Taron Polk tugged on the bottom of her navy pencil skirt. They were more miserable than they looked—and that was saying something. Light classical music wafted through the speakers on the paneled ceilings as she scanned the rest of the psychologists in the spacious waiting room. To her right, an older woman with pale, wrinkly skin and silver hair pulled into a clip at the back of her head fiddled with a pen. A little farther down, a man in his mid-thirties clutched his briefcase to his chest, likely from nerves. He drummed his dark brown fingers along the case over and over again. On her left, there was a man who was probably in his forties with a wide smile and dimples. His white teeth shone compared to his tan body. He had winked at her when they walked in. The wedding band on his finger must not have much meaning to him. And right across from her sat an ancient-looking fellow with white, wispy hair. He'd tried to smile at her earlier, but it looked rather painful. It made her heart ache—she knew what it was like to live in pain. An Asian woman, who was probably the closest in age to Taron, was meeting with the client now.
There was one thing all the people in this room had that she didn't: experience. She only had one client with the firm she worked for while striving for her first PhD. She bet the man across from her had at least three PhDs, maybe more. There was no reason for her to be here when there were so many professionals. She still couldn't figure out why she'd been invited.
A door opened. The Asian psychiatrist walked out, her expression neutral. If anyone were going to land this job, it would be the Asian woman or the smiley man. The woman was beautiful. And the client was infamous for his history with women. The smiley man probably related to that particular part of the client's history, which they could bond over. The silver-haired woman was likely the best fit, but Taron would bet money that she wouldn't be chosen because she was older. The Asian woman turned to the nervous man.
"You're up." The man wiped his brow and then hobbled his way over to the door their client was behind. Taron took one last look at the experienced psychologists and psychiatrists before accepting that she wouldn't get the job. She'd still interview, of course. It would be crazy to pass up an opportunity to meet someone like him. It was freeing to know she'd fail. She leaned her head back on the wall and closed her eyes. Hopefully, she'd go last. Luck was feeling generous; by the time the old fossil tapped her on the shoulder to wake her up, the room was empty. She jumped in her seat, startled. His voice was surprisingly strong.
"Your turn Miss."
"Thank you, Doctor." He gave her another pained smile before making his way to the exit. She shoved off her seat and tried to rub sleep from her eyes as she walked to the door for her interview. The door creaked open with a slight push, revealing a small room with three people inside. Afternoon sun slanted through large windows at the back of the room illuminating a large man with a horrendous mullet and a grumpy face in a black suit sat in the left chair and a strawberry-blond woman in a blue blouse and skirt with creased brows on the right. She had turned to fuss at the man who sat in the center seat, billionaire Tony Stark. He was slouched halfway down the chair with a glass of brown liquid in his hand. His brown hair was rumpled—likely from running his hands through it. His grey suit was perfectly pressed in some areas and insanely wrinkled in others. She suspected this was due to the slouched position he held. She shifted her seat out of the sun so she could see.
"Who's the kid?" Mr. Stark looked her up and down, unimpressed. Embarrassment flared in her chest; she started to play with her fingers. She knew the invite must have been a mistake; Dr. Green's eyes have been going for a while, he probably misread the email. The kind-faced woman to the right of Mr. Stark examined her, her brows creasing further.
"You're George Green?" The woman asked skeptically. It was like her heart was a gong and someone just struck it. All her insides felt like they were vibrating. Words wouldn't form.
"Are you?" The mullet-man asked roughly as he reached for the gun at his waist.
"Happy," the woman hissed. Taron stayed absolutely still. "Calm down. You're scaring her." The man—Happy—and the woman had a silent battle of wills while Mr. Stark watched, eyes flicking between them, amused. It went on for an awkwardly long time—Mr. Stark started to fall asleep. Taron squirmed in her seat, wishing they'd finish so she could leave and go cry in her car from the embarrassment. She was still trying to shake off her nap. Finally, the woman won. She turned from Happy and faced Taron.
"Sorry about all that Dr. Green," Taron was about to correct her but she kept talking. "I am Miss Potts, Mr. Stark's assistant." She gestured to the body guard. "That is Harold 'Happy' Hogan, I assume you've put together what his job is." Mr. Hogan glared at her. Taron nodded before Miss Potts continued. "And, as I'm sure you know, this is Tony Stark. You are interview—" Mr. Stark sat up abruptly in his chair.
"You're a bit young to be a qualified professional Dr.GeorgeGreen." Miss Potts shot him an exasperated glance. Taron finally found her voice.
"Well, I'm not—"
"How old are you?" Mr. Stark interrupted, rubbing his head. "And can we close the blinds? The lights are killing me." Miss Potts sighed and got up to fulfill his request. She waited a moment to make sure he was done speaking before answering his question.
"I'm almost twenty-one," she said, bracing herself for the reaction. Everyone's brows shot up. "And I'm not Dr. Green, he's my boss." Miss Potts glanced back from the now closed window.
"Then why are you here?" She huffed a piece of strawberry-blond hair out of her eyes as she walked back to her seat.
"He said he got an email asking for me to come, so I did." Mr. Stark barked a laugh.
"I see he's still mad about the New York conference," he mumbled to himself as he continued to laugh about the events of the New York conference. If this man had managed to get on Dr. Green's nerves, he must have done something terrible.
