Umm... Hi. :-)

For those of you who recognize this story, I apologize if you had your hopes up for an additional chapter. There won't be one. However, I am altering some of the content. A few weeks ago, I was looking through my old files and found this story. I read through it. And there were some parts I did not like. So, I will be going through each chapter - one by one - and making alterations as I see fit. Some are simply gramatical corrections, others are scene changes. So no new chapter; but yes, there will be some new content. In fact, some chapters might be completely overhauled.

For those of you who don't recognize this (old) story: I wrote this a while ago after a friend challenged me to make Pepper a more fleshed out character. This is my attempt to do just that.

Enjoy! And I do not own IM.

A Real Job

Standing still and looking pretty is more difficult than it sounds. In fact, I've never been so glad to leave a job in my life: modeling was never really my kind of thing anyway- and now I'm not even sure why I got into it. Well, besides the money.

My high school friend Carla was a tall, thin, plain girl. Her family never had much money, so when she drove to school one day in a new car, I asked her how she got it. After a few jokes about being a street walker, she told me she'd gotten into modeling. She promised me it was the easiest thing in the world, and the only rule was you had to be tall and thin. I was the tallest and thinnest girl I knew- much to my dismay- and it sounded like a quick way to get money. This would help me to get through college. I was practically rabid after the idea; signed myself up at the same agency that exploited Carla, and sure enough- I made a lot of money. I did things I never thought I'd catch myself doing- being an introvert. I made friends in high places, got great dates, and even I have to admit that my pictures looked good. Whether that was me or the five inches of required makeup, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I was successful. I was popular- a first for me. I was always quiet and shy, only speaking up if necessary. I was gaining confidence and self-respect. I was getting good grades in college. College was my biggest goal in life. I had always dreamed of being successful with whatever degree I achieved; yet when the time came, I didn't know what I wanted to do. Business, art, history, education. None of them were me. I was too caught up with my side job to bother much anyway. I had always been good with math, you might even say I got a bizarre pleasure out of it. And so I picked accounting. Of all the things in the world, I chose accounting, and it was only after my graduation ceremony that I realized I could do almost nothing with it- besides being an accountant. Thus, modeling became my career.

I'd been at it for five years; I was twenty-three now. I'd gone through two fiancés, one I caught with another model; the other claimed he saw no future for us. All my old friends had moved on. Most assumed I'd grown superficial, and I hope to God I hadn't. They were all married with kids, successful professionals. One was a pastry chef in Italy, for goodness sake. And here I was, sitting still for two hours so someone could put on that damn makeup and fix my hair; or standing in uncomfortable, sensual positions for a sexy shot of Prada eyewear. I decided life was passing me by, and the more I thought about it, the more unhappy I became. My fake camera smiles grew even faker, to the point of it looking more like a grimace than anything else. My come hither looks were laughable, and my confidence fell. I stopped partying and hanging out with guys because they had hot, expensive cars. I was almost antisocial, and in a matter of months, my "friends" gave up on me, and I quit. I wanted a real job, something that actually required me to think. But what can you do with a degree in accounting?

I'd been out of work for a month. Most jobs I applied for either said I was under qualified, or they refused my references. Nothing fantastic and exciting was coming my way.

One morning- a Tuesday- I was driving back from the library, having quickly returned to my quiet, bookish ways. There was a huge group of buildings that I'd passed nearly everyday for several years, and for the first time, I looked at it. Stark Industries. Sure, I knew what it was- a weapons manufacturing company. The factories were in back, the offices in front. Labs and training facilities were sandwiched in the middle. I never heard much about it; weapons were never of particular interest to me. I only knew that the founder of the company, something Stark- obviously, had died nearly ten years ago, and that his son- another something Stark, had taken over. Now, I only knew this because of the rather loud headlines on the smut magazines near cash registers. This something Stark slept with anything that had a pulse, and was also quite a genius. Never really cared, and I didn't care then either. I only cared about the wanted sign outside the main office. A sign that read "Help needed in accounting department." My lucky day. And I was quite sure that for once, I would be qualified for a job in ways other than height and waist to breast ratio. I wanted my education, my brains to matter. Of course, I still didn't want to do accounting, but you take what you get, right? Anyway, I started work there the following week, somehow managing to skip the interviewing process, save for the first one.

