A/N: Some stories are methodically and carefully planned, and executed with all the care of a jeweller crafting a diamond out of coal.
And then some stories are written completely on the fly while you're supposed to be doing something else.
Guess which one this story is!
Rhonda Kilgallen is a fifteen year old girl in a twenty-seven year old body. That's what people tell her, usually in a mean sort of way. Rhonda is an optimist, though; she chooses to think they mean she looks younger than she is.
She meets Tony Stark at a party she'd have no business being at on regular days. Tonight however, she's her gay second cousin's latest beard, and he's like an executive or something so he gets into all the cool parties. He runs off with his super-secret boyfriend after the introductions are over. Rhonda's mouth hurts from smiling vapidly for so long, but she still finds it in her when Tony Stark invites her to his hotel room.
Things go very fast from there. He's got incredible fingers that undo her dress and unclasp her bra in nothing flat. It's when he's pressing her into the wall and she's got her hands on his belt buckle that the phone rings. His answering string of swears comes to an abrupt end when he reads the ID, and suddenly his whole demeanor changes.
"One sec, Rachel," he says.
"It's Rhonda."
He raises his index finger in a 'one minute' gesture and spends the next five minutes arguing back and forth with 'Pepper.' Pepper's voice is loud on the other end and unmistakably female. She sounds worried about something, at least as far as Rhonda can tell. Whatever it is, Tony doesn't think it's a big deal and he loves teasing her about it. He eventually says goodbye and hangs up, suavely sliding the phone back into his pocket while winking at her.
"Sorry, the PA, no big deal," he says.
Rhonda eagerly re-enters his embrace. His mouth goes to her neck and she moans.
"You know, the way you were talking to her-" she gasps when he bites down, "I ki- I kinda thought she was your girlfriend."
His reply is unintelligible and Rhonda doesn't care anyway. The rest of the night is one of the most amazing she's ever had and she spends weeks bragging about it to whoever will listen.
Ava Barker's real first name is Maude. She hates it almost as much as she hates watered down vodka after a long day at the office. Being a secretary is not all it's cracked up to be, and no one ever said it was much in the first place, did they?
Her boss drags her along to a meeting in LA. For once, Ava would rather stay in Denver answering the phone. She needs three full glasses of scotch just to get through the flight, and then peach schnapps for flavor. Some might call her an alcoholic. Ava would kindly add 'functioning' to the title, thank you very much.
Things don't start to look up until she follows her boss into the meeting room and finds that this simple affair with Stark Industries higher-ups really meant the one on top of the anthill himself. Tony Stark dresses plainly in a gray suit and tie; his yellow shaded glasses provide desperately needed color. His clothing matches his mood. He's basically asleep for the entire discussion. It's up to the redhead beside him to take notes, answer questions and 'discreetly' swat his hand with a rolled up spreadsheet when he needs to wake up and speak.
Ava tries not to be too overt about watching them. The way they work of each other (at least when Stark is awake) has such a strong aura of teamwork that you really don't see between employers and employees. He states that the current contracts are not acceptable and she has them out and covered in red pen marks in a second. She starts to speak about the latest stock holdings and he finishes it with some figures that appear to be pulled out of nowhere until their numbers guy proves it accurate. She looks at her own boss, who cares more about watching online ice hockey highlights online and pretending to drop his sharpie marker so he can look up her skirt than doing any work. She swears, as soon as that cushy position in marketing opens up…
After the meeting, Stark makes a beeline for her. It's so quick and abrupt that Ava momentarily thinks he's gone insane and is going to attack her. Then he smiles- his teeth are perfect- and asks for her name.
Ava is so nervous and so unprepared (and damn it, she's supposed to be unflappable that's the whole reason her boss hired her, second only to how her legs look in her skirts) that she makes the ultimate error.
"My name is Maude," she says.
Later on, this day will go down in Ava Barker history as the one of the worst of her life. Some would come to overshadow it, but in terms of sheer humiliation, nothing would ever come close. She stands red in the face and shaking, while Stark moves his head from side to side, repeating her name like it's clay that he wants to mold this way and that to see if it might come out as something different.
"Nice to meet you," he says finally. "I'm Tony Stark, but you already know that."
Ava mutely nods.
"So, how about you and I adjourn to a different location, you know somewhere private and sans the stuffy business suits, how about that?"
She has no idea if by suits he means all the business people walking around and observing them or … well, actual suits. She would wager which one it is, and she may have even said yes if the redhead hadn't walked by at that very moment. She's an attractive woman, no doubt about that. More than that, she was impeccable- her clothes, her hair, nothing was out of place. She's also staring right at them, at Stark. She's rolling her eyes in this 'seen it all' kind of way that fills Ava with both amusement and pity, and provides an answer to his question.
"I actually have a lot of work to do today, Mr. Stark, but thank you for the offer," she says as professionally as she can. Her trembling undermines that a bit.
