mranthonyeffingstark:

iamthefirechild:

mranthonyeffingstark:

iamthefirechild:

Summer Rainault fished around under her desk and slipped her feet back into her boots, reaching down to zip them up before straightening the stack of paper and picking it up. She pulled in a deep breath, pushed her knee-length braid back over her shoulder, and headed for the elevators. It would be the first time she would make any report directly to Mr Stark, and butterflies did flips in her middle.

She loved her job, truly, but that didn’t prepare her to meet the CEO for the first time. Especially given what she knew of him — both on the job and off — it was hard to /be/ prepared. One thing when he was in the suit and she was behind the mask, and both were up to their elbows in their respective tasks. Hope to gods she wouldn’t say anything too stupid.

Summer brushed at cat fur on her slacks, ran her hand over her red hair, and knocked on Mr Stark’s office door.

Tony looked up at the knock on his door. He raised an eyebrow, staring at the door for a full minute. “Come in.” He looked down again, tinkering with a piece of technology he’d been working on for a while. He wasn’t sure what it would end up being yet, but he was sure it’s be something great.

He didn’t look up to see who was walking in when he heard the door open. “If it’s paperwork, leave ‘em on the corner of the desk. I’ll do them… whenever I feel like it.” He set the tech down and looked up at the red haired girl.

“I haven’t met you yet.” He raised an eyebrow again. “Who are you?”

Summer cleared her throat and made herself stop staring. “I’m Summer. Summer Rainault.” She took a step forward, started to offer a hand, then remembered and tucked it behind her back. “I work in marketing. Web development. I had some ideas … based on the Iron Man suit.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “What brings you up here? Can’t just be a paperwork drop-off, Pepper could have done that herself.” He thought for a minute. “Or I’m missing something. That happens too.”

“It’s not paperwork. In that sense anyway. It’s … sketches. See,” she sighed, distracted by remembering, “the other people basically told me that if I got your approval, they’d look at my designs. They didn’t think I’d actually ask you.” She made a wry smile. “But if you’re busy I’ll just — ” Summer shrugged, though regret sat heavy in her heart, ” — it doesn’t matter.”