Agents lived under constant suspicion, yet someone had suddenly offered her trust in the simplest, most direct terms.
Natasha's nails dug into her palms. The nearly bleeding indentations stung, keeping her from entertaining the idea of quitting and going to work for John.
"You're a cunning man," Natasha said suddenly.
John smiled. "Is that a compliment?"
"No, it's a description."
Natasha took out her phone and sent a message, then set it on the table and sprawled on the sofa without a shred of decorum. "Natasha is off duty now. Natalie is on the clock."
As she'd hoped, John's expression froze in astonishment. Delighted, Natasha turned onto her side, showing off her figure on the sofa, and said with a smile, "You didn't think I came just to deliver a message for S.H.I.E.L.D., did you?"
John thought for a moment, then ventured, "The pay they docked you was all for skipping work."
"...I'm not here to demand my wages." Natasha hardly needed her salary from Taran Industries to get by. "I came because I need something from you!" she said irritably.
John felt that asking for one's wages was no small matter either.
"I came to invite you to my house." A hint of hesitation crept into Natasha's voice as she said it.
Mostly because the invitation carried a certain suggestive undertone.
Anyone else hearing such a tantalizing invitation would have understood, just as if someone had handed them a hotel key card.
But John was no ordinary person. He asked the crucial question.
"You have a home?"
Who do you think you're looking down on?
Natasha was a super-agent working for S.H.I.E.L.D., after all. After all those years on the job, surely she could at least afford a house!
Did he think this was the East?
Where buying a