"Ah, come on," Stark says sporting a charming grin that really makes Ava want to reconsider this decision. She walks away before she can.
"Have a nice day, Mr. Stark," she adds hastily. There's no way she can leave him behind in such a rude fashion no matter what. He could tell her boss!
She passes the PA without a word, but with a smile that isn't returned or acknowledged. Ava doesn't even know why she gave it. It could be fear, respect, a reassurance that she would never step into another woman's territory…
All Ava knows is she's going to need something tall and very strong to get her through the night.
Stacy Harlow is living the dream. Literally.
Last week, she woke up from a very restful sleep full of dreams of Tony Stark- lying naked beside her on the beach, kissing lines up her stomach to her neck, erotically feeding her grapes two at a time and then seeking out the flavor in her mouth with his very talented tongue. She never in a million years believed that it could actually happen, let alone so soon after. Her mother used to warn her that nothing was ever as good as it seems, and dreams were often best left as such, because reality will never meet those kinds of expectations. What a party-pooper she was.
Which isn't to say that the dearly departed old woman was never right about anything; she was about half the time, or maybe even more than half, or maybe always without exception. And maybe Stacy generally thought prophetic dreams and dream interpretation was just a load of psychobabble BS, but that was before she wound up in Tony Stark's bed, so they could all eat her.
Granted, they aren't on the beach and it wasn't sundown, but a fancy hotel room in London at two in the morning is just as good. Also, his beard is a lot scratchier on her legs, but that's probably a given. Her dream did no justice to his tongue work anyway, and in the end that's all that matters.
"Hey, relax babe," he says huskily to her when she lets out a particularly shameless moan. "Tonight, everything is all about-"
His phone rings. The opening rift from Back in Black disrupts the natural flow building between them. Stacy sits frozen while he regrettably moves away from her to answer the call. 'Just a sec,' he mouths to her first.
"Hello," he says. After a moment, he sighs dramatically. "Hogan, I'm in the middle of something important right now," he winks at her. "Could you just… what? Wait, she's where? What happened?"
He starts to pace around the room, his steps and his eyes going increasingly erratic. Stacy would love to ask what's wrong, but she's not really sure how. Do billionaires even take emotional support from poor people?
"No, no, she was supposed to go straight back to the hotel afterwards. What was she doing out so late? ...she wanted a latte? That's no excuse, Hogan! Goddammit, what do I pay you for? …no, don't bother, if that's the hospital she's in, then I can get there on foot. Tell her I'm on my way."
He hangs up and grabs his coat, darting right past the bed and stopping only as an afterthought.
"Sorry," he says like he doesn't consciously know what he's saying. "There's some trouble. My PA- I gotta go. Give me ten minutes."
He never comes back.
The next day it's headline news that Tony Stark's personal assistant, Pepper Potts, spent two hours in the hospital with a mildly sprained ankle. Stacy throws the paper away immediately. Her mother was right: dreams really should just stay dreams.
And Tony Stark should just marry that damn PA of his.
Mary and Myra James share everything: parents, a birthday, a face, a voice, a name if you rearrange the letters. Most importantly, they share an intense fixation for a certain billionaire playboy who always seems to be on the magazine covers when they feel the need to buy them.
Last night, they shared him in the most complete way anyone could. It goes on for hours, his stamina is fantastic. They sandwich him when it's over and enjoy the feel of his hard body as sleep overtakes them. They wake up at the same time; a similar body clock is another thing they share. Tony is still asleep and as divine as ever. They could just sit there in awe of him like worshippers at a shrine until it's nighttime again (then maybe they could persuade him to go for one more romp), but then his PA shows up and totally kills the mood.
She moves so softly, neither Mary nor Myra even saw her until she was standing beside Myra, clearing her throat.
"If you ladies wouldn't mind following me please?"
They leave the room with her, not without objections on both their parts. They share a quick temper too.
Pepper Potts is in a crisp black pantsuit, standing outside the bathroom door while they change into their newly laundered clothes. Silently they make faces at her frumpy outfit. Fashion sense is another thing they share. Admittedly though, Pepper Potts does sort of make it work in a 'sexy professional' kind of way. They both tried it with a woman once (same one of course), and Pepper Potts kind of looks like her now that they think about it.
"A cab has already been called. He'll take the two of you wherever you'd like to go."
Maybe it should take you, they think. A sense of humor is also something they share, along with a lack of creativity for insults, but at least they're honest about it.
They exit the bathroom fully dressed. There's no way of knowing that what Myra is wearing today isn't what Mary wore yesterday. They have all the same clothes anyway. Pepper Potts is back in Tony's room with the door wide open. She spreads his sheets out gently with subtle, well-practiced movements. She covers him to his chin, protecting the cold spots their absence left behind. Her hands slide up to his hair, brushing it out of his eyes so tenderly, they could almost mistake it for a maternal sort of gesture, but the look in her eye anything but. In his sleep, Tony grunts and reaches out. His hand reaches for hers, but pulls away. They think they can hear her name on his lips.
