Her pulse was thready and nearly punching out of her skin. If not for the ocean, it would have deafened her.
As it was, she could taste it molten-hot and feel it beating like a dying bird inside her throat.
Pepper’s life choices up to this moment? So very, very poor.
Half of her was admiring the architecture in front of her (Contemporary mashed into Mid-Century Modern. Really, it
things for a girl) while the other half was considering a full-blown panic attack. Mr. Stark would surely appreciate a stranger going into fits on his front lawn. Honest to fucking god.
She checked her hair, her portfolio, then her heels on the off chance she hadn’t noticed losing four inches in height.
It’d taken her three hours to pick the outfit; black too uniform and white a washout, red too bold and purple clearly out of the question because who wore
on a job interview? And speaking of, who went on an interview to their boss’s house?
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