The warm spring sun beat down upon the milling hordes of black and crimson caps and gowns. Commencement had just ended and there were graduates rushing to and fro to congratulate their friends and be congratulated by their family. It was a madness I was more than eager to escape, especially with the amount of people apt to recognize me. It was hard to remain anonymous when your last name was Stark.
I finally broke through the swarming crowds, dodging everyone asking for a photo or an autograph and came into full sight of what I had been laughing at ever since I had caught sight of it. The neon green, flashing sign atop a long black limousine, parked just curbside. The sign gleamed five letters; my name, Mitch. It twirled about like an emergency siren, practically begging all to look. And that was exactly what they did.
"Classic Tony," I shook my head with a giggle as I escaped the throng of people and skittered over to the sidewalk, where Happy Hogan, Tony's long time security guard, was waiting.
"Congratulations, Miss Stark," Happy smiled at me, which I fondly returned. I hopped into the door he opened for me and was instantly greeted by my obnoxious brother, who had a smug grin plastered onto his face.
"Mitch!" he regaled me, raising his hand in my direction, and making a show of toasting to me before finishing off the already almost empty glass of champagne. It clearly had not been his first. "Like the sign I made? How does it feel to yet again be one-upped by your big brother?"
"Like always — amazing," was my usual sarcastic quip to this timeless taunt.
"Turning eighteen in a week and you've just graduated Harvard now. I'm disappointed."
"Then I guess you'll be upset to know that I was offered a chance to start doctoral classes as soon as I wish."
"What?" Tony practically yelped, nearly dropping the bottle of champagne he was refilling his glass with. "They did? Doctoral?"
My grin was mischievous. "You hadn't heard?"
"Uh no? You didn't tell me that!" He used his empty glass to point accusingly at me before returning to fill it again.
"I need a new project," I sighed, affecting a dramatic air by tossing some of my a few waves of my loose chestnut hair over my shoulder. "A PhD sounds like a nice addition to the collection."
"Skipping a Master's?"
"Already have some!" I sang and tossed the degree I clutched at him. He failed to catch it with the champagne glass in his hand and it tumbled to the carpeted floor of the limo. I didn't care, it was just a piece of paper with my full name, Michelle Isabella Stark, printed on it. It was considered a combined degree because I had spent five years at Harvard instead of the usual four. I was planning on getting several more such pieces of paper anyways. "Who's one-upped now, Mr. M.I.T.?"
"Happy, can we leave now?" Tony leaned forward and rapped the glass partition that separated us from the driver. "Mitch is being a bitch."
"Lots of traffic, boss," Happy said over his shoulder to him as I burst into laughter at Tony's sulking facial expression and rhymes. "We're also attracting a lot of attention with the sign."
"This city is too small," Tony griped, throwing himself back against the cool leather seats. "I can't wait to get back to Cali. But anyways, what are you gonna do with your ludicrous amount of teddy bear degrees? Hang them on the wall of your geeky library? Or leave them in this limo I rented?" He glanced down at the floor of the limo where my degrees still lay as though to scoff at them.
"Maybe I'll let you burn them to make whatever new dumb metal thing you're working on next," I joked, shrugging out of my black graduation gown and tossing my cap onto the empty seat across from me. I kicked off my black pumps next and tucked my feet under me, smoothing the folds of the simple sleeveless white dress over my knees. Graduation had been a long and boring ceremony. I could hardly wait to return to Malibu and the Mansion I had been away from for so long. While I had enjoyed my time on the east coast, I'd missed my brother, who, when he wasn't traveling for Stark Industries, spent most of his time on the west.
"My metal things aren't dumb," Tony argued, setting aside his own to pour me a glass of champagne. I accepted it with delight, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid. It was France's finest, and I expected no less. "They're actually useful. And they actually, you know, run the company. The company that we both own, effective June sixth, when you turn eighteen." His eyebrows were raised as though questioning what my "soft science" degrees were going to do to help out the company.
