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sienamysticTitle: Human Resources
Characters: Tony, Pepper (movieverse)
Rating: PG
A/N: Every great relationship has to start somewhere. For Pepper, it was the HR Office of Stark Industries.
Disclaimer: Not mine, dagnabbit.
"I won’t lie. He’s a very difficult man to work for." The HR director leaned back in his chair and scratched his cheek irritably. "I’ve started handling all hiring done for him just because I can’t trust anybody else to understand his...er...particular needs." At the alarm in Pepper’s eyes, he hastened to reassure her.
"No, not like that, Ms. Potts. I’m sure you’re aware of that particular reputation of his, but frankly, that isn’t my biggest problem in finding somebody to stay on. Mr. Stark is simply a bit, shall we say, eccentric. Although I do have to agree that there are points where the issue of his...erm...romantic life may be something for you to cope with."
"I think you’ll see on my resume that I’ve made a career out of eccentrics, Mr. Beason." Pepper leaned forward again and tapped her fingernail against a bullet-point. "I’m sure you understand that my work in the White House means that I understand very clearly what you mean by erratic working hours. And I cut my teeth handling artistic Hollywood types. Believe me, I know how to cope with sensitive and demanding personalities." Pepper sat back in her chair, pleased with how she had phrased that. Better than saying she was used to dealing with spoiled whiners without letting on that she occasionally longed to push them out the closest window.
Mr. Beason, if it were possible, looked even more pained. "Ms. Potts, the last assistant left after three hours. The previous one did last a while – eight months – but she was not the same woman when she finally turned in her resignation. I need a person with the proverbial steel fist and velvet glove. And a healthy respect for the absurd."
Pepper tried to look steely. "I do understand, Mr. Beason. I’d like the opportunity to prove that I can do it." When had this interview gotten turned around so strangely? Should her interviewer really have that pleading look in his eyes? She squared her shoulders and gave him her best “we’re going to do this my way” gaze. Mr Beason sighed, and nodded.
"Well, then. I guess you’re hired. I’ll go ahead and inform Mr. Stark that you’ll be starting next week. Please stop by the security office on the twelfth floor to get your codes, keycard, and directions. As Mr. Stark’s personal assistant, you’ll be expected to know the various plants, factories, and buildings within Stark Industries as well as his Malibu home and his apartment in New York City. He has other properties as well, but those are more rarely used and you can learn about them as needed." He proffered his hand. “Welcome to the team, Ms. Potts. Good luck."
*****
Of course, he was ridiculously good-looking. Pepper had known that coming in – after all, the man had practically grown up on the cover of a magazine, and anybody who didn’t get a whiff of his damn powerful charisma just by walking past the check-out line in the supermarket was obviously missing some sort of crucial nutrient. Well, no doubt the effect of all that charm would wear off after several weeks in close proximity. It usually did.
On the other hand, the rather unnerving interview last week cemented her feeling that this job might end up testing her limits a little more than she was used to. That was all right – the pay was great and some opportunities needed to be grabbed with both hands. So she ignored the fact that her new employer was sitting on the floor in a living room more like a cathedral than an actual living space. He was sitting on the floor, barefoot and wearing only a pair of striped pajama pants. All his attention was focused on something metallic in his hands that was beeping madly and making small, hopeless grinding noises. She cleared her throat.
"Um. Mr. Stark? Can I introduce myself? I’m Ms. Potts, and I’m your new personal assistant." She waited. He said nothing. His head didn’t even come up to acknowledge her, but his hands never stopped twisting and prodding the machine he was working on. Did he even hear her? She coughed, and tried again. "Mr. Stark? I’m Ms. Potts..." He cut her off.
"Heard you the first time. Listen, on that table,” he lifted a hand and gestured vaguely behind him, never lifting his head, “see that pair of needle nose pliers? Assistant those over to me, will you? That’s right, you little bastard, beep all you want. I’ll turn you into an salad shooter if you don’t behave..."
Pepper blinked. Opened her mouth. Shut it again. And walked over to the table to fetch him the pliers.