Pepper Potts comes back to them, completely composed though Mary and Myra are a little stunned to be honest.
"Have you done this before?" Myra asks on the way out.
It's a very serious question that Mary would have asked if Myra hadn't. Pepper Potts doesn't take it quite as seriously.
"What do you mean? Escorting a woman off the premises or women?"
That's good enough for Mary and Myra, who explode into tears and hug Pepper Potts for a good five minutes (they share high emotional states). While she is caught off guard, they tell her to never give up. Someday he will understand what he has and then she will never have to see anyone off like this again, because it'll be her every morning just like it's supposed to be.
At home they take the whole of their accumulated Tony Stark posters and memorabilia to the nearest garbage dump. They go on for hours declaring Tony Stark to be the most pigheaded, insensitive asshole they have ever met in their lives to some very bewildered friends and family. Never again does a kind word for Tony Stark pass their lips.
Grudges are another thing they share.
Christine Everhart has never before seen a good night lead to such a crappy morning, and she's been to rush parties.
Sitting in the back of a cab with cheaply upholstered seats and a bruised pride, she counts the ways in which she hates Tony Stark and that assistant of his. In fact, forget about Stark for a second, who does Pepper Potts think she is? Christine is a high-powered investigative journalist with a long list of achievements to her name. Pepper Potts… is Tony Stark's coffee girl. Maybe she files some paperwork or something too. Does she actually think she'll ever be more than that? It's a little sad when you think about it.
Three months later, that single night in bed is a distant memory, and Tony Stark's survival in terrorist captivity is everybody's top story. As she stands near the back of a press conference with a bunch of reporters who haven't slept with Tony Stark, she is momentarily distracted by Pepper Potts standing in the back; all the way back. That Christine is too is a non-issue. Some jackass from People magazine took her seat up front.
It's hard not to notice Potts's emotional state. She hides it well, like a true professional; Christine can give her that. Still, she's spent her life learning to detect subtle nuances in body language and Potts is no exception. Christine can see the sweat on her brow, the twitching of her fingers, the tight and closed off way she carries herself up until some little man in a suit comes to talk to her. She watches Stark like a hawk the whole time and once those little things are clear, she really couldn't be more obvious. Before Christine's eyes, Pepper Potts's life working with Tony Stark is becoming like something out of a bad office romance novel.
That Tony Stark might return those feelings doesn't even occur to Christine until she goes to a party at Disney studios ready to tear him a new asshole over the very incriminating new photos she's just got in. She takes time to case the area for him. He's with that man from the press conference. Who is he anyway? Ah whatever, probably no one of interest.
Tony is distracted from him at any rate. All it takes is Pepper Potts in a backless dress Christine wishes was less flattering than it is. Tony is enamored with her from beginning to end. They dance and no one bothers with them; he doesn't make a scene of it. They speak words she can't hear, lingering eye contact seems to last for hours. Tony leads her onto the balcony and that's where Christine loses track of him, at least temporarily.
He's flustered when he appears at the bar minutes later. He orders some very strong drinks and maybe that's why Christine is even harsher when speaking to him than when she rehearsed it in her head.
Time passes again. Pepper Potts ascends to the proverbial throne of Stark Industries, and suddenly Christine is staring up at her instead of down. The Stark Expo is destroyed, then Manhattan goes to hell, then some crazy killers with literal fire in their eyes come knocking on Tony's door (and blow it up). That doesn't even factor in what's going on in the rest of the world. Amid all the chaos and rising evils that threaten the peace once a week, Tony Stark and Pepper Potts announce their engagement.
The cover page of that month's Vanity Fair features Tony grinning ear to ear as he holds Pepper's hand out, displaying the ring. He's pointing to it while the exasperated but joyful Pepper rests her head on his shoulder. Headlines call them the perfect power couple and boy does it show.
There have been no tabloid stories of Tony Stark's exploits in weeks (at least not where sleeping around is concerned). Every now and then a new one would pop up, always utterly false sensationalism. There will be no more of that in the real world. Tony Stark is officially tied down and a happy man for it.
On some level, Christine is happy for them. Her article on the fast approaching wedding day is just written up- it's set to be a shockingly quiet affair, so making it sound extravagant takes some real time and energy. It's not her best work, but it'll pay the bills and tug at the heartstrings of her readers. People eat up a good love story. For a while, she had some trouble deciding whether or not she wanted to include all the little things she knew about their interactions over the years that led up to the love and marital bliss they would now share, but ultimately the article is good enough without it.
Just because she was the first one to see it doesn't mean she has to brag.
A/N: Huh, that felt a lot like a 5+1 story without the +1. Oh well, I still like it, and I hope you did too!