Taron hadn't spoken to Dr. Green since he'd confessed to how she had gotten that "job interview". Tony Stark had been right; Dr. Green was still mad about whatever happened in New York. When he'd received the email offering him an interview to be Stark's counselor, all composure had flown out the window. He'd wanted to do something worse than reject the CEO, he'd wanted to insult him. So, he sent his least qualified counselor, Taron Polk. After she'd returned, Dr. Green had apologized excessively, but she was not swayed. She'd forgive him after she'd gotten over the embarrassment. Which could take years. Thanks to him, she'd been too stressed to work on her dissertation and distracted in her morning classes.
She continued to ignore him as she walked into the clinic that afternoon, only saying hello to her fellow employees, Danielle Toms, Jojo Deckers, and Herbert Smith. Danielle was a no-nonsense, motherly, older woman with mahogany skin. Jojo, with her blond Dutch braids, was the second youngest at 29. Herbert was in his sixties and had a cane for a knee injury he'd gotten a while back trying to snowboard. He was her counselor when she was getting her Master's degree and when she needed an internship he helped get her a spot at Dr. Green's clinic. They still meet twice a of the other counselors at the clinic knew why they were at odds, and neither of them was at liberty to say.
Her low heels thudded across the carpet as she made her way to the room farthest from the front. This room was for the interns. It had dark brown carpet, light walls, a small desk, a futon, and an odd assortment of paintings. She had chosen to decorate the space with plants. She never turned on the overhead fluorescent light—only lamps were allowed on. It was cozy. As long as you avoided looking at the stains on the ceilings, the cracks in the walls behind the paintings, and the chipped paint. These faults were half the reason Taron only allowed lamps to light the space.
Taron sat down in her swivel chair and began riffling through her bag for Marie's notebook. Marie Baldwin was the client she was working with during her internship. Marie was a teenage girl in the middle class and had concerning levels of anxiety; not life-threatening or she wouldn't be with an intern. They met three times a week. Each session, she would come in with something new she was anxious about. Taron was beginning to suspect that the young girl didn't know who she would be without her anxiety, which was a valid concern because she had made it her whole personality. Helping the girl develop a proper sense of self seemed a bit above her skill level, but she'd try her hardest. Anxiety is no fun to live with. She flipped through the notebook while she waited for Marie to arrive.
She was late. If she didn't show in five more minutes, Taron was allowed to leave. A minute or two had crawled by when she heard a knock at the door.Finally.
"Come in," she called pleasantly. There was no need for her sour attitude to bring Marie down. The door creaked open—It was not Marie. Jojo walked in with a smile, gum half hanging out of her mouth.
"Hey Polk, Marie just called; she's sick." She instantly felt ashamed for being frustrated.
"Thanks, Jo," she responded with an appreciative smile. She began putting up the notebook and turning off lamps, but Jojo hadn't left. "Is there anything else?" The blond hesitated.
"Dr. Green wants to talk to you," she spat out quickly. "Says he has some good news." Taron resisted the urge to sneer. Instead, she schooled her features into a neutral expression.
"I'll head that way then," she said, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. She knew her smile didn't fool Jojo. They walked in silence towards the main room—Jojo glancing her way every few steps. The blond turned into her office after giving another glance in Taron's direction. If Jojo hadn't said there was good news, she would have thought she was getting fired. She reached Dr. Green's door and huffed. Maybe she wouldn't have to speak and could continue the silent treatment. She knocked.
"Come on in," he croaked. She opened the door slowly. She scanned his room, the green carpet, cream walls, Van Gogh replicas, and the squishy brown couch across from his pinewood desk. When she finally looked at him, she realized he had a very peculiar look on his face—like his stomach was upset, and couldn't tell if he needed to puke or poop. When she didn't speak, he cleared his throat,
"I have, uh, received an email." He coughed. "For you." He seemed genuinely unwell. Some of the ice in her heart melted, and she softened her gaze. He tried and failed to continue several times before gesturing for her to look at his computer. She walked around his desk and scanned the email on his screen.
She'd gotten the job.
Tingling spread through her body, shaking her hands. She turned to Dr. Green, all animosity forgotten, and laughed. She couldn't believe it. She spoke to her boss for the first time in days.
"What does this mean?"
