“Natalie, love, hold up a minute.”
Nat pasted on a smile and kept walking. “Not today, Gav. Things to do and people to see.”
The paparazzo pouted – an unfortunate look on a grown man – and tried for a few shots anyway. Nat kept her smile even as she winced inwardly. Yet another image of her face to be splashed across the tabloids to be dissected and graded by strangers.
She wasn't sure what was worse: fame or the accompanying scrutiny.
Sometimes Nat hated her job. Her handlers sent her once to a high-class fashion show and had the gall to be surprised when she got noticed. She'd tried to refuse the bookings that poured in, but that somehow made her more exclusive. When she was invited to New York Fashion Week, her handlers stopped backing her efforts to lie low. Instead of getting her out of there when it got heated, they firmed up her backstory and left her to spy on the beau monde .
It wasn't all bad. The hotels were certainly nicer than some of the ratholes she'd hidden out in, and while her workload as a model was high, her other workload was by necessity reduced. She still had people judging her body, but they numbered in the thousands, not the dozens, and focused on her appearance rather than her fitness. The cardinal sin was now cellulite, not non-lethality, which was a much less onerous standard, and with her enhanced body, much easier to avoid.
For the record, she could still choke a man to death with her thighs, but it was nice to not have to. Of course, if Gav didn’t quit pestering her, she might get some extra practice in that particular skill.
“You are pregnant?” Viktor demanded when she slipped into the car.
“What? No, of course not.”
Her handler eyed her distrustfully. “Then why does this say that it is so?”
He thrust a magazine in her face. Nat skimmed the headlines and recognised the photos as Gav’s, taken last week when a gust of wind had inflated her top slightly as she'd left a coffee shop. “I’m going to kill him.” She glared out the window at where he stood, still taking photos as the car pulled away from the curb.
“Who, the photographer?” Viktor seemed to actually consider it before shaking his head. “No, we cannot risk the publicity.”
Nat rolled her eyes as she settled back into the seat. “But we can for a Wall Street stockbroker?”
“He was funding enemies of the State, Natalia. His removal and the removal of those like him are why we are here.”
“I’m an agent, not a model,” she protested, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“For this mission, you must be both.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “And you cannot let the Americans know the truth. Any hint will jeopardise more than you.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” She waved a hand at him to shut him up and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the headrest as a plan began to form in her mind. If she did this right, not only would Gav leave her alone, but the entire fashion industry would too, and this farce could end at last.
Clint scowled at the map, looking between it and the surrounding road signs. He’d followed the directions to the letter, but the promised statue and Agent Blake beneath it were nowhere in sight.
He folded the map – scrunched it up, really – and stashed it in his back pocket. He could call Coulson for better directions, but they were supposed to be under a comms blackout – hence the whole meet-under-a-statue thing. Picking a direction at random, he started walking.
The only person around was a woman up ahead of him and he quickened his pace to catch up to her. Slowing as he got closer, he raised his voice. “Excuse me –”
He saw her turn but didn’t realise the significance of her raised hand until the pepper spray got him square in the face.
“Wh- what the hell?” he spluttered, as his face began to burn.
Nat stared at the man in horror. It wasn’t Gav. The poor guy looked nothing like the paparazzo, but it had been so long since someone had snuck up on her, she had reacted on instinct.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, slipping the spray back into her purse and searching for a packet of wipes. She pulled a bunch out and began wiping at his face ineffectually; he grabbed them from her and swiped at his streaming eyes. “I didn’t mean to –”
He inhaled, presumably to respond, but was overcome by a bout of coughing. Nat could feel her eyes begin to prickle as well. Spotting a diner, she grabbed the man by the hand and towed him across the road.
“We had a misunderstanding with pepper spray,” she explained to the wide-eyed waitress. “Can we use the restroom?”
“Of course, it’s back that way. Aren’t you Natalie Rushman?”
“No, but I get that a lot,” Nat lied sweetly. “Lucky me, huh?”
She led the guy to the ladies’, surprising a woman at the sinks who sniffed disapprovingly as she left the restroom. Nat ignored her to guide the guy’s hand to the soap dispenser and, once he had a palmful, got him to wash his face.
“The burning should fade as the soap breaks down the pepper oil.” She passed him some hand towels. “But you might need to wash a few times.”
“You sound awfully knowledgeable about pepper spray,” he replied, his voice muffled as he patted his face dry and went to wash it again.
“It would be irresponsible to carry it, otherwise,” she said, glad he couldn’t see her face. Being trained to operate through pepper spray was not one of her favourite memories.
“Irresponsible, huh? Do you always pepper spray guys who ask you for directions in the middle of the day?”
“Not all men,” she mumbled as she finally got a good look at his face. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Someone in particular? You have a stalker or something?”
“Something like that. Please, let me buy you a coffee to make up for it.”
