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"Thank you," Bucky says. He frowns a little when she says she's not a joiner, though, and shrugs a little. There's a spot next to Natasha and sits down, immediately garnering the attention of his dog.

"Look, I want you here. So does everyone else, I'm sure. There's no reason why you can't go and have a good time. I'm surprised Alex just left you, though. I wouldn't have left my girlfriend by herself at a party of people we don't know."

Natasha put both hands around her glass when Brooklyn abandoned her to crawl into his master's lap, but she didn't mind. She did, however, cross her knees a little more securely, and straighten her posture to an upright attentiveness, completely unaware of doing so.

Her tone was friendly, however. "I'm having a good time," she assured him. Then chuckled lightly. "Any time I can just sit and not have to play out my conversation four sentences ahead is a good time for me, I promise." The mention of Alex quieted her again, and Natasha once more shrugged.

"It's his way," she tried to explain, casual and off-hand. Again she tucked curls behind one ear. "He's used to us working the crowds, meeting people, making contacts. Always working," she chuckled, though the words were...a little flat. "I just...prefer to sit, is all."

"Well, nothing wrong with stealing a little time with Brooklyn," Bucky says, laughing softly. "He's gotten me through all the good times and the bad over the last couple years. He's a good friend to have. There's someone here I do want you to meet if you feel up to it, though. I thought you might want to meet the guy I tore up a bar for."

Steve has been his best friend since they were kids and they've done everything together - school, the Army, college. Different majors and specialties, maybe, but always together.

"His name's Steve. Teaches art at one of the public schools in LA."

Ah, the famous Steve. The one who'd started it all. And was by no means at fault, Natasha knew; she doubted Steve Rogers had even been at the bar when the fight had begun. Bucky Barnes' best friend, she'd learned, and both of them had been friends since they were tots, all the way through high school, the Army, and college. Although it seemed their lives had sharply diverted afterwards, with Barnes rising straight to stardom with a music career and Rogers opting for the more normal route, teaching art at one of the public schools in Los Angeles.

"I'm up to it," she replied, dutifully straightening from her chair, once more proper and correct. It was habit by now. "And I'd definitely love to meet him. I've heard nothing but good things about him, from you, Mr. Wilson, and everyone else I've talked with here."

"He's the best guy you'll ever meet," Bucky says. And he is, truly. Bucky thinks that the best parts of him are because he knows Steve and because they have their friendship. It helps him keep his head on straight and reminds him of where he's from.

Steve's talking to Becca who seems to be batting her eyes at him and Bucky wants to roll his; he's not sure when that crush started but he doesn't know that it's gonna work out for his baby sister because Steve is kind of oblivious.

"Steve, this is Natasha Romanoff. She's one of my new lawyers and she's kinda cleaning up my mess right now." Steve offers one of his hands to shake hers. "Good to meet you, Ms. Romanoff. Glad you're helping Bucky out right now."

Natasha shook the offered hand with firm panache, offering a return smile. "Mr. Rogers," she echoed, voice warm. "It's lovely to meet you, too. I've heard so many good things in just a short time." She'd immediately noticed Barnes' youngest sister before they approached, and she wondered just how far Miss Barnes had gotten with the tall blond teacher.

Wilson moseyed over a moment later, drink in his hand, and talk centered mainly around the three men, laughing and giving each other sarcasm as thick as peanut butter. It was funny, their friendly roasting, and Natasha caught herself laughing outright more than once, especially when a well-thrust jibe from Steve Rogers hit James Barnes right in the chest.

So caught up was she in the friendly camaraderie that when strong male arms suddenly materialized around her waist and Alex's cologne flooded her nose, she stiffened in sheer reflex, expression immediately going from amused and animated to shuttered and closed. "Hey, babe," he drawled at her ear, "seems like you're having a good time, huh?"

Her throat felt tight as a noose, but she recovered and managed to nod, politely correct. "I am, yeah."

"Oh, Steve, this is um, Alexi? This is Ms. Romanoff's companion," Bucky says and it comes out awkward as hell. Natasha looks awkward, as if someone has just said something unpleasant, but it's not his place to get into the middle of a relationship no matter what it looks like from the outside. He doesn't know what's going on at home.

"Alexi Shostakov," the other man adds. It's clear that he has charm but it's different than the casual charm of the other three and more like he's working a room. Hmm. Not exactly how these cookouts usually go but Natasha is new to it. Her guy is new to it.

Steve and Sam make an attempt at engaging in conversation but everything feels more awkward now as if something had broken when Alexi had showed up. It shouldn't feel like that, but it does, and Bucky breaks things up a little.

