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"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."

"Mr. Wilson gave me your complete dossier," she told him, tapping the file folder. "He wanted to give me all of the information possible, whatever it took to get you back to sterling with the press." Nothing personal, of course, but whatever was accessible via public record.

"And I can absolutely understand wanting something to fall back on. The road to stardom is rocky, rough at the very least, and definitely no guarantee of a career. But you seem to have made it work for you, which is quite the accomplishment."

Natasha smiled indulgently, nodding to his commentary about his sisters. "They are all very lovely, those that I met this weekend. Miss Rebecca, she's quite the spitfire." She could only imagine how much fun he was with his nieces and nephews. "I've been in touch with the center's event coordinator, and she reports their entire week is clear for any afternoon activities, so it's up to you whatever day you'd like."

"I'll look at what we have - I know we're having a rehearsal at some point this week but I'll make this a priority of mine too. I wanna look good in the press again but I want it to look natural, you know? Like it needs to be stuff I do anyway and photographers just happen to notice it."

He laughs softly when she refers to his sister as Miss Rebecca and holds up a hand. Absolutely not.

"Becca would die if she heard you refer to her as that. She's only in her twenties. That's practically a baby compared to us."

"In that case, I won't tell her you called her a baby, then." Natasha laughed right along with him, acknowledging the joke.

"But please, let me know as soon as you can, and I'll set something up with the coordinator. That particular event should take care of the large-scale productions...unless there's something else specific you'd like to do?"

"Wednesday is probably the best day," Bucky says, wanting to go ahead and give her that commitment so that she can plan accordingly for him. It'll make it easier for her to arrange the press junket and everything if she knows when and it gives her a few days.

"But I don't have anything else specific, no. I guess if I think of something, I should just call you up and arrange it? It feels strange, having a new office to go through, but I kinda like it. I like working with you."

Bucky falls quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't...seem keen on setting that thing up for your boyfriend. It's just not the kind of thing I like being put on the spot for and it was awkward, being asked."

Natasha nodded, making a note on her calendar. "That works. I'll call her this afternoon, then. And...yes, if you would, please let me know as soon as you decide." She ducked her head in acquiescence of his compliment. "Thank you, James. I really appreciate that."

Then he mentioned Alex, and she wanted to groan. But presence was everything, so.

"Oh, please don't apologize about that. It was uncouth of him to even ask, and I promise you, he doesn't really expect anything to come of it. Alex is...well, Alex." She tried to smile through the words. "Most pilots are by nature that brash. It tends to make them very good at their job."

"I just don't like...I don't know. I'm not going to badmouth your partner," Bucky says, spreading his hands out a little. He wishes he didn't have tattooed knuckles because maybe then he'd be someone Natasha was interested in - Alex certainly hadn't had visible tattoos.

"Sort of made me feel stupid, I guess. Maybe that's just my big rock star ego, though, and I need a kick in the ass and a slice of humble pie. Still. Maybe he didn't mean for it to come off as insulting but I felt a little slighted. You know how it is? When you're proud of something and someone cuts it down?"

Natasha sighed, glancing down at her desk and absently picking up a pen, just to have something for her fingers to hold. "He didn't mean it," she tried to apologize for her jackass boyfriend. "I assure you he didn't. Alex just...plows his way through things. Life, included." She tried a tentative smile.

"But don't worry, I don't think he'll 'have time' to attend another get-together. It's the usual story. Once something becomes mundane, or he's done it more than twice, he loses interest and goes on to find the next thrilling thing."

"Well, I won't uninvite him," Bucky says diplomatically. "Because it might mean uninviting you and you're certainly invited to any gathering I have with the guys or my family. Just you wait - you're gonna get a baby shower invitation if you're not careful. The Barnes' don't play about hospitality."

He gives her a soft smile, a true one, and tries to ease things over a little. Natasha shouldn't have to suffer because Alex insulted him. It's hardly her fault.

"I like you. I'm pretty open and friendly with the people who work with me and for me but you're more like Sam, to me. You're someone I want to know better and work with more."

Yes, this was going to be dangerous, any further fraternizing with this man. And despite all of her good sense, Natasha was honest enough with herself to admit that she liked him. This Bucky Barnes wasn't just a metalhead with no common sense or boasted that superior attitude that so grated her with most of her other clients. Quite the opposite.

And it was dangerous, being exposed to more of it.

She needed to stop, and she needed to stop now. Before things got any worse. She better than anyone else in the room knew how things looked, despite the actual intent.

"I...appreciate that, Mr. Barnes." Deliberate, this time. But she couldn't help responding to that lovely smile, damnit. "That's very kind of you to say." Work, focus on work. "So. I'll call this afternoon and get that event set up, and you'll let me know if anything else springs to mind, yes?"

Reiteration never hurt. Natasha prayed he'd forget she'd agreed to his offer about lunch; she didn't need to play with any more fire than she already had.

"Absolutely. I appreciate everything you've done for me and anything you think about doing in the future. I've got to send you flowers or something - girls like flowers, don't they?"

Bucky's teasing and he knows he's edging toward flirting. Knows that he's edging toward trying to steal another man's girl. He personally thinks that man is an idiot but it's not his place to do this.

"I'll look up an appropriate and professional gift, don't worry."

If she indulged him just a little, would that be unfair? Natasha knew the surest way to protect herself, and that was to stop him cold. She wasn't available, after all. But, who said Barnes was even thinking along that route? How could she be sure that he was simply a nice guy under all of that ink, a nice guy who actually gave a damn about people he worked with?

Things weren't supposed to be this confusing, damnit.

"Flowers are fine," Natasha suddenly heard herself say, and wanted to kick herself. Again. "But really, you don't have to send any gifts, Mr. Barnes. It's sweet, but not necessary."

"Well, gifts are never necessary but I send them anyway. It's just what you do," Bucky says. "If they were necessary, they wouldn't be gifts. They would be requirements and part of any civil exchange."

Maybe that's a little...he's got to stop this. It needs to stop. There's nothing he needs more than to forget about any romantic involvement with this woman and stop testing the waters.

"I'm buying lunch, by the way. Part of your gift."

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