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I went to the office for the next several hours after I'd left Tony's, needing to make use of my work time in any other way besides being there with him. (And her, for that matter.) Which, admittedly, was causing me stress because I still had a massive pile of shipping mandates for him to sign, and we were quickly running out of time in the month to do it. And now that he'd made it known he'd decided to follow Little Miss Trust-Fund McBoob-Shirt to London (Sorry. I'm sorry! That wasn't called for. Vanessa. Her name is Vanessa), that means I am suddenly under an even bigger time crunch to get these done. I can only assume I'll be expected to tag along. Which means I'll be spending my time trailing behind those two, with a giant stack of files in my arms, trying to sneak these ridiculous mandates under a very distracted Tony's nose for him to sign every chance I get. In my mind, I'm picturing something not unlike an obstacle course I have to get through just to get my work completed and not give Obadiah Stane any reason to come after me. (I know Tony said he can't touch me. But if I display any incompetency in completing my assigned tasks involving company business, who's to say Tony wouldn't be forced to fire me?)
Walking back into that office would have been a bit awkward had it not been for the fact that Obadiah was flying to South Korea when I came in this morning, so thankfully I had no chance of running into him. And, the rest of the staff members that I'd worked with and come to know so well over the last several years were nothing but warm and welcoming. Especially Bambi. She was beaming, and gave me a big motherly hug when she saw me. "I knew they couldn't keep you gone for long," she gushed.
"Well, we have Tony to thank for that, now, don't we?" I said, smiling.
"Yes, we do," she agreed, sighing. She smiled an adoring grin. "Bless his heart," she said sweetly.
I couldn't help but smile at her sentiment, despite the situation I'd just left at the mansion. I'd always felt like Bambi thought of Tony as her surrogate son. She'd been with the company since before he was born, and had watched him grow up through the years into an adult. She'd shared with me on occasion how heartbroken she was for him when his parents died, and how she'd wished so many times that she could just hug him, and tell him everything was going to be alright, and that it was okay to show the hurt he must have felt because of it. She and I had discussed Tony on more than one occasion, and I'd come to know that she and I were pretty much of the same understanding about him- the death of his parents left him with a deep-seated fear of being alone. Directly after they'd died, he scrambled to create JARVIS, and we were convinced it was because he craved having someone, anyone around 24/7, which was virtually impossible for any actual human being. This was further proven by his need to know my whereabouts at all times, and his annoyance with my having plans on any occasion that didn't involve him (which is the reason why my social life is virtually non-existent. I know Tony doesn't mean to be so intrusive, but he just can't help himself. So, I've just kind of accepted this for the time being), and when I do have plans, he grills me on what I'll be doing, who I'll be doing it with, and where it will all take place. His excuse? "You can't be too careful, Ms. Potts. I'm just looking out for you."
This, in addition to his many eccentricities and the incessant volleying of sexual innuendo, had chased all other previous executive assistants away. But, unlike those others, after a few days, I had come to understand Tony, and quickly figured out why he does the things he does, and is the way he is. It's because he has a lot of hurt and insecurity that he tries desperately to mask with that famous bravado. But in private? When he forgets his demons for a moment? He's kind, compassionate, boyishly curious about everything, funny, sweet,and...
I have to stop this. It's 7 pm, and I've been sitting in my car for almost 45 minutes at a park near the beach, watching the sun go down and ruminating about the day. About him, truth be told. I came here to go for a jog, and clear my head. I need to start moving on. I can't keep torturing myself over Tony. We don't fit. We aren't meant to be together. We're so on opposite ends of the spectrum, if we did get together, one of us would eventually kill the other one, I'm convinced. So, I've decided. As soon as we get back from London, I'm going to start dating. Nothing serious or steady. Just enough to get my feet wet in the dating pool again. It's been a while since I'd been in the company of any man besides Tony, and I need to do this for myself. For my sanity.
I went straight home from the office and changed into my jogging clothes- knee length black leggings, a purple gortex pull over, and sneakers, and drove straight over here. There is a bike path that goes through a small grove of trees, and comes out onto a pathway along the beach, giving me a perfect view of the water. It's a very peaceful place, and this time of day, the air is just cool enough to keep you comfortable as you run. It's a favorite in the local running community, and as I watch the head of the path I see a few people come and go, some jogging, others walking their dogs, and a few bicyclists.
I pull my hair into a low ponytail with an elastic band from home I have slung around my wrist, and head out. I beep the alarm on my car, and stow the remote and my phone in the zippered front pocket of my pullover, and start my run.
The path is fairly clear, as I can only make out one other person, who is several yards ahead of me, running with their dog. I take in several deep breaths, smiling to myself at how good the heavy dose of fresh air feels in my lungs. It's been ages since I'd been here, and I realize I'd missed it. My building has a private fitness center, with every type of piece of equipment or class you could imagine accessible to every resident. So I'd taken advantage of the yoga and pilates classes they'd offered, eliminating my need to travel far or brave the elements to get some exercise. (Something I know I'll regret having to leave behind when I move). But, now I know what I was missing. The scenery is breath-taking (more so than the jogging!) and I find myself smiling now outwardly. I already feel the stress lifting, and my outlook is vastly improving. London, schmondon, I think, smirking. I can handle you, Mr. Tony Stark. And your little floosie, too.
But my inner dialogue is abruptly interrupted when I turn the corner around the first bend in the path, and run smack into another jogger, coming the opposite direction. The impact knocks me to the ground, and he immediately starts apologizing, trying to help me back up. "No, no, it's quite alright. I just..." I stammer, embarrassed, when I raise my eyes to look at who my poor victim is, and find myself gazing in to the most beautiful emerald green eyes I'd ever seen in my life. "I...I..." I stutter, unable to stay aboard my train of thought.