"Hey, I'm gonna get my guitar out and play a little if you guys want to come listen?"

Edited 2021-11-27 01:58 (UTC)

Sam and Steve nodded, immediately approving, and Miss Barnes happily seconded the idea, bouncing around the yard to make the announcement to everyone else. The gathering ended up an impromptu concert, with guests parked here and there, and Natasha was more or less obliged to share a chaise with Alex, as he'd left her precious little choice in the matter, pulling her along when he took the seat.

A few of the other musicians joined in, and while Natasha would have liked to just focus on the songs, she was all too conscious of her public image, particularly seated as she was, crossways in Alex's lap, his arms around her a little more possessively than was necessary.

Bucky notices how Alex has Natasha hauled across him and it's not something he would have done with his girl at a party where he didn't know anyone. That stuff is private. Still, it's not his business, and he finishes up his set as the party breaks up.

He goes to find Natasha before she leaves and confirms the next time they'll meet. "I've got to prepare another appearance with you, right? You're calling me on Monday?"

By the times Barnes returned, Natasha had once again adopted her cool, smooth mask, pure porcelain. "Yes, Monday," she affirmed. "Probably around nine am, nine-thirty. We'll discuss the new press release, and set up next week's schedule then."

"Thanks for the invite, Barnes," Alex remarked just then, holding out a large hand. "Nice place, good folks, great food. And for the little concert - keeps the bills paid, right?"

Bucky frowns a little. "Yeah, it keeps the bills paid just a little. You realize I made all this money myself, right?"

Bucky doesn't normally talk about money, it's rude, but he feels slighted in a way, like his work doesn't matter, and that doesn't sit right with him. Hmm. He needs to keep his mouth to himself.

"It's about the music, not the money, but I do well. Enough that I have six Grammys."

"Believe me, man, I know. I listen to your stuff on my cockpit radio." Alex 'jived' a hand gesture, grinning. "Keepin' America's boys goin', Barnes, that's what we say on base. But hey, you were in the trenches too, right?" The pilot jabbed a soft punch to the Ranger tattoo on Barnes' right bicep, just two "boys" talking smack, that's all.

Natasha refrained from rolling her eyes, but only barely.

"Maybe my little girl here can get you to come do a show for us over at Segundo," Alex was saying. "The guys'd love it, 'specially the younger crowd. Metalheads, every one of 'em." Unsurprising, for pilots, but the image was ingrained.

"You can talk to my manager about appearances. His name is Sam Wilson," Bucky says tightly. He doesn't like the familiarity with this guy because it feels forced and he doesn't like it at all. He also doesn't like Natasha being called a little girl.

"Natasha is only handling my PR right now and isn't managing any other parts of my career. Sorry about that."

God, how is she with him?

Thankfully, Miss Barnes hailed her brother before any more temper could be lost. Natasha took advantage of the distraction to once again thank Mr. Barnes for a wonderful afternoon, and resolutely headed off to the car, forcing Alex to follow after.

And she was eternally glad that he'd decided to come in the convertible, as the noise from the wind and the road curtailed any conversation on the way back to their apartment, because she really wasn't in the mood to listen.

Steve was waiting for Bucky back at the buffet table, having watched the little tableau from a safe distance. "Nice guy," he observed dryly, taking a deep swallow of his soda. "All the personality of a cardboard cutout."

"I don't like the way he talks to her," Bucky says sourly. "She's smart and put together and he literally called her a little girl. That woman could turn me into a pretzel and not mess up her manicure. She's way too good for him."

Sam slides him a warning look and Bucky just shrugs. It's the truth, honestly, and if he was lucky enough to have a woman like that he'd treasure her. As it is, he's single right now. The rest of the weekend passes without any incident and on Monday, he's up early for his call with Natasha.

"Hey, Natasha - I'm still at the house but do you need me to come into the office or are we doing everything over the phone?"

Alex opted to go sailing with his flight crew on Sunday, so the rest of Natasha's weekend was pleasantly peaceful. Monday morning saw her in a little better humor, and she dialed Barnes' number right at nine-fifteen, unconsciously smiling when she heard his voice come over the line.

"Whatever you prefer, James," she told him, idly twirling the coiled cord around one long finger. "I have an open schedule today, so I won't be tied up here if you do opt to come in. But it's honestly up to you, whatever makes it easier."

"I can be there in an hour or so, depending on the traffic. I was going to drive myself in instead of having a car."

He hasn't taken his motorcycle out in a few days and Bucky has the itch to feel the wind on his face and the rumble of the engine beneath his body. Nothing beats it. Nothing makes him feel more alive except maybe playing the guitar.

"Is that still good for you?"

