The polite applause was still fading when Obadiah Stane descended the stage, the heavy glass Apogee Award tucked casually under his arm. He navigated the ballroom with the effortless swagger of a man who owned the building, his booming laugh echoing as he approached their table.
"There's the woman who really runs the company! Don't stress, Pepper, Tony is being Tony. You should have gotten used to it at this point," Obadiah stated as he got to their table. "The board knows I am here to steer the ship!" he declared, throwing a heavy, paternal arm around Pepper's shoulders. He squeezed, perhaps a fraction too tight.
While Obadiah was comforting Pepper, Adam remained perfectly still in his chair, his eyes tracking the executive. To the rest of the ballroom, Obadiah Stane was a comforting, paternal figure. But Adam saw the truth. He noticed the slight, rigid tension in Obadiah's jaw when he mentioned Tony, the calculated way his eyes darted around the ballroom to gauge the room's reaction, and the cold, predatory gleam that entirely contradicted his warm smile.
'He is ambitious. He is angry right now,' Adam concluded silently.
Obadiah patted Pepper's shoulder one last time before his gaze finally slid over to Adam. The older man's smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly, calculating Adam's worth.
"And if it isn't our famous new PA! The only kid who can keep up with Pepper. How are we doing this fine evening, Adam?"
"I am doing perfectly fine, Mr. Stane. Thank you for stepping in on stage tonight; you saved Miss Potts a considerable amount of logistical stress," Adam replied cordially while keeping his expression perfectly neutral.
"Of course. It was my pleasure as well as my duty," Obadiah replied, letting out another booming laugh. His smile never dropped. "Now, I'm afraid I'll have to leave you two. There are matters I need to attend to."
"Of course, Obadiah. Have a good night," Pepper replied with a nod. With that, Obadiah Stane went on his way.
After ensuring Obadiah was out of earshot, Adam spoke quietly, "Miss Potts, please keep your distance from Mr. Stane. I'm afraid he is not how he portrays himself to be. That's all I can say for now."
"What? Do you even know what you're talking about?" asked Pepper in a shocked voice.
"Yes, I am certain of what I'm saying; you should keep your distance from Obadiah," Adam replied in a serious tone.
Pepper was stunned at the seriousness in Adam's voice, and before she could demand an explanation for such a massive accusation, Adam checked his sleek watch and spoke up. "Miss Potts, it's getting late. Let us collect Mr. Stark from the casino."
Pepper glanced at her own watch, realizing he was right. Letting out a sharp sigh, she leveled a no-nonsense glare at him. "We are discussing this later, Adam." With that, she walked toward the exit, Adam following her.
Ten minutes later, Adam and Pepper stepped through the massive glass doors of Caesars Palace and into the warm, neon-lit Nevada night. The valet driveway was a chaotic swarm of tourists, idling limousines, and the blinding flashes of paparazzi cameras.
They spotted their boss immediately with his bodyguards, ready to head out.
"Mr. Stark! Excuse me, Mr. Stark!"
A beautiful blonde woman in a sharp suit tried to get past the bodyguards, a voice recorder in her hands. It was pointed towards him. "Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair magazine. Can I ask you a couple of questions?"
Tony paused before opening the car door. He casually lowered his tinted sunglasses, eyeing the reporter up and down. He leaned over to his bodyguard, Happy, murmuring out of the side of his mouth, "She's cute."
Happy gave a subtle nod. "She's all right."
Tony turned his dazzling, million-dollar smile back to the reporter. "Hi."
"Hi," Christine replied, slightly caught off guard by the sudden charm offensive.
"Yeah. Okay, go," Tony offered, leaning casually against the hood of the Audi.
"It's okay?" she quickly recovered, pressing the recorder closer to him. "You've been called the da Vinci of our time. What do you say to that?"
"Absolutely ridiculous. I don't paint," Tony replied smoothly, the joke rolling off his tongue without a second of hesitation.
"And what do you say to your other nickname?" Christine pressed, her tone sharpening into a weapon. "'The Merchant of Death'?"
From a few steps away, Adam's gaze locked onto his boss. To the paparazzi, Tony Stark looked completely unfazed. But Adam saw the micro-expressions. He noticed the way Tony's jaw briefly locked, a microscopic flinch before the billionaire forced his smile to widen.
"That's not bad," Tony deflected effortlessly. "Let me guess, Berkeley?"
"Brown, actually," Christine corrected, holding her ground.
"Well, Ms. Brown," Tony said, his voice dropping into a serious, practiced cadence. "It's an imperfect world, but it's the only one we've got. I guarantee you, the day weapons are no longer needed to keep the peace, I'll start making bricks and beams for baby hospitals."
"Rehearsed that much?" she challenged.
"Every night in front of the mirror before bedtime," Tony shot back seamlessly.
"I can see that."
"I'd like to show you first-hand."
"All I want is a serious answer," Christine sighed, frustrated by his constant pivoting.
Tony dropped the smile. The air around him seemed to grow heavier. "Okay, here's serious. My old man had a philosophy, 'Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy.'"
"That's a great line coming from someone selling the sticks," she countered sharply.
Tony stepped forward, closing the distance to intimidate her, but Adam could read the defensive posture. "My father helped defeat the Nazis. He worked on the Manhattan Project. A lot of people, including your professors at Brown, would call that being a hero."
"And a lot of people would also call that war profiteering," Christine fired back.
Adam watched Tony's eyes behind the lightly tinted glasses. The billionaire was using his father's legacy as a shield, but the shield was cracking.
"Tell me," Tony pressed, his voice rising just a fraction, "do you plan to report on the millions we've saved by advancing medical technology or kept from starvation with our intelli-crops?"
"All those breakthroughs were made with military funding, honey," she reminded him coldly.
'He is trying to convince himself,' Adam realized, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his normally stoic mind. 'He's listing his medical achievements because the blood on his hands is too thick. He knows what his weapons do.'
Christine leaned in for the kill. "You ever lose an hour of sleep your whole life?"
Tony froze for a fraction of a second. To Adam's eyes, it was a moment of pure, raw vulnerability. The heavy, lingering exhaustion in Tony's eyes wasn't just from partying. It was the look of a man who hadn't slept peacefully in years. A man being crushed by his own conscience.
But as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, Tony buried it behind his playboy mask. He put on his signature smirk and lowered his voice to a smooth purr.
"I'd be prepared to lose a few with you."
The tension shattered. The paparazzi's cameras went into a frenzy. Christine blinked, her journalistic armor finally pierced by his sheer audacity, and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Before Pepper could step in to do damage control, Tony was already ushering the reporter toward the backseat of the Audi.
Adam sighed as he watched the car pull away. 'He is not a heartless monster,' he concluded silently. 'He is just a deeply tired man running from his guilt.'