"No, we run into a problem when you start thinking that I wear make-up for a living." In the vast, open design of the penthouse, Tony's voice only echoed and never muffled, even his the sound of his bare feet pacing across tiles audible from the master bath to the second salon. Three stories of solid, seamless glass from floor to ceiling looked out over the city before the perfect semi-circle smooth, dark oak desk that Tony slapped a hand down on to lean over and watch a man fidget on the screen in front of him.
"I was only suggesting--" "I am fully in control of the technical direction there and everywhere else my name is on the stationary. If you honestly noticed the quality of my work falling only since the announcement--" "I only started evaluating--" "Can I talk? Isn't that what you were just saying I was good for?" "I didn't mean that, Mr. Stark--"
When Tony glanced over his shoulder, fully expecting Pepper and not intending to throw Wanda a tight-lipped, narrow-eyed look of annoyance, he had to abruptly straighten and look back only briefly to the screen where the man was still trying to defend his point. The second time he looked back at Wanda, it was with a silent apology for the whole situation, wordlessly indicating the stairs to the bedroom where she might be afforded some sanctuary from this discussion until Tony was done. Not much sanctuary, there was barely a railing to keep anyone from falling from the second floor to the first, but it was the best this space offered. Still, Tony stared at her, eyebrows raised, feeling a touch under-dressed in his own home; only half-dressed for dinner in all slim cut black, stripped to shirtsleeves and unbuttoned and he was certain he had been pulling at his hair. He apparently hadn't checked the dress code on his own invitation.