Note: Arkhamverse Harley. This takes place 5 months after the end of Arkham Origins. Harley has busted Joker out of jail, and they're now hiding out at an abandoned warehouse. This is the first time she worked for him.
*****
"So whaddaya think, mistah J?"
Joker cackled wildly as Harley stepped out from behind a divider, auditioning her new look. White make-up caked her face, while her cheeks were painted bright pink. A black domino mask framed her eyes, her blonde hair pulled back into twin pigtails, her body garbed in a nurse's outfit that had been tailored to trail off into a mini-skirt, on top of a black-and-red corset with thigh-high boots and tight fishnets.
"Oh, I get it! You're a harlequin! Harleen, you clever little scamp, you!"
"I stitched it myself," Harley beamed. "Do you really like it?"
"My dear Harleen, who could have known that underneath that staid old doctor's coat lay such a positively ravishing vision?"
Harley blushed and gazed down at her feet, trying to hide how red her cheeks had become. "Shucks, Mistah J, all my friends call me Harley."
Joker sprang to his feet and brought his face within inches of Harley's, his hands squeezing her cheeks as their noses touched. "Weeellll, then, Harley...this just might be the start of a hilarious friendship."
Harley exhaled deeply, giddy with excitement, until Joker abruptly moved away and began walking out of the room, his manner instantly shifting to a more business-like approach. "Come on, dear. We have things to do!"
She paced after him, trying to keep up with his brisk walk, as they walked down the hall towards the lower staircase. "How come we got things to do already? We just busted out!"
Joker grinned at his new accomplice. "Well, sweetcheeks, you may recall I had quite the little army of louts and undesirables working for me when I was burning down that dreadful old penitentiary. They don't really work cheap, but a few bank robberies here and there covered those expenses quite nicely. Of course," he continued, gnashing his teeth, "the Dork Knight decided to be this city's resident party-pooper. Sequence of events later, my men are all in hospitals with broken ribs, smashed noses, and all sorts of grievous bodily harm, none of which is covered under my employment scheme."
"And of course," he sighed, "quite a few of them expect me to reimburse them, ungrateful little weasels. You're a doctor, Harley. You know how expensive medical bills are." He shook his head as they walked down the two flights of stairs leading to the basement. "I wish Canada had a crazy man in a bat costume. I could just move there."
"So we're squeezed for cash?" Harley asked, taking the steps two at a time. "I got some dough sitting in a bank, Mistah J - we can use that -"
Joker's grin widened. "Awfully sweet of you, my dear, but I've already negotiated a new agreement with my men, courtesy some terms of employment they found very appealing. All that remains now is paying the poor chaps."
The Clown Prince of Gotham kicked open the doors to the basement, and as Harley stepped in behind him, she spotted at least 40 men gathered in the large hall, all of them bearing the musculature and bruises of hardened criminals. Many of them broke out in silly grins when they spotted her.
"Well, boys, I promised I'd pay up, and barring the times when I'm lying through my teeth, I always keep my promises!" the Joker exclaimed.
"I don't get it, Mistah J," Harley whispered, "how are you gonna pay these bozos if you don't have any money on ya?"