"It means you won't have any student loans left to pay after working for him for a year." Her eyes nearly bugged out upon seeing the salary. His face hardened. "You'll be earning your pay though, working for that lousy, disrespectful—"
"Maybe it's a mistake," she pondered aloud, suddenly anxious. "His assistant said I didn't have enough experience." Dr. Green's face twisted into a menacing frown.
"I don't know who's email—" He was cut off by a sudden ringing of the telephone. He snatched up the receiver. "Dr. Green's Counseling Clinic, this is Dr. Green." She continued to stare at the email. "Yes, I got the email." Taron's eyes whipped to Dr. Green. "Do you want to speak to her? I have her here." He handed her the phone, brown eyes wide.
"Hello?" A familiar voice crackled through the phone.
"This is Pepper Potts, Mr. Stark's assistant. Are you the young woman we interviewed on February 3rd, 2005 at 4:45pm?"
"Yes," she replied breathily.
"Perfect. If you accept this position, Mr. Stark will come by the clinic around 3:30pm every Thursday if that works for you."
"Uh, yes, that's fine."
"So, do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Accept this position?" Taron was silent for several beats. She twirled her hair around her finger again and again.
"I thought I wasn't qualified?" It was a sincere question. She could see Dr. Green shoot her a death glare out of the corner of her eye.
"Yes, well, Mr. Stark was pleased with your credentials,"But I was not. Was what Miss Potts left out. Taron rubbed her chin as she delved deep in thought. While the money was certainly tempting, Stark hadn't exactly been pleasant when she'd met him before.
"Will Mr. Stark be sober when he attends?" Miss Potts huffed in frustration. Not at her but at Stark.
"I will do everything in my power to make sure that he is, yes." Taron gulped.
"Then I accept." Her heart pounded in her chest so loud she wouldn't be shocked if Dr. Green could hear it.
"Wonderful! You will start this Thursday, February 10th."
"Okay, sounds perfect," she said through a wide smile. She placed the phone back on the receiver and turned to Dr. Green. "I'll never give you the silent treatment again."
—
Oil was all over his shirt, but he didn't really care. He'd been working on his Blue Shelby Cobra 1967 all afternoon, ACDC roaring in the background. He was now lying on the cool concrete floor of the garage, letting music fill his mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He felt blissfully empty as the music penetrated his soul and replaced it with mind-numbing electric guitar riffs. Tony Stark was gone. Washed away. The man in the garage smiled.
He awoke to a light jab in his arm. He peaked an eye open to see Pepper in a lovely cream outfit looking down with concern. She'd turned down his music.
"Why's my music so quiet?"
"It's at a manageable level."
"Don't manage my music," he whined as he rolled over. He instantly regretted it, suddenly aware that he was lying on concrete. Sighing, he propped himself up and looked at his assistant.
"You shouldn't have let me fall asleep down here. Now I'm stiff," he said, rubbing his neck. She ignored his statement—knowing he didn't mean a word.
"I emailed Dr. Green's clinic and called to confirm."
"And? Did Genius accept?" Pepper covered her mouth and plopped on his workbench. He shot her an inquisitive look.
"I forgot to ask what her name was!" She placed her head in her hands. He shrugged.
"No worries Potts I doubt Not-Green will mind. She seemed chill." To be honest, he remembered nothing about the girl except she was the least qualified. But he must have made a solid guess because Pepper's brows relaxed a little. "Anything else Worry Wort?" She scowled at him, and Tony tried not to smile.
"You will be meeting with," she paused, considering something, then sighed, "Not-Green on Thursdays at 3:30pm for an hour." He frowned. "Every week." His frown deepened. She blew strawberry-blond hair from her eyes."Do you want to stay CEO or not?" After a few beats of silent protest, he nodded, rolling his eyes. "Then you will meet this girl once a week and hope she gives you a good monthly report." His eyes shot to hers.
"She knows everything?"
"Yes, it was in the original email." He nodded before rising with a grunt.
"Anything else?" He asked as he twisted back and forth, trying to loosen his back.
"She requested that you be sober for all future meetings," she said with a smirk.
"What'd you tell her?"
"That I would do everything in my power to make sure that her request is granted." Laughter laced her eyes. Tony snorted.
"That's it. You officially lost the title of Favorite Assistant." She smiled, got up, and began walking back upstairs.
"Thursday! 3:30!" She called as she walked up the stairs in her clicky heels. Tony turned to the disassembled engine he'd been toying with for the past couple of days with the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"J.A.R.V.I.S., turn up the music."
