"Work," Clint said, tone offhand as if to suggest his job was so boring as not to be worth a conversation. Even as he said it, he was formulating his imaginary job for tonight. He'd already made it clear he wasn't the silver spoon, old money business type, which blew away a few options. Antiquities always risked curiosity and there wasn't a circus in town he could piggyback.

"I'm a personal assistant. Where my boss goes, I go," he decided. "I got the night off for making an especially good Starbucks run." With Natasha in town, it was almost true.