Prologue

The truth is… I am not stalking Tony Stark.

I would just like to clarify (I would scream it from the rooftops if I was brave enough, just to be clear) that it is not my fault that I coincidentally have to walk past Stark tower every morning to get to and from work, or the fact that I just so happen to be a photographer. Really, I swear it! Pinkies crossed!

But- Um- not crossed in, like, a promise nullifying way or anything, of course… But in the promise making variety. With the crossing of our pinkies we shall solemnly swear to agree that none of this is my fault! Okay?

I am totally not a creepy stalker and I definitely did not just accidentally walk into Tony Stark exiting from his tower, spilling scalding coffee up the front of his very white dress shirt. "Jesus-!"

"-Christ!" I gasp with appall as I stumble back, the paper cup tipping from my numb grasp, splatting to the concrete and spilling a fresh wave of hot Joe over his beat sneakers.

I can only stare at the expanding patch of brown spreading on the concrete from between his feet, mortification brewing so deeply in my bones I just might start quivering, I can taste it in the back of my throat, burly and strangely tasting like rhubarb.

Okay, so I may or may not be stalking Tony Stark. Just a little bit.

But I didn't run into him on, purpose, or anything! There are some boundaries even I refuse to cross, and using scalding hot liquids to superficially burn people for my own personal gain is definitely one of them!

My head snaps up at the dragging silence, I can feel the horror obscuring my features as I scramble to give him his personal space bubble back, the faint waft of his thick cologne making me somewhat dizzy but maybe that's just what it feels like to shrivel and die on the inside infront of one of the most famous people on earth. "Iamsosorry!"

"It's fine-"

"Are you okay?!"

"I'm fine-"

"I don't even like coffee!" I wail without thought, gripping at my camera hanging from my neck with burning, coffee dripping fingers for absent comfort as I bare my soul for judgment. This was clearly meant to happen, to show me the many, many err's of my ways. He's so nice.

I've become a degenerate woman, who does not stalk playboy philanthropists, no. A woman who does not go to a specific cafe every morning just to double back past the tower even though there's a much closer one to the office, cheaper, too...

I meet his startled gaze as my shoulders slump, resigned. "There is a special place in hell for people like me."

My breath catches as Tony Stark blinks in front of me in surprise, covered in my coffee, and then laughs. It's a nice- great, even, charismatic laugh and it shoots straight down my spine like a zip cord pull, tremoring an unprecedented tune against my vertebres. Uh oh.

Okay, so I may or may not have a teensy, tiny, insignificant crush on Tony Stark. A teensy, tiny, insignificant thing that can never and will never happen. This moment only serves to further prove that fact to me, if not the other concerning things this man definitely doesn't have me doing.

It's just how it is. The sky is blue and I'll never be good enough for someone like him. I'm a coffee spiller, not a coffee not spiller because I actually pay attention to where I'm goinger.

I drop my hands to wring them anxiously, biting my lip. Repent! "I, um, feel like this is around the time you give me your dry cleaning bill the size of Manhattan and I run away in mortification…"

Tony Stark grins a bit after a far too long second, the lip of his goatee crimping up in a way that I do not notice. Just like I don't notice his attention briefly flickering over me, a cursory glance every person makes to catalog a stranger.

"Ah, that won't be necessary right now. It's not like I have access to that kind of information at the push of a button or anything." Is it getting hotter in here? "Though I could just give you my contact info I suppose, you know, to update you once I somehow figure out how to get an exact number on such a thing… Electronics, so finicky these days…" Oh, yeah, I'm outside.

Clarity suddenly hits me. I am asleep. I must be dreaming. Yes. That's why everything is so unbelievably confusing right now, why I can only stare as Tony Stark grabs my limp, coffee wet hand from my side with a Stark pen procured from a blazer pocket in his other. His hand is so warm.

The cap is in his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing as he writes a number on the dry curve of my thumb.

"Rain or shine, okay?" He says like it's nothing, pats my hand, slightly smudging the wet, red ink before dropping it and recapping his pen and shoving it back into his blazer, eyebrows raising in my direction teasingly.

I feel like the sky may be eclipsing and how am I the only one burning alive right now?

"Partly cloudy work?" This is apparently a day of acceptance for me. I don't know how well the reception is going to be 'down there' though… You know, hell.

My wit is gifted with a very cheeky smile that almost makes the bags under his eyes completely disappear. It's moments like these that I wish I had a mask like the superheroes to hide behind, I don't think I've ever seen something so bright.

Tony freaking Stark raises a brow, lowering his head to peek at me over the rim of his shades, grin amused and perfect. "Now you're pushing it."

Damnation has suddenly never felt more worth it.