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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋,
𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐍, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊
ELEANOR
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Let me tell you about Tony Stark's biggest nightmares.
Ordeal number one: Tony gets wasted now. That he senselessly decided to pour the seven years of teetotalism down the lune of his woman's back from a magnum of champagne. Not that I was complaining since, almost five years ago, I had promised to walk with him through his best and worst. But to Tony, it was never one glass of booze. After that would mean a long night alone with Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker and eventually, the good ol' shot of Tussin.
Poignantly, with a hooded gaze, Tony used a digit to beckon the glass in my hand towards him wordlessly. A light-haired woman, Pepper Potts' second secretary, continued to bustle around him with a lint roller and fix the wrinkles in his shirt. I tried not to seem surprised as I, out of generosity, passed my glass of champagne across the smooth table to him with a gracious smile. He looked between the glass and me with amusement as he sipped it, cocking a brow.
It was Tony's press day, the final curtain call for the next how many ever years. In another T minus one hour, the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist was going to reinstate his constant position as chairman of Stark Industries, International and Resilient. Of course, Pepper Potts would continue to oversee workflow including her role as chief executive. Along with additional news, which was kept hush-hush from me. It probably concerned stamping out his suit of armour from the titillating database of superheroes.
