There was a brief moment that the photographer thought he had won the battle for Stark's attention. He was gushing about the zoom capabilities (not nearly as impressive as the simple point and shoot Stark Enterprises had put out months ago), and Tony was appreciating the photograph he happened to take while his mind wandered, but that slight frown wasn't an attentive one. The tilt of his head and the twist of the camera was enough of a tell for the photographer to try pitifully, leaving off mid-sentence, "Mr. Stark?"
Tony, instead of correcting him, just went, "Hn," and was looking out into the crowd again, squinting in the light of a bulb momentarily directed straight into his eyes before the lamp was suddenly dropped, clattering to the floor and the sound echoing in the cavernous concourse. That, and the flare of accusations and outrage that followed, barely deterred Tony's search-- even the photographer hurriedly apologizing and snatching the camera from Tony's hands to join the fray.
Tony made no protest. He was on his feet, hands in his pockets, cocking his head at the unmistakable, striking face that couldn't just disappear in the crowd, wondering idly who could be on Elektra's Christmas shopping list.