months, and their pasta primavera is the best he's had outside of Sicily. Something to do with the oil, maybe, but he's never managed to replicate it. "It's been in the Bessolo family for three generations."
"So you stay your hand out of respect for the old country?" Tony asks, squinting through his sunglasses. Lex suppresses the urge to reach across the table and slide them off. His own are pointedly tucked into the pocket of his blazer.
"Are you insinuating that I would pressure Miss Leoni into selling off her son's birthright?" Lex meets Tony's eyes, radiating innocence. "That would be illegal."
Tony snorts, drinking his wine like he's drinking beer. He only slows down after the first three swallows. "I'm saying there has to be a reason you don't want it."
"There is."
Tony opens his mouth to ask the obvious question, but their waiter makes an appearance.
"Bruschetta?" Lex asks.
"Sure," Tony says absently, skimming the menu.
"And I'll have the pasta primavera," Lex adds.
"I'll be sure to mention your preferences to the chef, Mister Luthor," the waiter says. "And for you, Mister Stark?"
Tony flashes his crooked, in-a-hurry smile. "Same." Then, when they're alone again, "What reason."
"Tony-"
"It doesn't make enough money? It'll lose its yuppie customer base if your name's on the corporate letterhead?"
"-take off your sunglasses," Lex says.
Tony does so, setting them aside without folding them. Lex waits approximately twelve seconds while Tony taps his fingernail against the table and talks about mom and pop shops. Then he reaches over and tucks the arms neatly beneath the lenses.
Tony stops talking. Lex looks up.
"Or maybe you don't like the place," Tony murmurs neutrally.
Lex shakes out his napkin with careful fingers and settles it over his lap. "To the contrary. This is one of my favorite restaurants."
Tony drinks his wine.
"You don't have to possess something to appreciate it." Sometimes the things you enjoy most are the things you never get to keep.
Tony watches him keenly. Then he admits, somewhat subdued, "I would not have expected that from you."
Lex casts about for an explanation, disguising his hesitation with a sip of wine. He settles on, "Have you read A Picture of Dorian Gray?"
"No?" Tony looks at him blankly.
Lex sighs. "Well, the main character falls in love with an actress. She's Juliet, she's Ophelia, she's any number of classic Shakespearean romance icons. She's gifted beyond anything he's ever seen, which is what attracted him to begin with. But once she falls in love with him, she can't act anymore."
"Just like that?" Tony asks, skimming his fingertip over the lip of his glass.
Lex tries to get to the point. There are more than enough people in his acquaintance that find his abstractions tedious. "Her rationale was that she had finally experienced the truth of romantic love and could no longer bring herself to fabricate it. So the next time he came to see her, she went through the motions like a lifeless doll. She thought she was making a grand gesture."
"And?"
Lex gives up. "The food here is great. If I buy them out, the family recipes would vanish into the aether, contract or no. I would have a good approximation, certainly, but it wouldn't be what I wanted."
Tony slides his thumb against the stem of his glass, quick and thoughtful. "Did you just compare a business venture to Oscar Wilde."
Lex purses his lips.
"Your metaphor is not symmetrical. Sibyl Vane's catalyst was love. Buyouts typically engender animosity."
"The two are not mutually exclusive. The point I'm trying to make is tha t the very act of possessing a thing can fundamentally alter it. If the quality that first draws you in is irretrievably lost-," Lex pauses thoughtfully. "So you have read it?"
"I may have the caught the movie," Tony murmurs. He's still shifting around restlessly, picking at his napkin and scanning the restaurant, tapping the toe of a polished shoe against the table stand. He periodically nudges his heel up against Lex's instep. Lex chooses to ignore this.
He's about to quote something almost-clever but ultimately trite, like, All art is quite useless; but then Tony's phone rings.
"Pep, hi," Tony answers brightly, loosening his tie. He meets Lex's eyes while he listens, a faint frown creasing his brow. "Sunday. No. Yes. Well, he still has to sign, right?"
Lex raises an eyebrow. The contract is with Lex's lawyers. He's due to sign it in the morning, after they've gone through it, and Tony doesn't need to be present for that.
"Well, the programming will take, like, two seconds. Don't we have a department for that? Fine, okay, all right. I'll have the beta up and running by-is seven okay? Fine, six-thirty. But I'm not flying back until Sunday. Okay. Yeah. Bye."
Tony hangs up, reaching for his drink sheepishly.
Lex leans in and asks curiously, "Did you lie to your CEO so you could hide out in Metropolis for a few more days?"
"It's not like I can't work remotely," Tony complains. "She's not my girlfriend anymore, but I'm still on a leash. She's not even my PA! I should be allowed to take a vacation now and then, I'm the richest guy on the planet."
Lex glances at him sharply. "I believe that's a matter of debate."
"Well, if I include the accounts in the Cayman Islands-"
"No tax shelters," Tony says smugly. "And nothing derivative of illegal research or funding. Fruit of the poisonous tree!"
The problem, Lex thinks dazedly, is that you allocate two hours to have dinner with Tony Stark, and suddenly it's approaching midnight while you argue about net worth over tiramisu.
It is very good tiramisu, though.
"Then no profits from weapons sales," Lex says flatly. "Howard Stark started off as a war-profiteer. World War Two was the poster child for illegal research."
"Fine, but then you can't use military contracts-"
"Those were completely legal transactions!"
"But rayguns are completely illegal, even if Uncle Sam's the one footing the bill!"
They stare at eachother for a long moment. Lex runs a tongue over his lip thoughtfully, wondering when the third bottle of pinot bianco appeared-and when they managed to polish it off. "Offshore holdings?"
Tony winces. "Yeah, should we consider that tax evasion?"
"If it involves taking advantage of another country's tax laws to manipulate reported earnings," Lex muses, "then yes , probably."
"What if the tax laws are stricter?"
Lex shoots him a blank look. "Is that question honestly relevant?"
Tony exhales loudly. "No, I guess not. Shit."
"Well. Since we're not including liquidation value of assets-"
"Or trust funds," Tony sighs. "Or stock options."
They both pause for an inordinately long time. When Tony starts to stare unnervingly at his cloth napkin, producing a gleaming crimson and gold fountain pen, Lex sighs and pulls a scratch pad from the pocket of his duster. He tears out a few sheets for himself before passing it over.
They take about five minutes, Tony frowning thoughtfully when he finally looks up. "I think-I think my accountant is a criminal."
"Ten dollars and change," Lex says, appalled. It's the dollar-a-year salary he's drawn from LexCorp over the last decade.
"Nine thirty-seven," Tony counters, swallowing. "Looks like you're buying."
Lex clears his throat. "I can expense it."
Tony stares at him. Then he laughs and laughs. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
[ 1 | 2 | 3 | ? ]