*****
So, ok. Not the best way to establish herself firmly, which was, after all, essential. Any good assistant knew that their employer needed to be shown where the boundaries were, or things would never work out. It was like letting a dog know you were scared – once they realized they had the upper hand, you’d get walked on or ignored. So Pepper reassessed her battlefield, reconsidered her tactical strategy, and discovered that firm commands delivered with a smile, and bolstered with lots of repetition seemed to work best on Mr. Stark. Since he was particularly bad about attending meetings, which forced him to swap his grease-smeared t-shirts for immaculately-cut suits, this became the ground Pepper chose to make her most frequent stands on. Mr. Stark would go to his meetings, and he would go on time if it killed her.
She won about three out of every five clashes. This was immensely frustrating, until Jarvis, perhaps sensing how upset she was over it (but could an AI sense things like that? How?) assured Pepper that her win-loss record was better than any previous assistant had managed. Considering the fact that Mr. Stark blatantly used every ounce of his charm to get out of things he didn’t want to do, it was a wonder his own employees recognized him when he did drift through the offices, talking a mile a minute and causing tiny disasters in his wake . And she had managed to score another moderate success - he finally got tired of crashing on the rocky shoals of her refusals, and dialed back on the subtle (and not so subtle) invitations into his bed that had begun the second he finally looked up from whatever he was working on and saw her.
Indeed, there were moments when she considered giving it all up for a nice, calm job, like perhaps juggling chain saws, or wrestling rabid mountain lions. There was the time one of his experimental machines had gotten loose and treed her on one of the kitchen counters, snapping little metallic pinchers at her. (Mr. Stark had refused to tell her what the thing was for, and he had carried it away, not bothering to hide the fact that he was giggling.) There was the time he had set her hair on fire. And, most of all, there was the first time she experienced Mr. Stark’s technique for The Morning After. One morning, promptly at eight am, she keyed her code into the alarm system that warded the door from the garage into the house, turned the corner into the living room, and discovered a long-legged antelope of a woman prowling around the house, calling Tony’s name plaintively. A long-legged antelope with absolutely no clothing on. At least, Pepper mused ruefully, there were no visible hickies. Pepper had gotten her clothed, fed, cleaned up, and out the door into a waiting car, with assistance from Jarvis. Which was apparently the wrong thing to do, because now Mr. Stark expected her to do it every time he had a late-night/early morning romp because invariably he would be downstairs in his workshop rewiring the space shuttle or teaching a computer how to swear in Farsi. Damnit.
And then there was the time she had walked in on him doing...
Suffice it to say that now she now knew that his legendary ass was as good as advertised. And since the whole tableau had been such a...vivid sight to behold, it wasn’t something she would forget any time soon. Not without extensive therapy, anyway. And getting the motor oil out of the carpet had proved impossible.
Amazingly, a year passed, and Pepper realized that she could delete the resignation letter she had on file. The man was a prima donna, a gigantic slut, and a mad scientist to boot, but her life hadn’t been this entertaining in years. Plus, the salary was enough to keep her well-stocked in Manolos and let her buy a cute little two-bedroom condo that she rarely spent the night in because after the seventh time Mr. Stark had phoned her up at two in the morning to help him deal with some insane crisis, she had demanded her own small guest bedroom. On the other side of the house from him. With a securely locking door.
Another year went by. Aside from an embarrassing and very public stunt in Rome, where he had been caught wading in the Trevi Fountain clad in only a pair of soaked white boxers – thankfully, there was no drunken starlet with him this time – he had been remarkably well-behaved. A third year went by, and Mr. Beason sent her a certificate of appreciation for being the longest employed personal assistant in the history of Stark Industries. She had shown it to Tony...Mr. Stark…and he had laughed himself sick over it and bought her an elaborate gold frame to display it in.
In the fourth year of her employment, Pepper Potts is woken in the middle of the night by Jim Rhodes, and informed that Tony had been kidnapped by Afghani warlords, and that it wasn’t known if he was dead or alive. And as she roams the house aimlessly, trying to find something productive to do while she waits for any news at all – because that’s all Miss Efficiency can do, wait and wait and wait for endless hours, she finds herself drifting past his workroom over and over again, trying to convince herself that next time, he’ll be there.