A rather portly man of forty called me into his office, looked me up and down, and gave me the job. He didn't look at my credentials once. My pride in a degree was for naught. However, I had a job; a serious job. I was bored with the work in six months, but isn't that part of being professional?

At first Mr. Folan, the aforementioned interviewer- and coincidentally, the head of the accounting department- played the tough guy with the new recruits. We were all genuinely terrified of him. He was obnoxious, loud, temperamental, and completely untrustworthy. We also discovered him to be a pompous blowhard. His tough guy antics were all for show- he was an idiot, and I was incapable of respecting him. After a year and a half with Stark Industries, I considered quitting. With a couple references, and over a year of a serious job under my belt, I figured I could go anywhere now. In fact, I'd decided to hand in my two weeks notice in about a month. England, with all its success and old beauty, was beckoning me- I even had a job already lined up. My life, my future seemed bright once more after being dimmed by the evil darkness that was Mr. Folan. I hadn't even had a boyfriend in a year. But everything was looking up; everything was fine, yet nothing- absolutely nothing- goes according to plan.

My desk had a stack seven inches high of papers that no one had checked, and everyone had approved. First was Mr. Stark's signature- stamped, of course. His name, by the way, is Anthony. I had finally figured it out. Second, was Mr. Folan's name, and under his was the stamp of everyone with seniority over me. And because of my almost freakish obsession with organization and perfection, I had to check every spreadsheet, every calculation. I couldn't just sign it and move on. That would be dishonest. As always, each page was correct- Tony Stark actually did work. Not much, but he did do most of the budget checks and stock sheets himself. Geniuses never mess up math.

Everything was perfect, until the second to last page. Apparently geniuses do make mistakes. It wasn't much of an error- two numbers had been flipped in one row, but when added to everything else, the year's projection was so far off I was in shock. This could completely mess up the company's stocks if it was released, and nobody had noticed.

I got up, and walked quickly to find Mr. Folan. My ridiculous shoes- the only sign left of my modeling days- made me a good four inches taller than him. There was this one oddly shaped bald patch on the very top of his head, and when I spoke to him, it was all I could see. It was terribly distracting, especially when I was trying to be serious.

Then it happened- the game changing moment. I almost bitch-slapped him, I was so angry. He told me, without even checking the page I had highlighted, that I was completely wrong, as Tony Stark himself had done this. I argued, lost my temper with the short little fat man, and got fired in the span of about thirty seconds. Getting canned never looks good on a resume, so I knew England and that prestigious job were out of the question. I knew that I probably wouldn't be able to get references now. And most importantly, I knew that I was right. That was what pissed me off the most. I was right, my boss was wrong, and there was nothing I could do about it. No one was higher than Mr. Folan- hell, his damn office was next to Mr. Stark's-

Genius.

I rushed past Folan, who followed me as quickly as his little legs could carry him. I was far enough ahead to be able to stop and read a directory on the wall of where to go. I'd never actually been in this part of the building before. We lesser mortals didn't belong here. Heading straight for a glass and wood elevator, I immediately pushed the button for the next floor; the doors closed right in my former boss's face. I'm almost ashamed to say that I smiled.

It was impossible to miss Tony Stark's office- it was as huge and pretentious as his ego, I was soon to discover. The double doors were open. I didn't see anyone, but I charged in anyway. As soon as I entered I regretted my sudden overflow of confidence. A well dressed, dark haired man was standing with his back to me, facing the window. He was on the phone- I knew it was a woman from the language he was using. I stood there, frozen for what felt like hours, listening to his charm in full force. He was good. And now I knew why most of the female employees in this building had gotten laid by him at some point. Of course, these women were transferred to different companies, but there was a constant, steady stream of them coming and going. He nearly always had a personal assistant, and I wondered why they never lasted for more than a month. Well, that mystery was solved.

