You Want It Darker? (OC x Loki x Winter Soldier)

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Hey JARVIS, could you do me a favour and pull up reports on those abnormality sightings in the desert of New Mexico?" A familiar voice fills the room.

Stark casually strolls through the doors, his attention glued to an electronic screen he's holding.

"Certainly Sir," the British voice responds out of thin air. "Although I must inform you that-"

"You know, breaking and entering isn't usually how people get my attention, Miss Rushmore." Stark quips cutting off the AI, his voice laced with amusement as he looks up from his device and stares straight at me. "But I gotta say, it's working."

"And by the way, how did you get into my-" he continues.

"Who said anything about wanting your attention, Mr. Stark?" I'm quick to cut off the question and I meet Tony's gaze with a playful smirk. I hold up the paperwork for him. "It pains me to disappoint you, but I'm just here to drop this off. Miss Potts orders."

As I'm praying in silence the makeshift cover is enough to not have Stark question my presence in this room any further, my gaze follows him as he walks over to the open bar at the other side of the office.

"Well, I gotta say, Miss Potts does know how to hire a killer paralegal." He gives a quick smirk whilst saying her name, and places two crystal glasses on the countertop. "But good thing you are here, I am in urgent need of someone to help me finish this 25 Year Old Glenlivet. Drink?"

He turns away from me and grabs a glass bottle with some type of brown liquid in it. He faces back to the glasses and skillfully pours the liquid into them. I frown, not sure if this is a good situation to engage in. I vaguely remember the file stating something about avoiding him.

"I'm not sure I-" I begin to protest, but Tony cuts me off as he approaches, holding two glasses aloft.

"Company policy, you must do what the boss says. Sorry." He shrugs in a childish manner and extends the drink to me. I'm about to grab it when he pauses. "Wait, how old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as he scrutinises me.

"I'm- eh- twenty-three," I stumble over my words. To be honest, I didn't know what my actual age even was, so technically this was a half-lie.

"Yeah, sure, that sounds convincing. Twenty-three?" Tony repeats with a pained face, his demeanour shifting slightly as he hesitates to hand me the glass. "I'm really starting to rethink life choices here."

"Is there an issue, Mr. Stark?" I inquire innocently, extending my hand towards the drink, allowing my fingers to lightly brush against his.

"What? No. Just- Don't tell Miss Potts," he scrambles for words, but quickly composes himself. A sly smirk appears on his face and he thrusts the glass into my hand. "Bottoms up, kid."

I raise an eyebrow at his response and watch him as he takes a swig of the drink. Quickly, I bring the glass to my nose, discreetly sniffing the liquid for any signs of tampering. To my surprise and relief, it simply smells strongly of ethanol.

Not thinking twice, I take a large swig of the drink and a burning sensation courses down my throat, and I struggle to suppress a cough, my eyes watering slightly. What the fuck is this? Is he trying to poison me?

"You okay there, Snow White?" Tony's voice breaks through my discomfort, his expression quizzical as he observes my reaction. With a raised eyebrow, he saunters over to one of the lounge chairs in the middle of the office and settles into it.

Forcing a smile, I respond in a raspy voice, "No, no, I'm fine." I try to hide my displeasure as best as I can, though the burning sensation still lingers in my throat. As the liquid begins to settle, a warm wave of pleasure washes over me, and I find myself starting to relax. Perhaps this drink isn't so bad after all.

"I'm just not used to such an... Acquired taste." I gesture at the glass I'm holding and take another sip of the deadly liquid, and smile as I feel it coat the back of my throat.

I see him staring at me, as if analysing my facial expression and mannerisms. I try not to seem bothered by it and walk over to his desk, and slowly place the papers I was still holding back on it. Slowly turning to face him, I prepare to make an excuse to leave.

"I should really get-" I begin, but Stark cuts me off before I can finish.

"So, Miss Rushmore, tell me. How does an international model, speaking multiple languages, including Latin for some reason, become a paralegal at Stark Industries?" He takes a sip of his drink, waiting for my response.

"Well..." I politely smile at him and casually stroll towards the seating area. "I get bored easily," I shrug casually. "And Latin is one of the many things keeping me busy I suppose."

"Huh," he replies deadpan. "You know, I could really use your help at a party I'm throwing this Thursday evening."

"You need a paralegal at a party?" I raise an eyebrow sceptically.

"Yeah, you know, for... checking legalities and stuff," he says in a lazy tone, obviously not being truthful.

"Right," I squint my eyes, regarding him with suspicion. "And is there a reason for this party?"

"Is there ever not a good reason for a party?" He quips, his smirk playful. "What? Are you the party police?"

"You offend me, Mr. Stark," I retort with a smile, though my patience is wearing thin. This conversation went on far too long for my liking. "But I'm not sure attending parties was part of my job agreement as a paralegal... And stuff."

"Well, I would like for you to be there. And since I'm the boss and all," he states arrogantly, gesturing to himself before taking another swig from his drink. "You'll do great."

"Okay," I breathe out, forcing a fake smile. This guy is really getting on my nerves. "Will that be all then, Mr. Stark?"

"I'm glad you asked, I—" He begins, but before he can continue with another of his wild statements, I interject.

"No? Wonderful." I give him another forced smile, setting the glass Stark gave me on the nearest side table. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me."

"Well, actually—" He starts to protest, standing up and gesturing toward me, but I swiftly make my way towards the doors at the opposite end of the office, swinging them open.

"Great chat, really. Thanks for the drink! If you have any questions, just let me know, Mr. Stark," I cut him off once more, flashing him a final smirk before allowing the doors to drop closed behind me as I walk away.

I swiftly put some distance between myself and Stark's office, retracing my steps in an effort to regain my composure. As I navigate the familiar hallways and corners, my pulse gradually begins to slow, the adrenaline of the encounter with Stark fading into the background.

Passing by my own office, I hasten towards the elevators, relief washing over me as I spot them in the distance. With an urgency born of necessity, I press the call button, willing the elevator to arrive quickly. Fortunately, the doors respond almost immediately, sliding open to reveal the waiting car.

Stepping inside, I exhale a sigh of relief, the tension draining from my shoulders as the doors begin to close. It's only then that I realise I had been holding my breath, a subconscious reaction to the stress of the situation. As the elevator descends towards the ground floor, I allow myself a moment of respite, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the chaos of the day.

"I'm starting to miss that mute soldier right about now," I breathe to myself.