"You knew him?" Pepper asked tightly. "Why didn't you say something when she first walked in?" Mr. Stark slouched back down his seat and peered at his empty alcohol glass.
"I wasn't paying attention to the names." He rubbed his forehead and crinkled his face in discomfort. "I have a dreadful headache."
"Would you like Ibuprofen? I have some in my purse." Taron began reaching down for her bag.
"Does it look like I'm on my cycle?" She started to scowl before catching herself. She began to feel grateful that she was horribly underqualified. This seemed like a miserable position. Miss Potts smiled at her, every line on her face was tense.
"Do you have any qualifications for this position?" She could tell Miss Potts was only asking to be polite.
"I have a bachelor's in psychology, a masters degree in counseling, and I am currently working on my internship at Dr. Green's clinic for my PhD." Miss Potts' jaw went slack.
"I thought you said you were twenty-one?" The bodyguard asked.
"I am," she reassured them. Mr. Stark smirked.
"And here I thought you were just Dr. Green's lovely assistant." This time she didn't stop herself from scowling at the billionaire. He hadn't stopped smirking. "When'd you graduate?" She prattled off the answer without even thinking.
"Highschool? 1999. I graduated with a bachelors degree in psychology in December of 2001. I completed my masters a year later in 2002, I have been working on my PhD for two years now, and I started my internship last month." Mr. Stark flashed her the most genuine smile a drunk man could, leaned forward, and stuck out a shaky hand.
"Nice to meet another genius." She crinkled her nose at the smell of his acidic breath.
"I'm not a genius. I just have a lot of time on my hands." Despite her showing no indication of wanting to shake his sweaty hand, it stayed extended.
"Mr. Stark, put your hand down." Miss Potts said softly. "She doesn't want to shake it."
"Why not?" He replied incredulously, throwing up his hands. "It's an exquisite hand. The hand of a billionaire. It has held wonderful things."
"Tony," she warned. Miss Potts' glare was enough to make Taron squirm and it wasn't even directed at her. He opened his mouth to argue but his assistant wouldn't have it. "You are drunk." Taron did not want to be here for this.
"I'm not that dru—"
"You finished an entire bottle of expensive wine in an afternoon! We're going home."
"We got to finish the interview!" He cried, poking out his bottom lip. Miss Potts rolled her eyes and turned to Taron, who was feeling more invasive by the minute, with apologetic eyes.
"While your story is very impressive, I'm afraid we are looking for people with a bit more experience. Thank you for coming in." Relief spread through Taron's body.
"Thank you for interviewing me." She said quickly. Then she sprung from her seat, walked out the door, through the building, and to her car as fast as she could in that confounded skirt.
—
Tony watched the frazzled young woman leave, a smirk on his face. "You know Potts, I have a good feeling about that one."
"You have good feelings about most women," she responded dryly as she continued gesturing for him to get up. An odd sense struck his core. Did Pepper really think so little of him? He had some morals didn't he? None of these feelings reached his face. He finally arose, swaying on his feet.Gah his head hurt.
"No, no, Potts nothing like that. She's barely an adult." She shot him a look that saidI wouldn't put it past you. He felt odd again. "I swear I feel nothing towards her like I felt for that first woman. Otherworldly." Pepper rolled her eyes. Her and Happy walked towards the building's garage on either side of him.
"It doesn't matter what you do or don't feel, Tony, we can't hire her. Everyone else exceeded the requirements for this job and she doesn't even meet them."Exactly.
"She's a genius!" He cried, swinging his arms flamboyantly, which caused him to lose his balance and stumble into Happy.
"I got you, Sir."
"Thank you, my dearly beloved." Happy frowned.
"Sir, what did we say about petnames?"
"That they're unprofessional." He had hardly gotten the words out before dissolving into giggles. Happy and Pepper locked eyes.
"He can handle every drink in the world but fermented grape juice," he heard Happy mumble. Pepper snorted a laugh.What a nice sound.He couldn't remember what he had been trying to say. Oh yes!
"Can we at least give the young genius a shot, Pep? Please? It'll look wonderful on her resumé." He did pray hands at her as she clicked her car keys.Wait, Pepper brought her own car? I thought she rode with Happy. Tony patted his pockets—his keys were gone. He snapped his gaze up, they were in Potts' hands. She noticed him eying his keys.
"Oh no you don't. You chose to drink wine, so you can live with the consequences."
"Accountability," Tony scoffed. Happy went ahead and opened the passenger seat door in Tony's car. He considered arguing to drive but his headache surged so he decided against it. Pepper slid into the driver's seat and cranked the car.
"And don't you pretend for one second that you are picking her to help her resumé. I will not let you trick that girl!"
"Pepper, I am not trying to trick her," he said, covering his eyes against the bright sun. "I just liked her. She felt nice." Pepper either gave up or bought the lie and remained silent for the rest of the drive. Tony smiled to himself. While Pepper had been looking at things like qualifications and experience, Tony searched for the exact opposite. He wanted Not-Dr. Green because she was the least likely to be able to offer actual counseling. He could probably bully her into signing the papers saying he was competent enough to keep his seat at Stark Industries without having to get counseled.