I cleared my throat; terrified or not, I was going to be heard. And yes, I was terrified- I had barged into the office of the company owner, who was also a billionaire several times over. He was incredibly powerful, making the weaslyFolan look like a complete waste of time. And here I was, unwanted and unasked for, in his office.

He turned around. He was clean shaven and attractive, but what caught me most were his brains. No, I couldn't see them, but I could tell from looking at him that he was, in fact, very smart. Probably also a bit of a smartass, but that was beside the point. Once again, I was looked up and down. I never shrunk from this- it had once been my profession. Except, he didn't just subtly give me the once over. More like the ten times over. He hung up on whoever he was talking with, and stared at me, waiting for me to speak. Dear God, I thought I was going to vomit.

"Um. Mr. Stark?" I asked, trying to ignore the wobbling in my knees.

"Yes, Miss?-"

"Potts, sir. Virginia Potts." I sounded like a five year old, my voice was so small. I'm surprised he could even hear me. He took a couple steps forward, or should I say, swaggered in my direction. I was not entirely unimpressed- and not because he strutted well, but I am female- and I have eyes.

"Well, Miss Virginia Potts- it is Miss, right?" he asked. He looked like he was enjoying himself; no doubt I was squirming like the worms I accidentally decapitate in my garden.

"Absolutely- I mean yes-" I stuttered. I sounded desperate.

"What can I do for you?" He'd continued to move closer till he was in my personal space. Testing the water? I thought so. I may have been flustered, but I wasn't dumb.

I handed him the spreadsheet, stupidly pointing to the high lighted section.

"Pretty color," he mumbled. Never again use pink high lighter.

At first, I thought he was going to dismiss me like Mr. Folan had; instead his eyes scanned the entire page, mentally checking the math. "Huh. I switched two numbers. This entire projection is completely off. I wonder how I missed that," he said quietly.

Well, he was probably on the phone with some woman or other, but that didn't matter. He'd acknowledged that I was right. And now what? My mission complete, I had nothing else to do, nothing else to say, and nowhere else to go. I was about to excuse myself when a young man entered.

"Mr. Stark- your two o'clock is here. Miss, please come with me." Oops. I was intruding on claimed time, and I was going to be escorted out. Fantastic. This guy, Tom… something, gently but firmly took my arm and began to guide me out.

"Wait- Miss Potts- I didn't think we were finished." My escort and I both made a dead stop. I turned around.

"You-" he commanded, pointing to Tom- "you can leave. I have business to discuss with Miss Potts."

"But Mr. Stark," Tom stammered, "a representative from Hammer Industries is here to meet with you." I was surprised he had the nerve to talk back, though Mr. Stark didn't look the least bit angry.

"Hammer Industries is not worth my time. I'll talk to them when I feel like it. And right now, I feel like talking to Miss Potts." When Tom stood, dumbfounded, he continued, "Alone." Tom slunk off, and shut the door behind him.

He walked back to his desk. The papers were placed next to his phone, and he sat down.

"Well, now that we have been left alone together," he continued. I closed my eyes, half expecting a proposition of some sort. "Miss Potts, I can't deny that I am very impressed with you."

My head shot up. Had he just complimented me? "Excuse me, sir?"

He smiled. "Well, Miss Potts, you were the first person out of seven to check my work. I'm not sure if I should be offended."

"About what, sir?"

"That you didn't trust my math implicitly, of course. Anyway, about being impressed with you- you look smart. I know you're smart. And honestly, I wouldn't have expected brains from someone who looks like you. Apparently, God does give with both hands."

Ok, he didn't really proposition me. He was just blatantly honest about what he felt. And thought. And fantasized about, as it turns out. Of course, I was completely flustered now; my cheeks were burning, and my eyes were glued to the floor. He had nice shoes.

"Miss Potts?"

I dragged my gaze upward.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?"