Characters: Tony, Pepper (movieverse)
Rating: PG
A/N: Every great relationship has to start somewhere. For Pepper, it was the HR Office of Stark Industries.
Disclaimer: Not mine, dagnabbit.
"I won’t lie. He’s a very difficult man to work for." The HR director leaned back in his chair and scratched his cheek irritably. "I’ve started handling all hiring done for him just because I can’t trust anybody else to understand his...er...particular needs." At the alarm in Pepper’s eyes, he hastened to reassure her.
"No, not like that, Ms. Potts. I’m sure you’re aware of that particular reputation of his, but frankly, that isn’t my biggest problem in finding somebody to stay on. Mr. Stark is simply a bit, shall we say, eccentric. Although I do have to agree that there are points where the issue of his...erm...romantic life may be something for you to cope with."
"I think you’ll see on my resume that I’ve made a career out of eccentrics, Mr. Beason." Pepper leaned forward again and tapped her fingernail against a bullet-point. "I’m sure you understand that my work in the White House means that I understand very clearly what you mean by erratic working hours. And I cut my teeth handling artistic Hollywood types. Believe me, I know how to cope with sensitive and demanding personalities." Pepper sat back in her chair, pleased with how she had phrased that. Better than saying she was used to dealing with spoiled whiners without letting on that she occasionally longed to push them out the closest window.
Mr. Beason, if it were possible, looked even more pained. "Ms. Potts, the last assistant left after three hours. The previous one did last a while – eight months – but she was not the same woman when she finally turned in her resignation. I need a person with the proverbial steel fist and velvet glove. And a healthy respect for the absurd."
Pepper tried to look steely. "I do understand, Mr. Beason. I’d like the opportunity to prove that I can do it." When had this interview gotten turned around so strangely? Should her interviewer really have that pleading look in his eyes? She squared her shoulders and gave him her best “we’re going to do this my way” gaze. Mr Beason sighed, and nodded.
"Well, then. I guess you’re hired. I’ll go ahead and inform Mr. Stark that you’ll be starting next week. Please stop by the security office on the twelfth floor to get your codes, keycard, and directions. As Mr. Stark’s personal assistant, you’ll be expected to know the various plants, factories, and buildings within Stark Industries as well as his Malibu home and his apartment in New York City. He has other properties as well, but those are more rarely used and you can learn about them as needed." He proffered his hand. “Welcome to the team, Ms. Potts. Good luck."
*****
Of course, he was ridiculously good-looking. Pepper had known that coming in – after all, the man had practically grown up on the cover of a magazine, and anybody who didn’t get a whiff of his damn powerful charisma just by walking past the check-out line in the supermarket was obviously missing some sort of crucial nutrient. Well, no doubt the effect of all that charm would wear off after several weeks in close proximity. It usually did.
On the other hand, the rather unnerving interview last week cemented her feeling that this job might end up testing her limits a little more than she was used to. That was all right – the pay was great and some opportunities needed to be grabbed with both hands. So she ignored the fact that her new employer was sitting on the floor in a living room more like a cathedral than an actual living space. He was sitting on the floor, barefoot and wearing only a pair of striped pajama pants. All his attention was focused on something metallic in his hands that was beeping madly and making small, hopeless grinding noises. She cleared her throat.
"Um. Mr. Stark? Can I introduce myself? I’m Ms. Potts, and I’m your new personal assistant." She waited. He said nothing. His head didn’t even come up to acknowledge her, but his hands never stopped twisting and prodding the machine he was working on. Did he even hear her? She coughed, and tried again. "Mr. Stark? I’m Ms. Potts..." He cut her off.
"Heard you the first time. Listen, on that table,” he lifted a hand and gestured vaguely behind him, never lifting his head, “see that pair of needle nose pliers? Assistant those over to me, will you? That’s right, you little bastard, beep all you want. I’ll turn you into an salad shooter if you don’t behave..."
Pepper blinked. Opened her mouth. Shut it again. And walked over to the table to fetch him the pliers.