The guy looked her up and down and, for once, the action made her want to preen instead of shut him down. She could tell the moment his open admiration switched to startled recognition, which is why she was surprised when he shook his head.
“Sorry, not interested.”
“Oh.” Nat bit her lip, unsure why she was so disappointed. “Are you going to sell your story to the press?” She tried not to sound too hopeful.
“Hell, naw,” the guy said. “Your secret is safe with me. That’s what you meant by a stalker, right? I ain’t giving those leeches fresh blood in the water.”
“I think that’s sharks,” she corrected before she could stop herself.
“Naw, I like sharks.” Glancing at his watch, he swore. “I’m late. I need to meet a – a colleague. Wish I could say it was nice to meet you, but –” he gestured at the paper towels littering the sink and she winced. “It’s Natalie, right?”
“That’s my professional name,” she admitted. “But my real name is close.”
“Natasha, huh?” He grinned, bright blue eyes lighting up in a way that made her heart skip a beat.
She opened her mouth to correct him but thought better of it. Viktor would be furious if he heard about any of this. She had no idea who this guy was, though from the crumpled map hanging out of his back pocket, he wasn’t from around here.
“I’m Clint,” he said, unaware of the mistake she’d nearly made. “I’ll see you around, Tasha. You can buy me that drink some other time.”
“Where have you been?” Blake growled as he fell into step beside Clint.
“I was... detained. Unavoidably.”
Blake instantly went onto alert. “Detained? By who? The KGB?”
“I doubt it, she was very apologetic.” Clint grinned at the memory. Now his eyes had stopped stinging, he could see the funny side.
“She?” Blake groaned. “Keep your private life out of this, Barton. Nobody wants to hear about your hookups.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“Which I now regret. Get your mind out of the gutter – we’ve got a mission. We’re playing bodyguard again.”
“Who to?”
“Some executive. He’s meeting with a government contractor who’s been suspected of selling state secrets; we need to confirm their identity at an event tonight.”
“If it's simple recon, why are we doing it?”
“Because we're here, I suppose. And because I requested a job like this. Some of us appreciate getting to spend the evening at a swanky party.”
Clint’s grin dropped off his face and was replaced by a scowl. “I hate swanky parties. I can’t take my bow and the fancy food never fills you up.”
“The food isn’t meant to be eaten, you philistine. It’s meant to be admired.”
Clint tuned out the rest of Blake’s prattle as his thoughts wandered back to Natalie – no, Natasha. If she wasn’t constantly being followed by cameras, he might even have taken her up on that drink.
Maybe next time.
Nat posed for the camera, angling her face so it caught the light at an optimal angle, and cursed her handler. If Viktor hadn’t insisted she attend this event, she would be back in her apartment. No makeup, comfy pajamas, alone. Just like she wanted.
But no, she was to make nice with one of the guests – well, all of them, as networking was now a crucial skill, but one in particular – and pass him the diamond in her purse. Paying for information in cash was très passé these days.
Once freed from her glamour shot duties, she drifted through the crowd, greeting fellow models with air kisses and insincere compliments. It was child’s play to find her target, even easier to drop the diamond into his pocket. Her job done, she made her way to the exit. Viktor would be displeased she left early, but he could hardly fault her efficacy.
Halfway to the door, she saw him.
From the black suit and earpiece, it appeared he was security, but as she watched, he shook someone’s hand and removed his comms, becoming one more guy in a black suit at the bar.
Nat glanced around. One of the reasons these parties were so popular was the host maintained a strict no-camera rule once past the photos at the entrance.
It made her decision easy.
Clint signalled the bartender.
Once again, he was ignored in favour of someone richer, more famous. In this party for the elites where everyone knew each other, he stood out like a sore thumb. He should’ve gone with his gut and gotten the hell out of Dodge the second Blake had confirmed the job was done, but the bar stocked a single malt he’d been wanting to try.
Dismally, he watched as the bartender got the bottle down and poured two fingers for someone else. Seemed about right for the way his day’d been going.
The glass clinked on the bartop as Tasha set it down in front of him. He jerked up in surprise, almost knocking her, though her quick reflexes saved the whisky from an ignominious end. Laughing green eyes met his. “How about that drink?”
Nat signalled the bartender for a drink for herself and studied the man in front of her. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t sure what drew her to his side. Average height, blond hair and blue eyes. She’s had men far more handsome clamouring for her company. A few were even here tonight, and yet… he’d turned her down.
It wasn’t the thrill of the chase, for she was used to disappointment. No, this was something else entirely – the need to be seen for herself. Maybe it would come to nothing and this blue-eyed almost-stranger would fail the expectations she didn’t know she had, but she had to know.
Those eyes returned her frank perusal with interest and a shade of suspicion.
“No strings,” she said. “No promises. An apology, nothing more.”
