Burger King and Extra Olives, Please
WORKAHOLIC – noun; a person who works compulsively at the expense of other pursuits.
That word pretty much summed up Virginia 'Pepper' Potts. And every person with whom she corresponded on a regular basis seemed to agree that Pepper, who lived and breathed her job, needed time off.
Especially Tony Stark. And he had to admit, his reasoning for sending his personal assistant off to the swankiest spa in Los Angeles for the weekend was rather selfish. He needed his staff to be in mint condition, and in all honesty, Potts was dragging.
He'd noticed a definite change in her demeanor ever since his royal screw up during the last week's press conference in which he let a minor detail about his involvement in a certain incident at one of his company's laboratories.
Well, it had been a major enough detail to warrant about nineteen-hundred-and-fifty-three extra calls on Pepper's work phone daily. A good two-thirds of them were from overly ambitious junior reporters hoping to sell the assistant's take on the enthralling and highly secretive story to the highest bidder: The Boston Globe… the New York Times… CNN… They all wanted a piece of the piece.
But Pepper, having all the integrity that she had, turned all offers down flat. Still, Tony could see the stress was building inside her— regardless of the tight façade of serenity that she wore to the world— and made an appointment (or rather, forced his personal assistant by threat of dismissal to make one in his name) for her.
"Are you sure you can handle everything without assistance?" Pepper frowned as her boss began shoving her out of the door. "You haven't done it since you were twenty-one, you know."
"Yes, Pepper, I've even taken the time to memorize my social security number, if that makes you feel any better."
Tony sighed exasperatedly. He had a meeting with the Board of Directors in ten minutes and was not even remotely prepared for it. "It's two days. I think I can handle my own life for forty eight hours."
"You're nailing your own coffin, Tony."
He grinned and rested his fist on the door lightly. "Knock on wood, right, Miss Pepper?"
"You'd better hope so, Mr. Stark."
And she was whisked off in a small, yet ridiculously expensive sedan that stole her away to Le Bain Élégant de Pied.
It took only twenty minutes for the true meaning of the word 'coffin' to reveal itself.
And at the end of the second day, when Tony Stark had gone through two cell phones— one by throwing it out of his bedroom window in frustration with some marketer and the other by dropping it in a pot of coffee—, spoken to at least eight million college students pretending to be qualified journalists, found three little children on his doorstep all claiming to be the products of some romantic trysts he'd had with three indiscriminate women and jammed his laundry machine by pouring too much Downey into the damned thing, Tony Stark promised himself to never let Pepper Potts out of his sight again.
A/N: There'll be more of these little vignettes. And by the way, the name of the spa that Pepper was pushed into literally translates from French to the Swanky Foot Bath.
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