![]() ![]() Stark! This is serious!” the voice squealed. Does your mommy or daddy know you have their phone?” he asked, bringing the chipmunk-like chatter to a halt. Tony sighed, wondering which one of his imbecile contacts had allowed their toddler to play with their phone. “Oh Thank God you actually answered!” a high-pitched voice rang out from the other end of the line. “This is Stark,” he mindlessly greeted, the phone tucked neatly under his chin. ![]() It was his personal phone and only a handful of friends and colleagues had the number. He didn’t bother checking the caller ID as he brought it up to his ear. Blindly, he reached over to the bedside table and wrapped his fingers around the device. He was about halfway through the two-page spread when his phone began to ring. He hoped the article would make up for it. His smile was off and a few errant strands of hair had fallen limply against his forehead. ![]() He didn’t like the photo they’d picked for the cover. They’d done an interview and photoshoot with him several months prior and it had finally been published. He was leaning up against the headboard, glasses perched on the end of his nose, thumbing through a magazine. It was after ten in the evening and Tony was in his bed for once. ![]()
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