Tony skipped out of the range of her kick much more gracefully than he had the lamp, unwilling to lose any more braincells that way tonight. It lagged his pursuit, but he stopped short anyway as the ironing board dropped between them, bouncing with its own weight like the whole contraption might break from the wall, and reevaluated. With his hands up for a moment of reprieve before she starting swinging that iron or whatever it was she meant to do with it, he asked, "What's this worth to you?" There couldn't, after all, be any other redeeming qualities in allying with Hammer. Certainly not the company. She had to be smarter than that. Smarter, too, than thinking Tony might actually write her a cheque, but the idea might hold enough water to get her back within his range.