She can’t help laughing a little. “You’re so obviously a pilot it hurts. Please, call me Summer. If we’re all going to be crammed in here cheek by jowl it’s stupid to be formal — especially if I end up rummaging inside your head any.” She sobers for a moment. “You will come to me if you have problems, I trust. No heroic male self-sufficiency bullshit.”
“That means you’re stuck calling me Tony. Because ‘Mr. Stark’ is so formal, no offense to you, but it makes me want to puke. So if I’m calling you Summer, best get used to calling me Tony.” He lets out a snort of amusement. “Heroic male self-sufficiency bullshit. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”
“Tony, then. I’m serious. No pretending everything’s okay when it’s not; I’ll know.” Summer raises her eyebrows and gives the dark-haired man a stern look that quickly dissolves into a smile. “That being firmly established, would you care to join me for dinner?”