FIC: "Unscheduled Meetings" (2/5) - Iron Man movieverse (Tony/Pepper)
(Part One)
2. Privileged Son
Two years after starting at Stark Industries, Virginia Potts was still working with Jason Ward-as his boss.
A week after the section head's retirement had been announced, Pepper had applied for the job on a whim. It was a Friday afternoon, and she'd had ten minutes to kill before heading home, so she threw together an application and e-mailed it to HR. She'd put it entirely out of her mind the moment she stepped through her front door.
To her shock, they didn't even ask her to go through the formality of an interview-just asked how soon she could start, and offered her a yearly salary that worked out to more than her entire college tuition.
The promotion to SI's elite management team included a key to the executive washrooms, a corner office, and a section of 54 staff, any one of whom would have fallen on a grenade for Pepper if the occasion arose (which was far less likely in payroll than in other departments).
Pepper even got to hire her own personal assistant, a very clever young man called Matthew. She'd switched from glasses to contacts, started wearing sleek monochromatic power suits, and amassed an entire fleet of designer shoes. She'd put a down payment on a condo, purchased her car outright, and made some cautious investments. She still had time to put in the occasional weekend at the Tune-In gallery, and had even been nominated to serve on its volunteer board of directors.
At long last, Pepper felt as though she'd transitioned into the next phase of her life: Virginia Potts, junior executive. Homeowner. Responsible adult.
Pepper started off as a good boss; over time, she blossomed into a great boss. She was flexible and sympathetic, but always fair, and supremely task-oriented. Her previously noted gift for details enabled her to keep track of countless interpersonal issues, of the type that always arise in such a large group; her skill in diplomacy enabled her to resolve each issue with grace and tact. She remembered birthdays, and budgeted for generous Christmas bonuses. All of her staff had carefully thought-out workplans designed to speed their personal development while accomplishing section goals. Pepper knew what it was like to be in the trenches: while she delegated a lot of work, she never asked any of her employees to do something that she wouldn't be willing to take on herself.
Pepper also gave Jason her full support while he successfully and discreetly completed rehab.
Out of everywhere in the company, payroll was consistently singled out as being the most productive, as well as the most positive, place to work. Managers from other departments started head-hunting Potts' staff. Executives from other companies started head-hunting Potts herself.
One of Pepper's new responsibilities as section head was to attend the quarterly section briefing, which was where she made the legendary remark that would signal the end of her meteoric rise through the ranks of middle management.
Obadiah Stane usually presided at section briefings. Pepper liked Obadiah: he was a warm, jovial, larger-than-life man, who insisted that they greet each other on first-name terms. He reminded Pepper of her dad; she could easily picture the two of them playing a game of golf together.
Obadiah had invited her to lunch after she'd started in the new job. He'd told her that he'd been watching her since she'd started working for Jason, and that she'd impressed him with her work ethic and her commitment to the team. He didn't mention Jason's drinking, but his tone made it clear that he knew. He was familiar with Pepper's background and her interests; he asked her advice on a sculpture he was thinking about buying, and actually listened when she gave her opinion. He told a funny story that involved Tony Stark drawing up the design for the Seraphim tactical satellite on a series of cocktail napkins-in Havana, of all places-and then losing one of the critical napkins because he'd used it to give his hotel address and room number to a girl. Fortunately, she'd turned up for the rendezvous, and he was able to retrieve it. "Apparently it was the same bar where Hemingway used to drink," Obadiah had observed, with an indulgent smile.
He'd also talked to her about ways her section might improve in the next five to ten years: he wanted HR to move to an automated leave reporting system, which would make things significantly easier for Pepper's staff in the long run. He also wanted her to set up a program for company-wide charitable giving-with the number of employees at Stark, even a one-dollar donation from each paycheck would quickly amount to millions, which would do wonders for SI's image. For the first time, Pepper really had the sense that she could be a key contributor to the company's larger direction. She'd listened carefully, taken a few notes, and left feeling inspired.
