The first thing Graham would notice when entering his office, is probably the mess that surrounds it: there are six cups of coffee on the desk he’s seated behind (none is actually finished, the very last sip left in every mug), around them are piles of papers, all scattered around and some piled up in a way that’s far from organized. There are files on the floor, close to the book shelf (as if he had picked them up, found something that suit his interest better, and let them fall), and one of the chairs he would normally offer to one of his visitors instead used as a leg rest instead.
Outside his office, are people waiting to be let inside - more complaints than he’d care to deal with (especially at 9 in the morning and on a Monday), and two redheads who seem to be keeping them under check, both seem rather professional, though if Will looks closely at the taller one - the one with a short bob cut - he would be able to tell that there is something off about her, and another glance would probably lead him to believe that she must be FRIDAY, assuming he had gone over Tony’s files before dropping by at his office, which would make her (its?) companion Mary Jane Watson. FRIDAY would be the first one to approach him, followed closely by Miss Watson who’d supply him with the (very obvious) information that Mr. Stark is, in fact, busy, and cannot see him at the moment. Nothing that a flash of his badge won’t be able to solve, and, despite FRIDAY’s further insistence, he’d eventually be allowed through the doors.
“I guess we’re just ignoring orders now altogether,” Tony rolls his eyes upon Will’s entrance, not bothering to move from his current position, though his eyes do glance over to him when he steps forward, as if he had just figured something out, and his next statement is enough evident that he probably had. “Ah. I see,” left side of his lips - the side from Will - curves upwards in a rather cynical manner, “FBI, huh? Let me guess: SHIELD’s finally gave up on dealing with my bullshit.”