Still winding the phone cord, Natasha nodded, then realized he couldn't actually see her. "Sure, that's good for me." Then, before she even realized she was going to say it, she heard herself say, "Maybe I can take you up on that lunch invitation, afterwards?"

Belatedly, she snapped her mouth shut, absolutely mortified. And for the next few heartbeats, absolutely thankful she was alone in her office, because she just knew the color of her cheeks reflected the color of her scarlet curls, neat in their customary chignon.

Subliminal panic made her add, "--um, that is, if you have the time..?"

"What? I've got nothing but time," Bucky promises her. Even if he didn't, he'd make the time, so he's glad there's nothing that's going to stand in his way. "We'll go somewhere cozy and private so the photographers won't bother us. I know a place."

Bucky turns up to the office after a bit, the traffic not so bad when he can weave in and out on his bike, and he knocks at Natasha's office door before just barging in; she might have a phone call or something.

"Ms. Romanoff? It's Bucky Barnes."

She'd spent the last hour kicking herself for letting her mouth run off with her good sense, but had finally talked herself down enough to get it together. It was just lunch, after all. She absolutely was not going to let herself get involved any further with a client, no matter if those pretty blue eyes tended to sparkle whenever they drifted her way, or if those full, undeniably kissable lips quirked just so right before they grinned, or if this particular grunge-mosher apparently had a brain and a heart beneath all of those odd tattoos and motorcycle leather.

When she heard the knock on her closed office door - where the hell was Anita?? - Natasha had recovered enough of her stern business sense to call him in, pull his file from her cabinet, and be riffling through it, glancing up with a professional smile, greet him good morning and offer coffee if he wished.

"Please, have a seat, James." Business, yes. Business was good. And she wasn't going to apologize for Alex, damnit. "The press has given positive feedback for our efforts last week, which is promising. If all goes well, we could be in the clear in a fortnight, possibly sooner. At least in enough time before the new year's tour kicks off."

"Oh? That's good, then. I was worried I'd be in the doghouse a lot longer, honestly. It's not my style to bust up a place but it is the style of guys like me. I like to subvert expectations when I can and I don't help myself when I get drunk."

Bucky grins at her. "Which is why I am going to avoid any and all bars for the foreseeable future. I don't have a problem with alcohol by any means but I'm not letting the press catch me near it so they can spin out a story about how I need to go to rehab."

It's one place he, thankfully, has never had to go and never plans to go.

"Indeed, I admit I was surprised that you've never been, or even needed to go. That, in itself, speaks very well for your reputation, James." She paused then, gently tapping her fingers against the papers in the file. When she spoke next, it was slowly, almost hesitantly. A little apologetic.

"I...admit...you weren't at all what I was expecting, Mr. Barnes. James." Natasha chuckled a little ruefully. "Most celebrities I've come into contact with usually bring along a metric ton of baggage, excuses, all sorts of reasons why they deserve to be given a clean slate, regardless of whether they actually do or otherwise. And, believe me, it's usually 'otherwise'." A soft sigh, then she straightened, her professional smile returning.

"But, I just wanted to say...that I'm glad Mr. Wilson called me to handle the PR for you. I'm...I'm glad of the chance to get to know you. And that you're...well, that you're not par for the course."

Bucky smiles a little and it's a soft, genuine smile. It's the sort of smile that only true friends see and not the people who fill the stadiums every night. He likes Natasha, probably more than he should considering she has a boyfriend, and he knows it's going to end badly.

"Well, I don't want to be that guy that's just an asshole, you know? I like this kind of music but that attitude - it's not necessary. You can be a decent guy and still put out metal, I promise. And honestly, metal isn't all I can do. It's just that I like it and it's what the fans like."

"And from what I understand, you went to college and have an engineering degree." That had been truly a surprise. "It's...impressive, given your current vocation. Still, you were brave enough to go after your dream, and actually attain it. That's...that's something to be proud of, James."

So many of her clients were shrouded in superficiality, it'd almost become her own way of life. Costumes, masks, labels; presence was everything. Even her own relationships were choreographed...

"Well, I just wanted to put that out there. For whatever it's worth." She smiled in response to his smile, her own a little...softer, perhaps truer.

"So, a rehabilitation hospital concert this week? Something for the younger generation?"

"I think so. They like that kind of stuff. I can do something softer with the little kids and my usual stuff with the older ones. Believe it or not, I know some nursery rhymes. My sisters actually let me babysit sometimes too. I'm the fun uncle."

That's a title he takes very seriously.

"And I didn't know you knew about my degree and everything. I never did anything with it. It just...the music took off, you know? But I wanted the safety net just in case."

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