"You? A bodyguard?"
Tony looked at Darren like he'd just announced he was applying to be the Pope.
Darren nodded, perfectly serious. "Yeah. You happen to need a bodyguard, and I happen to need a job. Perfect match, right?"
What a coincidence indeed.
Tony rolled his eyes. "You're the one who injured Happy, aren't you?"
Darren's eyes widened in mock outrage. "Hey, that's slander! I've never even met your bodyguard."
"I didn't say Happy was my bodyguard."
Tony's temple twitched. "You're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Why the hell do you want to be my bodyguard?"
Darren shrugged casually. "What can I say? S.H.I.E.L.D. pay sucks. Some of us have to pick up side gigs. One guy even tried writing online novels, but after he ghosted his readers, they tracked him down and broke his legs. The Bureau recruited the reader afterward, though—guy was that good at tracking."
Tony stared at him, expression flat. "What the hell are you even talking about?"
"I'm saying," Darren said cheerfully, "you've got a vacancy, and I'm very motivated."
"Well, I'm not hiring. I've got more than enough protection." Tony crossed his arms, firm in his refusal.
But Jarvis, ever the inconvenient truth-teller, chimed in politely, "Correction, sir. Your other twelve bodyguards were also hospitalized this afternoon. Same suspect description: black hair, black eyes, pink shirt, beach shorts."
"Excuse me?!" Tony snapped his head toward Darren, who looked the picture of innocence.
"Artificial intelligence?" Darren tilted his head, intrigued.
"Yes, sir," Jarvis replied evenly. "I am Mr. Stark's AI assistant, Jarvis."
Darren's brows rose. "Can you switch to a sultry female voice?"
"...No, sir. Mr. Stark never configured an alternate setting."
"Boring," Darren muttered, unconvinced. What kind of man in his right mind would make his personal AI sound like a British butler instead of a seductive woman? Maybe Tony had… preferences.
Tony inhaled slowly through his nose. "I don't need a bodyguard. I'm perfectly fine on my own."
"You sure?" Darren grinned. "You're the world's most hated man on Wall Street right now. Those investors out there want to chop you into eight pieces. They're probably debating whether to stew or roast your little buddy downstairs."
Tony froze mid-breath. His face darkened.
Two seconds later, he said through clenched teeth, "Congratulations. You're hired."
"Pleasure doing business, boss." Darren grinned like a man who'd just sold a used car.
...
That evening, outside the Walt Disney Concert Hall, the city lights gleamed against a sea of reporters and flashing cameras. Red carpet unfurled, champagne flutes sparkled, and L.A.'s social elite lined up like peacocks.
Then, suddenly, a deep, growling engine roared down the boulevard—low, aggressive, and unmistakably expensive.
A silver sports car tore toward the entrance at breakneck speed. Gasps erupted from the crowd as the vehicle hurtled forward—only for it to spin in a perfectly controlled drift at the last second, tires screeching, smoke curling, and come to a stop right at the start of the red carpet.
"Is that—Tony Stark?!"
"Oh my god, it's Tony Stark!"
"Point the cameras! Stop filming those fake footballers—get Stark!"
The red carpet exploded into chaos as every lens and flash swiveled to him.
Tony Stark was the headline incarnate, a walking, talking media goldmine. The second he appeared, the entire gala forgot why it was even being held.
The driver's door swung open. Tony stepped out in a sleek suit, composed as ever—except for the faint paleness of his face and the unsteady rhythm in his step.
Darren climbed out from the other side, closed the door, and frowned at him. "You look shaky. That little ride too much for you?"
Tony's stomach churned as he swallowed bile and rage. Who the hell hits two hundred kilometers per hour in downtown L.A.?
He silently vowed that he would never again sit in a car Darren was driving—if he lived to tell the tale.
Pretending not to hear him, Tony straightened his jacket and strode toward the entrance, each step more dignified than the last.
Waiting at the doors was a broad-shouldered bald man—Obadiah Stane, his father's old friend and Stark Industries' second-largest shareholder.
"Well, look who decided to show up," Stane said warmly, though his eyes gleamed with calculation. "Our favorite topic of gossip."
His gaze flicked to Darren.
Darren had dressed for the event, trading his casual chaos for a crisp white suit—tailored perfectly, shining subtly under the lights.
[Item Equipped: Charisma Suit (A suit so sharp it boosts your charm considerably.)]
Under its effect, Darren looked devastatingly handsome—so much so that even the surrounding celebrities lost a bit of their glow.
Almost. Because standing next to a billionaire genius playboy with his own tech empire was like trying to outshine the sun.
Still, Stane couldn't help but study him. Who was this man?
"Tony," he said casually, "and this gentleman is...?"
"My new bodyguard," Tony said without missing a beat.
Stane blinked. "...You're kidding."
Apparently, the bodyguard industry had gotten really competitive.
Tony offered no further explanation and brushed past, exchanging a few perfunctory pleasantries before leading Darren into the grand hall.
Inside, the golden lights gleamed off crystal and champagne. The hum of laughter and orchestra filled the air.
Tony immediately spotted Pepper Potts, his ever-reliable assistant, chatting with a group near the bar.
"Do whatever you want," Tony muttered to Darren, already walking toward her with that easy Stark swagger.
Moments later, he was practically flirting in public, charming smile and all.
Darren watched, unimpressed but vaguely entertained. "No wonder they call him the Playboy. That man's got maxed-out flirting stats."
He sighed to himself. He'd been single since before this game started. Not for lack of looks, either. Somehow, fate just didn't match him with anyone.
And then—
A blonde woman in a shimmering gown noticed him. She smiled, eyes glinting with curiosity, and sauntered over.
"Hey there. You here alone?"
Darren smiled lazily. "Of course. Half a man would scare you to death."
The woman blinked, processing that.
Then she laughed—half flustered, half intrigued.
Darren just grinned wider.
The night was off to an interesting start.