When she makes the restaurant reservation, she makes sure Clark hears her confirm the address. And she makes sure her table is visible from almost anywhere. She feeds Bruce sushi using her chopsticks because she knows Clark is watching.

Bruce Wayne is being very accommodating, almost as if he knew the plan, because he's making extravagant gestures, taking her hand, although, of course, he doesn't know. So she gets confident, and when Bruce asks if she wants to go dancing, she says yes. Because it's not like she's made any promises to Clark, and besides, it's only dancing.

She wants to go to one of the clubs with long lines because it would be nice to have a billionaire get you to the front. But Wayne insists on Latin, and when he leads her across the floor in the tango, she's inclined to agree.

He looks good. There aren't many men that look that natural in clothes that nice. He's got just an edge of-- something else, something not playboy, that could actually keep her interested in him. If she was, you know, interested. She's keeping her eye out for Clark, but she can't see him, even though she knows he's there. The way Bruce dances is a little too aggressive for a society drone, and it feels almost dangerous. Which is silly. Because Clark is watching.

And remembering that, she pulls the arch of her foot up the back of Bruce's calf, instead of just hooking her ankle on the next pass. She kind of had expected Clark to cut in by now. Any moment now. Because he's impulsive and uncouth like that. But he hasn't, although she's sure he's watching.

When Bruce palms her ass, that should be Clark's signal. She wonders if Clark's intimidated. He isn't usually, not by money or class, but Bruce has money and class and style. But if Clark doesn't think she's worth fighting for... Maybe she shouldn't worry about when he'll break in. Although she's sure he will.

She and Wayne having been dancing far too close for any date that ends with a peck on the cheek for almost three quarters of an hour. And she thought she caught a glimpse of Clark, twice, once as she spun, looking hot and bothered, and another time, just passing behind a column, with a hungry expression. She thought he'd approach her, but he didn't. His loss. She's on a date with one of the most eligible bachelors around, it's going better than well, and Clark... She couldn't care less about Clark if he's not going to bother to show up.

When she realizes that Wayne is leading her out onto the private balcony, she accepts with a smile that's only slightly sharp edged.

Bruce's hands don't feel like Clark's when they're rucking her skirt up her thighs. But they feel good. And she thinks it's vanity that has Bruce seat her with her back to the mirror, so he can see himself framed in the doorway behind him.

Bruce is between her thighs, hands smoothing up her calves, when his cell rings. She doesn't even register it, expects him to ignore it too, but suddenly his hands aren't on her anymore, and he's-- He's talking into the phone! "Excuse me Ms. Lane. Urgent business." The son of a bitch just gets up and walks off like it was nothing. Leaving her, hair a mess, dress up above her knees, hose half pulled down, sprawled on the edge of a planter, trying to calm her racing heart and waiting for the flush in her cheeks to die so she can rejoin the crowd.

So much for one of the most eligible bachelors around.