Plus One
Steve's POV
I nudge a sleepy Bruce awake as he begins to nod off for the fifth time, and he blinks blearily at me as he runs a hand through his hair.
"I know you're tired," I mumble, "but…"
"I get it, Steve." he assures me. "We need to be here for Taylor. It's just really boring…"
"Yeah, it is." I agree. "I have no idea how they do it. Wake Clint up for me, will you?" I glace at the sleeping archer across the table as I turn back to the main conference table in the center of the room.
Tony was at an expo in Nevada, so Taylor currently held his place at the head of the table, acting as his second in command and Vice President. The business side of the team management was normally left to the Starks, the ones with the most experience in fending off reporters and ruling meetings.
Today Taylor was working a board of investors and trying to push through an app that can show what a person might look like with different colored eyes, lips, or hair color, based off a conversation we had a few weeks ago on the spread of eye colors on the team.
"I will ask again, Miss Stark; why does this matter to us? Why does it appeal to the general populous?" a cigar-smoking suited benefactor sighs exasperatedly, even though Taylor has told him why several times.
"Mr. Martens, I have said this once, I will say it a thousand times; people are naturally curious creatures. You have green eyes, correct sir?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, are you not curious as to what your eyes look like with a blue tint? Do you want to know what your optimal eye color is? Once a person finds an eye color they like, they will most likely go out and buy colored contacts or order them online. Therefore, this app will increase sales for that business as well-"
"We do not care about their business, Miss Stark, we care about our business! Why should we care if it benefits them?" demands Martens, his face slowly growing red.
"So we should completely ignore opportunities to help other people?" Taylor asks, her voice calm and her head title slightly.
Martens' face just grows redder as he sputters and stutters. "I…no…but…"
Taylor just smirks slightly and brushes a bit of dust off the shoulder of her tan blazer.
See? This is why we leave the business to them. You do not cross a Stark unless you feel like getting tangled in your own words.
"Miss Stark." one of the grayer investors to Martens' right steps in. "I understand your want to help other people, but you have to understand that this business is a multibillion dollar operation, and that means we need every dollar we can get in order to sustain ourselves. We need to focus on what we need, not other people." he says slowly, like he was explaining something to a five year old and not one of the most competent nineteen year olds in the world.
"Mr. Ramirez, I fully understand the needs of this business. Believe me, I've been in on business deals since I hit double digits. I know we need the money, and I am not saying we will not benefit at all from this app. In fact, we will get all the profits. But if the success of our projects leads to money for people in a completely different field of the game, what do we have to lose?"
"Miss STARK!" Martens jumps forward, slamming his hands down on the table. Taylor, usually unflappable and as iron as her suit, actually jumps back in surprise. "What do have to lose, you ask? What do we have to lose? You've been doing this for, what, nine years now?"
"Yes sir."
"Then why on earth would you ask such a question? We have a lot to lose. Technology, legal rights, not to mention the whole dang company. If you have to ask, I don't know why you hold your position. You are just a teenager. Fit to take over the company one day? Ha! I don't see what-"
Everybody at our side table stiffens, and I quickly glance at and share a small nod with Natasha, Bruce, and Clint, Thor being at home in Asgard at the moment.
"Enough!" I bark, using a voice that can make any soldier snap to attention. The four of us subconsciously form a half circle around Taylor. I take up parade rest by her left side, Clint crosses his arms and leans forward against her chair, Bruce stands by her right side and is fiddling with his phone, and Natasha is in the corner of the room and recording all of this for Tony.
I turn to Martens. "Mr. Martens, correct?"
"Y-yes sir."
"You might know who I am. My name is Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America. That's Dr. Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton. Now, we don't know much about business, I'll admit that. But we do know about Taylor Stark, and we can prove that you, sir, are wrong on all accounts. Bruce?"
"Thank you, Steve." Bruce taps a few buttons on his phone, causing a holographic ID to appear beside him. An ID of one Taylor Stark. "Gentlemen, meet Taylor Stark. Again, I suppose. You say she isn't fit to do this job? I see your doubts and raise you her one hundred ninety eight IQ points. That makes her just about twice as smart as you, Martens, seeing as you only have about ninety of those. She graduated high school at twelve, before she was even a teenager, and then went on to graduate MIT at sixteen. She was expanding the laws of robotics at an age where most kids were learning to drive. She has closed multiple business deals worldwide, and contributed to this company just as much as her father. So, in summary, Taylor Stark is a genius."
"A ruthless negotiator." Natasha adds.
"A tough unit in battle." Clint amends.
"And the best teammate anyone could ask for." I finish. "So I suggest you think before you open your mouth, and remember that a Stark doesn't get anything unless they either make it or earn it."
Clint hums happily as Martens slumps back down, his face the twin to a tomato and unable to form a sentence.
"Thank you." Taylor looks back at us gratefully before turning back to the rest of the table. "I am hereby making the decision to use my veto power as the Vice President of Stark Industries. This app will go through, and anyone that tries to stop in with be fired. Am I understood?"
The table mumbles agreement under her unwavering gaze, and Taylor turns on her heel and walks out like she owns the place.
And she actually might. Tony might, anyways.
Once we all rejoin in the hall, we can all here the click-clack of Taylor's two inch heels approach out of a side hallway.
"Well that was unexpected," is all she says to open the conversation.
"We couldn't let that pass." Bruce explains as if it were obvious. "He was spouting garbage, his brain was…"
"A bag full of cats?" Taylor suggests, referencing one of Bruce's common lines when dealing with villains.
He nods with a grin.
"We're your team, Taylor. You'd do the same for us. Heck, you have done the same, Remember that one guy in Monaco?" I remind her, referencing a skeptic that called me a hoax.
"And that time in Maine?" Bruce adds, talking about a time when General Ross got entirely too close for comfort.
"And California." Natasha points out a bodybuilder that challenged her to a wrestling match.
"Don't forget the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D." Clint reminds us of all the agents who called him a traitor – and worse – after New York.
"Your dad is gonna love this video." Natasha diverts the conversation, waving her phone at us. "Come on, let's send a picture."
It takes about ten minutes for us to get organized and shuffled into a single camera frame.
"Say cheese!" Natasha cues, and we all give our best smiles with stiff backs.
"Okay," Natasha sighs, lowering the camera after two pictures, "now let's take the real picture."
She taps her phone a few times and sets it down on a decorative small table near her before rushing over to us.
Taylor squeals and jumps Natasha, hopping on her back piggy-back style. Natasha just laughs and hooks her arms under Taylor's knees. Clint reaches over and ruffles Bruce's hair, and Bruce gives bunny ears in return. I just laugh and lean back against the center of the wall.
We all hear the click as the picture is taken, and Taylor eventually climbs off Natasha, Bruce flattens his hair, and Clint bats the bunny ears away. We all laugh at each other's antics as we smooth down our clothes and Taylor sheds her blazer, opting to wear just her long sleeved dress shirt and beige slacks.
Then we all check our pockets, just in case, seeing as two of us can steal your mustache from under your nose.
"Natasha, where is my wallet?!"
Natasha, the Black Widow, just runs.