He quirked a single eyebrow, suspicion replaced with something bright and mischievous. “What if I want something more?”
Nat took the cocktail the bartender offered her and smiled. “We’ll see.”
He sipped at the whisky, enjoying the flavours as they settled on his tongue.
“You looked like you needed a drink,” Tasha confided as she swirled her own drink. He eyed it doubtfully.
“Are you actually going to drink that? It looks like cough medicine.”
“Tastes like it too, but with half the calories.” She winked, inviting him to share the joke. “It's what everyone's drinking these days.”
He inspected his glass. “I feel so behind the times.”
“A good drink is timeless.” She tried some of her own and made a face. Somehow, she still made it look beautiful. “This is not one of them.”
“What’s your drink of choice, then?”
“Vodka, neat.”
She caught his hand when he went to signal the bartender. “I’d rather not. Not tonight. But thank you."
“Some other time, then?”
Tasha paused and he kicked himself for his temerity in even asking – but her hand was still on his.
“Maybe.”
He looked around at the crush of people in outfits which probably cost more than his annual salary. “So, you know all these people?”
She snorted. “Hardly. A handful, maybe more. But they know my face so I am invited to show it. In my profession, it pays to be noticed at these sorts of places. In the morning, the photos of me outside will hit newsstands and the offers will roll in.”
“If the cameras are all outside –” which he knew from Blake’s briefing – “then why are you still here?”
“That’s a very good question.” She caught his gaze and held it.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he offered, on a whim. “Not to – well. For some air?”
Tasha set her glass beside his and stood, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles from her dress. “I would love to.”
He led them not to the entrance she’d come by, but to a service entrance and through an industrial kitchen to a darkened courtyard that she hadn't visited before.
“How do you even know this way?” she asked, as they emerged into the crisp night air.
“I work in security.”
“Were you working tonight?” It would explain the earpiece she’d seen him wearing earlier.
“Yes,” he said, after a pause. “But I’m done for the night.” He looked at her critically. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted – and really, she was. She’d done mission in far colder conditions, though usually with more than an off-the-shoulder cocktail dress.
“Liar,” he said easily, slipping his jacket off and draping it over her shoulders. “Sorry I can’t do anything about your bottom half.”
“What, you aren’t going to offer me your pants as well?” she teased. She was rewarded with a laugh that warmed her more than the jacket had.
They wandered past delivery vans, making sure not to get in the way of the drivers and kitchenhands still hard at work. Freedom was so close she could taste it – but when they rounded the last of the vehicles, there was a flash of light that blinded and the click of a shutter.
“Secret love affair is it, Natalie?” Gav chortled. “Who’s the lucky fella then?”
For a second, Nat considered snapping his neck. Fortunately, common sense prevailed. That, and Clint strode forward and yanked the camera from the paparazzo’s hands with surprising speed.
“This the one who’s been bothering you, Tasha?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied before she let herself think about how much she liked that name on his lips.
“Should I destroy the camera?”
Gav let out a little shriek, fruitlessly scrambling to retrieve his camera from her companion’s grasp. In that moment, she felt a little sorry for him. Just a little.
“No, it’s okay.”
Instead, Clint ejected the memory card – and how he was able to do that in the dim light from the courtyard, she couldn’t tell – and slipped it into his pocket.
“Just leave me alone, Gav.”
He took back his camera and puffed up his chest. “Why would I do that? My photos make me rich and you famous.”
“Maybe I’ve had enough of the fame, Gav. Why don’t you go bother someone else for a change?” She thought of Izzy inside and decided she wasn’t that mean. “Also, the next time you take a photo of me, I’ll let him smash your camera.”
Gav clutched the camera to his chest and backed away. “You know what? Natalie Rushman is old news. No-one wants photos of you anyway!”
“That’s the spirit.”
She watched as he backed away, Clint at her side.
“You think he’ll stay away?” he asked.
Nat shrugged. “At least for a while. Otherwise, I’ll smash his camera myself.”
“What, and deny me the pleasure?”
She looked up at him. “You think you’ll be around? Even with Gav and guys like him hanging around me? I don’t exactly lead the most stable of lifestyles.”
“Neither do I. I’m only in the country about half the time, these days.”
“Half? Lucky you. I have to be in Milan for a photoshoot next week and after that, London and maybe Budapest.”
Clint grinned. “Budapest, huh? Just so happens I’m headed that way myself for a while.”
Nat opened her mouth, then shut it again. Viktor would kill her – or maybe him – but then again, Viktor didn’t have to know. “Perhaps I’ll see you there, then.”
“Are you going to pepper spray me again? Because if so, I’d really rather not.”
Nat laughed at that. “I suppose we’ll have to find out.”
“In that case, I’m looking forward to it,” Clint said. “I hope to see you in Budapest.”
She couldn’t wait.