"I want you to work for me. As my personal assistant." He was so matter of fact, you'd think this was a perfectly normal course of events for him. Hell, maybe it was.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sta-"

"You know perfectly well what I said. It'll be fine, Miss Potts. Decent work, great benefits-" now that was dirty- "and I can guarantee that you'll make three times as much as you do now, regardless of the department," he continued. What a weird guy.

"I'm not in any department right now. I was just fired." Honesty is the best policy after all.

This time, he looked shocked. "Who the hell would fire you? Whoever it was must not have seen your legs-"

"Mr. Folan fired me, sir. He didn't take me seriously when I claimed that you had made an error."

"That doesn't explain it."

"Hmm?" I questioned, confused.

He stood up again. "Folan canning you. Doesn't make sense. He's shorter than me- he's got a better view than I have."

I blushed again. It was starting to become a habit of mine. He walked closer.

"C'mon Miss Potts. Even though I can be a bit of an ass, being my PA is better than being homeless," he said, his tone both mocking and kind.

"I doubt I will ever be homeless, sir."

"Then what do you say?"

For a moment, I said nothing. This was just too weird. I mean, how often does this kind of thing happen?

Then, reality struck: I remembered that I was currently without a job, and that I have a rather expensive shoe habit. I would have to be an idiot to refuse.

"Yes."

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm very glad to hear that Miss Potts," and with that, he returned to his phone. I thought it was a sign to leave, but he kept watching me, so I stayed put.

"Yes- you- what's your name again? Ok, nice. Anyway, could you have Miss Virginia Potts' space cleared and packed? - Now. Well, find it… Where? In accounting. Bring it to the office next to mine. Yes, that one. I don't care." He hung up, and gave his attention to me. "So Miss Potts, my goons will have everything ready for you to move in a few minutes. They'll bring it up here for you- but you should probably check to make sure they get it all."

Wow. That was fast- and had he mentioned an office? I was getting my own office! The little girl inside me wanted to squeal.

"Where am I moving to, Mr. Stark?" I asked, making sure.

He gestured to the left. "There. It even has a door connecting to mine." I looked to the door- it had Mr. Folan's name on it.

"But sir, isn't it already occupied?"

"Yup. Folan's been there for a while, but he doesn't really need constant access to me. I think you do."

"But- but where will he go?"

"I don't know. They'll figure it out," he paused, noticing my disbelief. "Miss Potts, my past PA's have all had their own desk in here. You are the first one to have a whole office to herself." And I hadn't even started to work for him yet. "I think that, unlike the others, you'll actually do your job. I like that. Means less work for me."

"I-"

"No arguing. Go on, make sure everything's ready to go," he said softly.

I was smart. I didn't argue. I just gave him a small smile, and walked out.

When I came back to the accounting division, everything in my cubicle had already been neatly packed. There was no way it could have been done so quickly; Mr. Stark had only called a few minutes before. I assumed Mr. Folan had begun the emptying of my space, only to be interrupted with the news that I was getting his office.

To be sure, I opened each drawer- and each was empty. Even the locked one was deprived of its contents. My hands began to sift through the boxes, fingering the items that had been my life for the past year and a half. I was right- everything had been about to change. Just not in the way I expected.

My reverie was interrupted by Mary- a youngish woman in the cubicle next to me. We were alright, though never friends. She could be a little much sometimes. She stood, one hand on her hip, the other on the wall- almost looking provocative.

"So," she cooed. "I hear you're moving up in the world."

"What?" I answered dumbly.

She looked bewildered. "You're his assistant now- you're gonna be Tony Stark's PA! How the hell did you do that?"

Should I have told her the whole story? How I was so offended over a math error that I just barged in and-

No.

"I just walked into his office."

"Huh?" She didn't understand. She didn't know I was annoyed over how I got the job: looks over qualifications. Again.

"Nothing. It's just- I got another job because of my legs."

She smirked. "You keep them open?"

I didn't laugh.

So not many alterations for this one. There will be more in future chapters.

Please take a moment to review! I like to know how I'm doing. :-)