"One of these is in business administration," I pointed out, reaching down to scoop up the physical representation of the Harvard curriculum I had eaten my way through in the past several years. I was an academic at heart. We both knew it. "Another's in psychology. The third is in international relations. Don't know if you realize this, living in your garage playing with cars all day, but the stuff you create gets sold to people."
"Really? I thought it was sold to robots and machines," Tony shot back sarcastically.
"Not how the world works," I beckoned him to refill my drained champagne glass, and he ardently did so. By this time, Happy had maneuvered us out of the crowded Cambridge streets and onto the highway, to both of our relief. Tony was quick to link his phone up to the limo's sound system as we sped towards the airport, and soon had AC/DC blasting out of the speakers. I began to sing along as Tony ensured my champagne glass remained bountiful. We spent the next half hour belting out lyrics to rock n' roll songs and going through as much of the well-stocked fridge as we could before Happy pulled into the airport, where the Stark private jet was waiting.
"Wait till you meet my new assistant," Tony told me, sounding excited as I snatched up my discarded cap, gown, heels, and degree, and stepped out of the limo, barefoot onto the warm pavement outside.
"Assistant for what?" I laughed, trying my best to tiptoe across the hot asphalt to the awaiting plane and ignore how dizzy the champagne had made me. Tony followed me, having brought the rest of a bottle with him. "Tying your shoes?"
"No, to change your diapers," he jabbered back as we galloped up the stairs safely made it onto the private jet, albeit with raucous laughter, to Happy's distress.
"Is this your new assistant?" I asked immediately upon spotting the redheaded woman sitting patiently on one of the couches in the luxuriously furnished plane. She was dressed in a professional but stylish black pencil skirt and a matching black blazer with a white blouse underneath, her ginger hair was pulled back in a strict, no nonsense bun, and her red-tipped, flawlessly manicured hands were tapping away with determination at a small Stark Industries laptop. At my words, she ceased whatever she was doing and looked up, meeting my intrigued brown eyes with her focused blue.
"You must be Michelle Stark," the women rose to introduce herself, but Tony beat her to it.
"Mitch, this is my new personal assistant, Pepper-"
"Virginia Potts," the redhead added in, "is my real name."
"-and Pepper this is my baby sister, Mitch. You might have to change her diapers, you don't mind, right?"
"Of course not, Mr. Stark," the woman named Pepper said smoothly, and Tony gave her a winning smile, only to hurry over to the table, discard the open bottle he had carried onto the plane and begin browsing through the collection of booze on the table.
"I'm quite capable of changing my own diapers, Ms. Potts," I jested, tossing my cap, gown, degree, and heels onto one of the tan leather couches of the jet before reaching out to shake her hand. Her handshake was firm and disciplined, and I liked her instantly. "I'm not so sure about that one, however." I tipped my head in the direction of where Tony had just opened a new bottle of champagne, only for the cork to fly directly at Pepper and I. My hand still clasping hers, I dragged her down with me into a crouch as the cork flew over our heads, hitting the wall near the cockpit just behind us. Our eyes locked on each other's from the absurdity of this first meeting, and we shared a quick laugh.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Michelle Stark," I properly introduced myself with a grin.
"And I'm Virginia Potts, though Mr. Stark calls me Pepper and I suppose it's caught on. Oh, and I'm quite capable of cleaning up Mr. Stark's messes," Pepper said humorously as Tony loudly apologized to us for the violent champagne opening.
"I don't doubt it," I grinned as we rose back to our feet. Pepper shook her head and refused the glass of champagne that Tony offered her, which left him with only me to offer it to. I groaned, beginning to feel drowsy; I didn't usually drink alcohol but this was a special occasion. I accepted the glass anyway and threw myself onto one of the couches. Sipping the drink slowly, feeling sleep threaten my attention to what Tony was rambling about now. Something about his birthday, and the Malibu Mansion, and how many guests. . . .