Much to her disappointment, Obadiah wasn't the one at the head of the table on this particular occasion.
Pepper had studiously avoided contact with Tony Stark since their first, inauspicious meeting; upon meeting him again, she was still not favourably impressed. She noted that he was, at least, wearing a suit this time. He'd also opted for an immaculately-trimmed goatee in place of the stubble, adding a touch of sharpness and maturity to his boyish face.
However, as the meeting started, it became clear that he hadn't really changed: he still exuded boredom, dissolution, and overall, privilege. He slouched in his chair, played some sort of F1 racing game on his cell phone during half the presentations (including Pepper's), and interjected only occasionally during the other half to make smart-ass comments or ask completely irrelevant questions. None of the other section heads seemed at all surprised or put off by this, which led Pepper to surmise that it wasn't out of the ordinary.
When it was Stark's turn to speak on the subject of projections for the next quarter, he breezed through a visually arresting but sloppily organized Powerpoint presentation, which included three photos from a party at his house in Dubai. In each photo he was with a different girl.
Worst of all, though, was the fact that his numbers were wrong.
Pepper, as it happened, was something of a whiz with numbers. To call her a genius might even have been understatement: she was nothing less than an artist, whose preferred medium was the integer. Difficult equations invariably came right in her hands, and she was capable of detecting patterns and trends long before they became noticeable to anyone else (a skill which served her well in her personal investments). She never forgot dates or phone numbers, and she could recite prime numbers until the cows came home.
The main difference between Pepper and Tony Stark in this respect was that, while she knew she was bright, no one had ever told her she was gifted. She had little reason to suspect the truth-although it did occasionally puzzle her that she was the only section manager who didn't need to take stress leave at fiscal year end.
And unlike Tony Stark, Pepper never rounded up or guessed.
She hadn't seen the whole spreadsheet, and so she didn't know how, or where, but she knew instinctively that somewhere along the line, Stark had either made or perpetuated a miscalculation-one that would have dire effects on Pepper, and her budget, and her 54 devoted underlings.
At the end of his presentation, he said, "Questions?" in such a perfunctory way that made it obvious he wasn't actually inviting any. Nevertheless, Pepper raised her hand.
Stark was half-way to the door before he actually noticed the hand-and when he did, he just shrugged and kept right on moving.
"Excuse me," she called out. Her voice sounded confident, but under the table, her knees were shaking. "Mr. Stark?"
"Yes, Ms.… um…?"
"Potts. From payroll. I was wondering…"
He already had his sunglasses on, car keys in his hand. He took an exaggerated look at his watch.
"I think you made a mistake," she blurted, feeling a bit nauseous.
Around the room, everyone but Stark collectively stopped breathing. Including Pepper herself.
Stark turned, very deliberately, and walked around the conference table to where Pepper was sitting. He pulled up a chair and pushed in beside her, causing a rolling-chair pileup on either side of them as the observers backed away, instinctively, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. Tony Stark was an unknown quantity, and dealing with unknowns made this particular group a little edgy.
He tossed his sunglasses onto the table, with enough force that they skittered down to the far end before clattering to a stop. He flicked open his tablet laptop, pulled up the original budget projection via a series of finger sweeps, then slid the computer over to Pepper.
"Show me," he suggested-sounding more curious than anything.
She did.
With the full spreadsheet at her disposal, Pepper was immediately able to spot the field that had been accidentally duplicated, throwing all the other figures out of alignment. She tapped the screen, highlighting the error.
"Shit," he said, meditatively. Then he announced, "Meeting's over. Everyone go home-except you, Ms…"
"Potts," she repeated. "From payroll."
"Right. You stay right where you are."
The other section heads filed out in silence. No one looked in Pepper's direction. Pepper could feel her stomach taking the express elevator straight to her feet. She was toast.
