Chapter Text
“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, swirling his whisky and watching the drips of amber liquid recede down the inside of the glass.
He wasn’t supposed to be drinking tonight, this was an important charity gala and he couldn’t afford to make another mistake in front of so many potential donors and the press.
This was supposed to be his night off, but Pepper had informed him that the director of the charity was going to announce that she was stepping down from her position, so it was important that he show his face.
His perfectly tailored pinstripe suit suddenly felt restrictive, itchy and stuffy. He downed the rest of his whisky in one and practically ran towards the nearest exit, which happened to be the large, glass doors onto the veranda. He pushed them open hastily, almost tangling himself in the gossamer curtains, and collapsed against the railings.
He raked his fingers through his hair, pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the railing and closed his eyes, trying desperately to calm himself down.
Several deep breaths later, he realised he wasn’t alone. A dark haired woman he didn’t recognise was watching him from across the quiet space. Her expression showed that she was concerned and the look in her deep brown eyes somewhat resembled pity. He didn’t want her pity.
She opened her mouth, closed it again and paused for a second before speaking.
“Are you okay?”, she asked, her tone tentative and worried.
“Is that really any of your business?”, he snapped, his voice sharp and authoritative, cutting through the cold night air and seeming to silence the faint noises of the traffic below them. Her gaze shifted, suddenly embarrassed that she’d even asked.
“Oh, uhh, I’m sorry Mr. Stark, I didn’t mean to offend you”, she turned towards the light of the door, keeping her eyes on the ground, her glossy hair shining with a slight russet tint as it reflected the gentle glow of the lamp.
Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes closed. When he looked up she was gone.
He needed to pull himself together. He was starting to regret his snarky response to the woman and wished he’d asked for her name. She looked quite young, definitely no older than 25, that thought made him mentally recoil a little. Perhaps he should just forget the interaction had ever happened.
After composing himself, he found his way back to the bar, ordered another whisky and began to engage in small talk with some of the charity organisers.
The lights dimmed and a low voice welcomed the charity director to the stage. She was a tall, willowy woman with shoulder length auburn hair and her presence on the stage immediately commanded the attention of the room.
It became so quiet that Tony swore he could hear his own heart beating and felt conscious that others may be able to as well, but maybe that was just his anxiety.
“Firstly, I’d like to thank you all for being here tonight,” she said, her voice steady and confident, “and I’d also like to announce that after tonight I will be stepping down as the director of the charity and my niece will be taking my place.”
She waved her hand and the woman from the veranda walked onto the stage. Tony blinked hard, thinking that his eyes were playing tricks on him, how could this kid possibly run an entire charity?
The energy in the room shifted as people exchanged glances and whispers.
This hadn’t seemed like a controversial plan when Pepper had mentioned it to Tony earlier, but evidently there was more to this than he understood. After all, he was hardly involved in most of these charities he supported, he just donated to their causes and showed up at the events for publicity’s sake.
“I would also like to thank Mr. Stark for being here tonight and continually supporting this organisation since it was founded,” she continued, seemingly unfazed by the disapproving looks many in the room were sharing, “without Tony Stark, there would be no helping people.”
High praise, he thought, as she asked him to join her on the stage and say a few words. He wasn’t prepared for this. He’d expected it might happen, but he’d had far too much to drink to deliver a speech that wouldn’t embarrass him. But it would be worse for him to say nothing at all.
Slowly, he stood up and made his way from the back of the room towards the stage, he felt his heart pounding in his chest and he tried to keep his expression as nonchalant as he could. He shouldn’t feel this way over a silly speech that would be forgotten almost as soon as it ended.
The room was quiet and everyone’s eyes were on him, even with the spotlights blocking out most of their features, he could feel them all surveying him, judging him.
“So, I’m not going to say much,” he began, “unusual for me, I know.”
That stirred a chuckle from some members of the audience.
“I’ve supported this charity for a long time and I’m being honest here, it’s mostly because I’ve been a direct cause for a lot of the damage you’re trying to repair.”
He flashed the crowd his signature smirk while raising his hands in a dramatic admission of guilt, which garnered more laughter and applause from the crowd.
He went on to thank the organisers of the event and the director for inviting him, but his mind was elsewhere the whole time, wondering why the woman from the veranda’s ascent to director had provoked such a negative reaction from the guests.
His guess was her age, but he made a mental note to look into her when he got back to the comfort of his lab.
The rest of the night was relatively uneventful. He bumped into a few people he’d rather not speak to, one of them being Christine Everhart, a Vanity Fair journalist, who he had slept with several years ago and still always found a way to probe into his personal life and make him feel uncomfortable.
By the time he arrived back to the safety of the tower, he was exhausted and headed straight for his bed, completely forgetting his plans to search for information on the now slightly less mysterious woman from the gala.