Truth be told, Natasha's stomach was mildly upset and acidic from all the caffeine she'd had to drink what felt like only a few short hours ago. Her neck was still sore and she wished very much she'd changed out of her clothes from the previous night, some kind of pajamas or the soft dressing gown that was hanging from a hook in her bathroom. The kind of little luxuries that she'd started allowing herself years ago, because really, why not. Why not be comfortable if that was the one real advantage allowed to you, why not choose things that were soft, and pretty, and bright, and good to eat. Why not make at least part of your little corner of the world somewhere nice to be if everything else was...
Well. Her stomach hurt, that was all, and she picked up her fork, pushing the omelet around her plate a little bit and fixing her most interested expression on Bucky. A familiar expression that she used on clients, really, she knew how to let her face fall into that look that told him he was the most fascinating person in the world. And this was a subject far preferable to the things Hammer babbled about, anyway, or the man who'd pitched the concept for Nebula to her over pillow talk.
"Bet that'll be a fun read," she told him warmly, bringing a small bite up to her mouth. She was practiced at this, too, eating when her appetite wasn't quite there, and it was all calming her down. It was helpful, thinking of this as any other job. Those were all the same, the familiar dance, the way to be the woman he was expecting to see. Creating the right image. They were all easy to read, in the end. "Certainly hope the solution to his cursed dick doesn't involve fucking the unicorn, though, I may have to tap out of our little book club if that's the point these novels have reached. That's not really a trend I can get behind, pardon the pun."