The conference room suddenly felt cavernous, and very still. Stark was still sitting next to her at the table, close enough that their knees touched. He was studying her face earnestly, his eyes so dark they were almost black. He didn't seem angry; he just seemed… determined.
She met his gaze with a slightly defiant tilt to her chin. "I'm fired, aren't I?" she asked.
He nodded. "Kinda, yeah." He said it with a surprising amount of sympathy, considering that he was in the midst of ending her career. "However, Ms… um…"
Which was when she noticed that they weren't making eye contact anymore.
Something in Pepper snapped. He was firing her, and looking down her top, simultaneously, and he couldn't even be bothered to remember her name. Which was five letters long.
"You know what? Fine!" she said, slamming the expensive laptop shut with as much force as she could muster.
"Hey!" he protested, stroking the sleek surface of the computer's case as though it were a pet.
She stood up. "I am done!"
"You're done?" he echoed, smirking.
"You have no idea how done I am! I am through taking orders from you, and guys like you-I'm through fixing your mistakes, and covering for your failures, and putting up with your crap!" She jabbed the air emphatically with her index finger-not the finger she would have liked to show him, but even in a fit of pique, there were certain lines Pepper wouldn't cross. "You can't fire me, Mr. Stark, because guess what? I. Quit."
As she turned to walk out of the room, he called after her, "Virginia!"
She turned, astonished-and caught him looking at her backside. Again.
"Right?" he asked. "That's right, isn't it? You used to work for Jason Ward. Virginia Potts. From payroll."
She nodded, slowly.
He leaned back in the chair, put his feet on the table, and grinned up at her. "I never forget a face."
A vein started to throb in her temple, and Pepper wondered, briefly, whether she'd be able to make it out of the building before someone discovered that she'd strangled the CEO. Hell, they'd probably erect a statue in the lobby depicting the event.
"Anyhow, Virginia, what I was going to say, before you started shouting and wrecking up the place, is that I'm not so much firing you, as I am… promoting you. I want you to work for me."
"I do work for you," she replied, feeling slightly dumbfounded. She wondered if this might just all be an awful dream.
He laughed. "No, I mean, directly for me. As my executive assistant."
It didn't sound like much of a promotion to Pepper-if anything, it sounded like a punishment. Besides which: "Don't you have an assistant?"
"Right. Okay, so your first job is to fire my old assistant. You can have his office. It's the one right next to mine. Make sure he takes all his plants with him. I hate plants. Don't have plants in your office."
"You're crazy!" she exclaimed.
He clapped his hands together delightedly. "See, this is great. You're going to be perfect. Do you realize how hard it is to find someone who doesn't just tell me what I want to hear all the time?"
"I like working in payroll," she protested, feeling a little like she was shouting into a hurricane.
"You'll like working for me more, trust me."
"I just got a promotion. I don't want to be your secretary."
"Executive assistant," he corrected. "You'll get a company car, more vacation hours, stock options, all that good stuff. And your salary is going to be… quick, give me a ridiculously large prime number."
She didn't rattle off the largest one she knew (it had seventeen digits) but instead gave him a relatively modest one she'd always particularly liked.
He raised an eyebrow. "Nice. Okay, have my current assistant get the paperwork together. Then you can fire him. What?" he demanded, as Pepper frowned and bit her lip.
"That's pretty callous," she told him.
"Is it?" He blinked up at her, legitimately surprised, which caught Pepper off guard. She also found herself slightly distracted by his long, ridiculously girlish eyelashes. "Well, he can have your job. We'll tell him it's a promotion. And by we, I mean you." He vaulted to his feet, grabbed her hand, and shook it emphatically. "Done deal. Congratulations, Virginia. I look forward to working with you."
Pepper's head was in a spin. "Mr. Stark, I…"
He was still holding her hand in both of his, and she felt the heat radiate along her arm and spread into her chest. When he smiled-not a smirk, not a grin, but a genuine smile-Pepper found herself smiling back, in spite of herself.
"Call me Tony," he said warmly.
( Part Three)