Rolling Stone

4. You Can't Comprehend

Friday Morning – 11:00 AM

The ticking of the clock in Tony's office feels louder than usual as you sit at your desk, flipping through pages of notes, your mind still reeling from the week. Ever since that lunch Monday—where the line between boss and intern had blurred just a little too much—things had been different. Tense.

Tony Stark had gone from flirtatious and teasing, to distant and sharp. It's like he doesn't know how to handle the pull between you two, so he's handling it in the worst possible way—by being an asshole. And you're frustrated because no matter how much you tell yourself he's just another arrogant CEO, the truth is you've been in love with the idea of him since you were 13.

Your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. Tony's voice comes through the intercom, clearly irritated. "Hey, south side, where's my 11 o'clock?"

The nickname hits your nerves today. You've tolerated it all week—his little digs, his condescending tone—but today? You weren't fucking with it.

"What 11 o'clock?" you reply, not even attempting to hide your confusion. He'd never given you an 11 o'clock. There's a pause, and when Tony speaks again, his voice is tight, not even trying to hide his frustration. "The 11 o'clock I gave you this morning. Did you forget already?"

Your pulse quickens as you flip through your notebook, looking through your hand writing. "Tony, you didn't give me an 11 o'clock," you say, your voice steady but your insides coiling with frustration.

"Check again," he snaps, "I don't have time to babysit you" and thinking he was muted, or maybe he just didn't give a fuck, you heard a muffled "this is what I get for hiring a fucking teenager"

That does it. The anger that's been simmering beneath the surface all week boils over, and before you can calm yourself down, you're out of your chair, storming down to his office. Your footsteps are loud against the polished floors, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, face burning with irritation, all for the man you swore to yourself you'd never hate.

The door to his office isn't even fully closed when you push it open, letting it swing back on its hinges with a force that startles him. Tony looks up from his desk, his eyes narrowing, clearly not expecting you to barge in.

"What the hell is your problem?!" The words come out before you can stop them, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and nerves. But you don't care anymore. He's been pushing you for days, and you're done.

Tony leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze hardening. "Excuse me?"

"You've been treating me like shit all week," you snap, your hands trembling, but not with fear—with frustration. "And now you're accusing me of missing a meeting you never told me about!"

His eyes darken as he stands up, stepping around the desk toward you. The air between you shifts, the intensity rising. He's close now, too close, and the heat of his presence sends a jolt through your body, but you stand your ground.

"You wanna tell me how to do my job?" His voice is low, dangerous, but there's something else there, something simmering beneath the surface. "No," you shoot back, your anger rising to meet his. "I want you to stop treating me like I'm some incompetent intern. If you gave me an 11 o'clock, I'd know about it. But you didn't, so don't try to put your shit on me."

"I thought you liked this job. You might want to reconsider who you're talking to right now." "I like being respected more than I like this job Mr. Stark. So respectfully if your going to be rude, fuck you and this job." You retorted knowing he hated you calling him that.