The eyes belong to a tall, slender, blond, and naturally tan man of around 35, by my estimation. He smiles, showing his perfectly straight and gleaming smile, complete with a dimple in his right cheek. "They should have traffic lights, with so many people who use this path," he jokes. I chuckle, inwardly wincing at how flirty and frankly girly I sound. My mind goes blank, and I can't think of a single thing to say in reply. Thankfully, I don't have to.
"Are you alright? That was quite a collision we had," he says, helping to lift me to my feet and examining a reddening bump on my forehead. He brushes his thumb over it, and I wince, inhaling sharply through my teeth. He winces back. "Ooh, sorry. Yeah, that looks like it'll bruise. Let me walk you to get some ice," he says.
"Oh, you don't have to. I'm fine. Really," I insist bashfully.
He shrugs and smirks. "At the risk of sounding cheesy, can I walk you to get some ice?" he asks hopefully.
I hesitate for a moment, and then smile in agreement. So much for waiting until after London, I think. I nod. "Okay," I say, smiling politely.
He nods and I turn around to start walking back out the way I came in. He offers his arm, and I accept it, and we walk together.
"I'm Nick, by the way," he offers, extending his other hand to me. I shake it.
"I'm Pep...um, Virginia. Ginny for short," I say, quickly deciding that if I intend to get over Tony Stark, my rekindled sense of autonomy needs to include my actual name. I'm only known as Pepper because Tony decided long ago that would be my nickname. And, granted, everyone else followed his lead in calling me that. So, I get that I won't be able to disconnect from it completely. But, as of this moment, Pepper is now officially my moniker in the corporate world only.
"Ginny. It nice to meet you, Ginny," Nick says playfully, smiling.
"It's nice to meet, you. Nick," I say just as playfully. We chuckle, as other bike-path patrons pass us by, coming and going. But we just continue our leisurely stroll, arm and arm.
"So, tell me, Mr. Nick," I say. "What do you do?"
He smiles and chuckles awkwardly. "Uh, well," he says. "I'm in finance. Investment banking for a firm in the city. I know it sounds boring, but..."
I immediately protest. "No! It doesn't! I have a degree in accounting, actually! And that's what I did before I got the job I have now," I explain.
"So, what's the job you have now?" he asks, predictably, and I immediately roll my eyes, and sigh.
"I'm a personal assistant to the President and CO-CEO of Stark Industries?" I say, wincing, knowing what will probably happen next.
Nick's eyes go wide. "Tony Stark?!" he says, seemingly in astonishment.
"Oh God!" I say, rolling my eyes skyward. Here we go, again!, I think, recognizing the familiar pattern. I might as well nip this in the bud NOW! He's obviously going be so star struck over Tony, like ALL the rest, that the only thing he'll want to talk about is HIM! "Yes! Why? Is that a problem?" I ask cautiously.
Nick shakes his head. "No! Not at all! It's just that today, ironically, his name came up in a meeting at my firm," he says.
My eyes go wide. "It did? What on earth for?" I ask, chuckling.
"Well," he says. "We were talking about how companies that have been around for half a century or more, doing the same thing they've always done, and staying in their own backyard, are now, in this global economy, being forced to diversify. And how there are still a handful of company execs who aren't getting with the times. Tony Stark, of Stark Industries, is on that list, I'm afraid. No offense," he says, holding up a hand in surrender.
I shake my head. "No. None taken!" I assure him. "And you're right. But Tony's lack of vision is for good reason. Let's just say he's..." I say, taking a deep breath. "Got a lot of demons to face on a daily basis. Mainly having to do with having his father's company unexpectedly dumped in his lap at the age of 21. Tony was never someone who had the patience for business. He's far too restless of a person for that. He's all about inventing and creating, and would much rather spend his time in his workshop than in a boardroom. Believe me. As someone who's served as his proxy for countless meetings, I know wherefore I speak."
Nick chuckles and nods. "It sounds like it," he says. "So why doesn't he just sell off his share of the stock, and get out of the rat race?"
I shrug. "I can't honestly answer that," I say. "The only thing I can come up with is that he has some sense of obligation, maybe? To see it through until he has no other choice but to hand it off? I don't know." Suddenly, my cheeks flush and I feel embarrassed that I've opened up to a total stranger in this way. "I'm sorry! I don't mean to jabber on like this!" I say, my cheeks reddening.
Nick dismisses my apology with a smile and a wave of his hand. "No need to apologize. Our conversation is completely confidential, don't worry," he assures me, his eyes warm and assuring. I breathe a sigh of relief.
We reach the parking lot, and we walk to my car. "This is me," I say, pointing to it.
"Just a minute," he says, leaving my side, and walking to his own car. I watch as he opens his trunk, and produces an instant ice pack out of a small first aid. He grins as he shuts the trunk lid and starts walkingback my way, shaking it in his hands to activate it. "You didn't think we'd find actual ice here, did you?" he jokes.
I laugh. "You come prepared," I joke back, and he gently lays the ice pack on the small bump on my forehead. I wince again, but thank him, and take over holding it to the wound.
"Hey. My job is to read financial forecasts and make future projections. In a nutshell, I make my living making sure I'm prepared," he says.
"Investment banking humor. Nice touch," I tease, and he chuckles.
"I thought a numbers girl like you would appreciate that," he says.
I smile at him. There are those eyes again. Sparkly emerald green. It's hard not to gaze into them, and I welcome the change. Dark emerald green, I observe with great satisfaction. NOT dark chocolate brown.
