Ginny sat white-knuckled in her car, hands still tight on the steering wheel. She'd seen that damn Audi in her rear view, moving at a speed she was positive wasn't legal anywhere but unpatrolled desert roads.
And then, before she even knew what had happened, her car was on the shoulder. Precariously close to the metal barrier.
Once she realized she had only slid and was uninjured, she was pissed. She looked out her window for the offending silver vehicle. Shocked to discover that it, too, had some to a stop, she got out of her car.
She generally wasn't one for confrontation, but this involved her car. Her fully paid off (with her own money, even!), un-dented, unmarred car.
As she stalked towards the Audi, the driver stepped out of his car as well. For the briefest second she thought she recognized his face from somewhere. But that wasn't the issue here. Her ruined bumper was.
"Ah, hey, sorry about that," The guy said, pulling out a black leather wallet, "Listen, how much do you think the damage is?"
Ginny was speechless. What about the insurance? What if this kid (because he didn't seem older than she was, despite the suit and tie) didn't have any insurance? Was she simply screwed?
But she was still pissed.
"You hit my car after going, what? Ten over the—"
"Twenty over the limit, actually, It's sixty-some here, right?" He asks, "I was practically pushing ninety."
She's appalled. Ninety miles an hour?
"You could have killed me," She almost screams, "You could have killed me and you're standing here offering me money to pretend it didn't happen?"
"I couldn't have killed you," The kid states, matter-of-factly, "I saw you slow suddenly, so I veered off to clip your bumper instead of hitting you full on."
Then, he adds, "It was really your fault. Slowing down for no reason."
Again, speechless.
"You…I…my fault?" She stammers, "You have got to be kidding. You were in the wrong, going almost ninety in a sixty-five zone!"
"Who told you slowing down suddenly in front of a fast moving car was a good idea, anyhow?" He asks, counting through his wallet before glancing blue eyes up to Ginny, "Listen, I don't need my parents on my ass about this. Think five grand'll cover the damage you're blaming on me?"
Then, in her hand is a wad of bills. She doesn't bother to count them. She can't say she can argue with five grand.
She glances between the money, the boy, and the two cars.
"What about your car?" She asks, motioning to the front bumper damage.
He looks back and shrugs, "I just gave you five thousand dollars, I'm pretty sure I can spare the change to fix my own car."
Confusion crosses her face. She wished five grand was change to her.
"Is this counterfeit?" She asks, wary that she's getting duped.
The kids smirks a charming smirk, "As counterfeit as whatever money's in your own wallet."
She looks down, letting the bills unfold in her hand. This is absurd, she thinks. And it's cemented by the plain white business card in between the bills.
"Give me a call sometime," He says to her expression as he gets back into his car, "You're feisty, I like that."
Before she can even form a reply, the Audi is flying back down the highway.
A second look at the business card reveals the name "Anthony Stark" and a phone number.
The reverse side read "Stark Industries".