Tony's eyes narrowed, searching Adam's perfectly neutral face for a bluff. Finding none, he let out a sharp bark of a laugh.
"A high-stakes table, huh?" Tony threw the rag he was holding, got a new towel from a nearby workbench, and started scrubbing the grease off his arms. "Does Pepper know that you're bribing me with gambling, or is this your own initiative?"
"Miss Potts cares about the results, Mr. Stark. The methods are my own," Adam replied seamlessly.
Tony smirked, tossing the towel aside. "Alright, kid. You win. But it's barely… Hey Jarvis, what's the time?"
"It's currently 1:00 PM, sir," Jarvis replied with that smooth British accent.
"Yes, it's barely one in the afternoon, we have four hours more, so go ahead and do your PA job. Shoo, shoo." With that said, Tony picked up a screwdriver, went back to the vintage car, and started tinkering around.
Tony cranked the ignition. The engine roared to life, but it had a very faint, rhythmic rattle. Tony cursed under his breath, reaching for the timing belt.
"It's not the belt," Adam said over the noise.
Tony killed the engine and glared at him. "I'm sorry, does Pepper's new PA also hold a degree in mechanical engineering?"
"No, but I can hear the misfire," Adam replied, his expression entirely neutral. "The sound is echoing from the lower block, not the front. Your third cylinder is firing a fraction of a second late. Check the distributor cap wiring. The tension is uneven."
Frowning, Tony leaned over and checked the wires. He froze. Adam was right. A slow, highly impressed grin spread across the billionaire's face.
"How did you know that it was not the belt but the wires?" Tony asked, impressed.
"I have some knowledge about cars, and I have read some books on repairs and restoration of vintage cars," Adam replied calmly.
Tony opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly a thought occurred to him. 'If he's here to keep an eye on me, why not make him do some free labour?' With that thought, Tony's eyes sparkled.
"So, you have some idea about cars, why don't you help me out here with your knowledge, hm?" Tony asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Adam let out a sigh, perfectly able to see where Tony was going with this. 'Fortunately, I truly have read some books on cars and their restoration, especially for this occasion.'
"Very well, Mr. Stark. Let us begin." With that, Adam removed his wool jacket and vest, putting them on a workbench at a distance. He pulled up his sleeves, ready to start.
For the next three hours, the workshop fell into a bizarre, highly efficient rhythm. Adam's flawless memory allowed him to diagnose fuel line pressures and hand Tony the correct wrenches before the billionaire even asked, his expression remaining perfectly calm even when Tony threw sarcastic banter his way to test him.
"Sir, it's currently 4:30 PM, you have to get ready for your Apogee Awards," Tony's digital butler informed them.
Tony froze, a grease-stained wrench hovering over the carburettor. He let out a long sigh and tossed the tool on the workbench with a loud clatter.
"I guess playtime's over," Tony muttered, grabbing a towel. He pointed a finger at Adam's hands. "Go wash up, kid. If you get motor oil on the white leather seats of my jet, I'm taking it out of your salary."
***
The forty-five-minute flight to Nevada was a study in contrasts. While Adam sat perfectly still in the oversized seat, his tailored suit immaculate once again, Tony couldn't sit down. The billionaire spent the short flight pouring himself a scotch at the mahogany wet bar, blasting a Rolling Stones track through the cabin speakers, and occasionally throwing calculating glances at the seventeen-year-old PA who refused to react to any of it.
Finally, the jet landed at the Nevada airport, and they got off. Waiting for them were security and a company car. Just as they sat down in the car, Tony finally asked the question that he had wanted to for some time. "So, how did you convince Pepper to hire you? From what I heard, you're only seventeen and a dropout."
Adam turned his head to look at Tony and replied calmly, his Spectator facade perfectly intact, "I proved myself. I did what many could not do or were afraid to do."
"Oh, and what is that? I know you are competent; if you weren't, Pepper wouldn't take you everywhere she goes as her assistant." Tony was truly interested now in how Adam proved his worth.
"I told Miss Potts how to manipulate the Board of Directors to get out of the Board meeting where they were going to just yell at her," Adam replied truthfully and without any hesitation.
"Oh really? Now I really need to hear this," Tony said with a glint in his eyes.
Just as Tony was about to ask for details, the car came to a stop in front of the Caesars Palace.
When they finally stepped out of the company car and through the massive glass doors of Caesars Palace, the quiet luxury of the jet was instantly shattered.
Adam observed the place, and it was a sensory assault for him. The massive casino floor was designed to disorient—there were no windows and no clocks. Overhead, a world record crystal chandelier cast a perpetual golden glow over the sea of ringing slot machines and cheering crowds.
Tony took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke like it was fresh mountain air. His eyes immediately locked onto the green felt of the VIP high-roller section.
"Table minimum is ten thousand," Adam stated smoothly, stepping slightly behind the billionaire. "Your spot is waiting, Mr. Stark."
"You did well today, Sokolov," Tony smirked, adjusting his cuff before walking eagerly toward the dice.
Adam watched him go and breathed a sigh. As soon as Tony sat down at the table, Adam turned his back on the flashing lights and walked away. 'Now that Tony is inside the building, my job here is done. Now I just need to find Pepper.' With that thought, Adam was gone.