Bab 97: C 97
"Natasha, has anyone ever told you that you look like someone?"
Under the hum of psychedelic music, Anton suddenly spoke, glancing at the red-haired woman beside him.
"Who?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she clinked glasses with him.
"Catwoman. From Batman."
Anton's gaze roamed up and down Natasha, lingering on her sleek, poised frame for a moment before he grinned. "You've got that feline allure, that Catwoman charm. But, of course, the most striking thing is your figure…"
Natasha smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, what you're saying is you want to see me in Catwoman's suit?"
Her tone was playful, but in an instant, her expression turned cold and composed. She leaned in slightly, her voice firm. "I'm not a casual woman, Anton."
With that, she rose decisively, her graceful movements commanding attention as she walked away. Twisting her hips slightly as she exited the bar, she vanished from Anton's sight.
"Anton, it seems even you have your limits," the bartender teased, watching her leave. He was an old acquaintance of Anton's and couldn't help but chuckle as he poured another drink. "This one's on the house."
Anton raised his glass with a wry smile. "Limits? Don't be ridiculous. Believe me, if I wanted, I could have half the women in this bar lined up outside my door."
The bartender shrugged with a smirk. "If you say so. But tonight's looking pretty quiet for you."
Anton drained his glass and stood, brushing off the comment.
As he stepped outside, he noticed Natasha slipping into a taxi. He didn't look angry or embarrassed, just intrigued, watching the cab pull away with a faint smile.
"Oh, Natasha," he murmured to himself, touching his chin thoughtfully. "Sooner or later, you'll be wearing that Catwoman suit."
Hailing a taxi of his own, he climbed in, ready to head home.
Meanwhile, in Natasha's cab, a conversation was underway.
"Well?" the driver asked.
Natasha crossed her legs and glanced out the window. "He plays the part of a playboy well enough."
The driver's voice was calm but familiar. If Anton had been there, he would've instantly recognized the man behind the wheel: Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye—the very same man Anton had tangled with recently.
"But?" Clint pressed, his tone suggesting he already knew there was more.
Natasha tilted her head in thought. "He had a conversation with Eddie from the Daily Bugle today. I'm not sure what it was about, but it didn't seem significant—probably work-related."
Clint glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "If he is Batman, do you think he could be recruited into the superhero initiative the boss is planning?"
Natasha hesitated, then gave a small shrug. "Hard to say. Batman isn't exactly predictable, but he always likes to stay in control of the situation." She paused, then shot Clint a knowing look. "That said, emotionally, you don't seem too eager for him to join us."
Clint's expression remained neutral. "Agents don't act based on emotions."
Natasha smirked faintly but said nothing as Clint continued. "If he's an asset, I'll work with him. But that doesn't mean I won't challenge him again when the opportunity arises."
"Fair enough," Natasha replied with a nonchalant shrug. She leaned back in her seat, gazing out the window as the city lights blurred past.
...
A few days later.
Anton noticed Natasha behaving as if nothing had happened, going about her work at the company as usual.
Over the past few days, she had not only quickly blended in with her colleagues but also greeted him with a warm smile whenever they crossed paths.
Outwardly, Anton remained calm, but inwardly, he knew Black Widow wasn't someone easy to win over. Her anger that night had been an act, but that didn't mean he could rely solely on his status as a wealthy boss to get through to her.
Still, his thoughts wandered. 'In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, how did Bruce Banner—the Hulk, of all people—end up with Black Widow?' Anton doubted that brute force or endless discussions about physics had done the trick.
Ding-dong!
The notification sound snapped him out of his musings. Picking up his phone, he saw a message from Tony Stark.
It was an invitation to a party tonight.
After a moment of thought, Anton stood up and gave Natasha an order. "Get my private jet ready. I'm heading to Los Angeles immediately."
As Natasha acknowledged the instruction, Anton glanced at her thoughtfully before adding, "I'm short a date for tonight. Natasha, are you free?"
Natasha paused briefly, considering Coulson's recent instructions, then nodded. "Of course."
However, she raised an eyebrow and added, "But don't get any ideas."
Anton spread his hands innocently. "I've never been one to force women. Surely, you wouldn't distrust your boss—and my impeccable character—so much?"
...
Night. Los Angeles.
The waves crashed against the cliffs, cheering as if in celebration of the mansions perched above. The moonlight poured over the scene like a shimmering waterfall.
In Tony Stark's sprawling mansion, celebrities and elites gathered for what was Tony's first major party since his return. The event had drawn the attention of countless reporters, eager to get inside.
The boldest among them attempted to sneak past security, only to be caught and escorted to the Los Angeles Police Department. A few, however, leveraged their charm and looks to cozy up to wealthy partygoers, securing their entry through less conventional means.
At this moment, Anton, dressed in a tailored suit exuding an air of confidence, arrived at the mansion with Natasha, who had been transformed by her elegant attire into the picture of sophistication.
The pair passed through security and Jarvis's identification system without issue.
Inside, Anton's eyes quickly found Tony, who was surrounded by a circle of beautiful women. Around them, familiar faces—friends Anton often encountered at high-society gatherings—were mingling and enjoying the atmosphere.
"Anton! Long time no see!"
"You've been skipping out on our parties lately!"
"You actually beat Tony Stark! Thanks to you, I made millions—good man!"
Anton's friends greeted him warmly, their gazes briefly drifting to Natasha before returning to him.
They clearly admired her, but their camaraderie with Anton took precedence. Anton exchanged pleasantries, a polite smile on his face, and then excused himself to approach Tony.
As Anton walked away, his friends leaned toward each other, exchanging knowing glances and whispers.
"Should we place our bets again tonight?"
"No more lotteries this time, right?"
"I'm putting my money on Anton!"
"Not me—I still think Tony's going to come out on top!"
The murmurs trailed off as Anton approached Tony.
Beside Tony was a familiar figure—a bald man engaged in conversation with him. Anton recognized him immediately: Obadiah Stane, the man behind Tony's three-month disappearance in Afghanistan.
"Ah, Anton!" Obadiah greeted him warmly, stepping forward like a host. His smile was wide and disarming as he extended a hand. "Obadiah Stane."
"Pleasure to meet you," Anton replied, shaking his hand with a polite smile. "I've heard much about you. The CEO of Stark Industries—truly a major figure."
"Young people like you are the future," Obadiah said, his tone jovial. "The Daily Bugle and DC are impressive ventures. You've got the energy and drive that puts us older folks to shame."
Obadiah's expression shifted slightly as though recalling something. "Speaking of which, in half a month, Stark Industries and OckTech will be conducting a public demonstration of the 'Artificial Sun Experiment' in New York. It's a groundbreaking project. I'd love for the Daily Bugle to cover it—you're the go-to source for New Yorkers when it comes to stories like this."
"Of course," Anton replied, his smile widening as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Well then, I'll leave you to it. Us old-timers know when to step aside for the younger generation."
With a parting chuckle, Obadiah excused himself, heading off to mingle with other guests, leaving Anton and Tony alone to catch up.
….
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Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
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