*****
So, ok. Not the best way to establish herself firmly, which was, after all, essential. Any good assistant knew that their employer needed to be shown where the boundaries were, or things would never work out. It was like letting a dog know you were scared – once they realized they had the upper hand, you’d get walked on or ignored. So Pepper reassessed her battlefield, reconsidered her tactical strategy, and discovered that firm commands delivered with a smile, and bolstered with lots of repetition seemed to work best on Mr. Stark. Since he was particularly bad about attending meetings, which forced him to swap his grease-smeared t-shirts for immaculately-cut suits, this became the ground Pepper chose to make her most frequent stands on. Mr. Stark would go to his meetings, and he would go on time if it killed her.
She won about three out of every five clashes. This was immensely frustrating, until Jarvis, perhaps sensing how upset she was over it (but could an AI sense things like that? How?) assured Pepper that her win-loss record was better than any previous assistant had managed. Considering the fact that Mr. Stark blatantly used every ounce of his charm to get out of things he didn’t want to do, it was a wonder his own employees recognized him when he did drift through the offices, talking a mile a minute and causing tiny disasters in his wake . And she had managed to score another moderate success - he finally got tired of crashing on the rocky shoals of her refusals, and dialed back on the subtle (and not so subtle) invitations into his bed that had begun the second he finally looked up from whatever he was working on and saw her.
Indeed, there were moments when she considered giving it all up for a nice, calm job, like perhaps juggling chain saws, or wrestling rabid mountain lions. There was the time one of his experimental machines had gotten loose and treed her on one of the kitchen counters, snapping little metallic pinchers at her. (Mr. Stark had refused to tell her what the thing was for, and he had carried it away, not bothering to hide the fact that he was giggling.) There was the time he had set her hair on fire. And, most of all, there was the first time she experienced Mr. Stark’s technique for The Morning After. One morning, promptly at eight am, she keyed her code into the alarm system that warded the door from the garage into the house, turned the corner into the living room, and discovered a long-legged antelope of a woman prowling around the house, calling Tony’s name plaintively. A long-legged antelope with absolutely no clothing on. At least, Pepper mused ruefully, there were no visible hickies. Pepper had gotten her clothed, fed, cleaned up, and out the door into a waiting car, with assistance from Jarvis. Which was apparently the wrong thing to do, because now Mr. Stark expected her to do it every time he had a late-night/early morning romp because invariably he would be downstairs in his workshop rewiring the space shuttle or teaching a computer how to swear in Farsi. Damnit.
And then there was the time she had walked in on him doing...
Suffice it to say that now she now knew that his legendary ass was as good as advertised. And since the whole tableau had been such a...vivid sight to behold, it wasn’t something she would forget any time soon. Not without extensive therapy, anyway. And getting the motor oil out of the carpet had proved impossible.
Amazingly, a year passed, and Pepper realized that she could delete the resignation letter she had on file. The man was a prima donna, a gigantic slut, and a mad scientist to boot, but her life hadn’t been this entertaining in years. Plus, the salary was enough to keep her well-stocked in Manolos and let her buy a cute little two-bedroom condo that she rarely spent the night in because after the seventh time Mr. Stark had phoned her up at two in the morning to help him deal with some insane crisis, she had demanded her own small guest bedroom. On the other side of the house from him. With a securely locking door.
Another year went by. Aside from an embarrassing and very public stunt in Rome, where he had been caught wading in the Trevi Fountain clad in only a pair of soaked white boxers – thankfully, there was no drunken starlet with him this time – he had been remarkably well-behaved. A third year went by, and Mr. Beason sent her a certificate of appreciation for being the longest employed personal assistant in the history of Stark Industries. She had shown it to Tony...Mr. Stark…and he had laughed himself sick over it and bought her an elaborate gold frame to display it in.
In the fourth year of her employment, Pepper Potts is woken in the middle of the night by Jim Rhodes, and informed that Tony had been kidnapped by Afghani warlords, and that it wasn’t known if he was dead or alive. And as she roams the house aimlessly, trying to find something productive to do while she waits for any news at all – because that’s all Miss Efficiency can do, wait and wait and wait for endless hours, she finds herself drifting past his workroom over and over again, trying to convince herself that next time, he’ll be there.
