Well, I can offer you a snippet of Clint as a secretary:

Clint watched Natasha go, her feet thumping on every stair as she headed up to the bedroom, presumably to take a shower after her day of work.

He didn’t mind the job they’d given him. He was good at playing nice with the other workers, and no one seemed to suspect that mild-mannered Colin Banks was actually an arrow-toting master assassin and spy who happened to bring in a mean rhubarb crumble for Gloria’s birthday.

(He’d tried to explain the idea of baking for fun to Nat more than once. She looked at him like he had seven heads, and he decided not to talk about never having an oven at the circus, because chances are there wasn’t one in the Red Room, either.)

The women he worked with loved him, and not just for the short-sleeve dress shirts he preferred because the long-sleeved ones were too tight on his biceps. No, they loved him because he was damn good at his job, and he managed to do it with a smile on his face.

That one has been sitting for a long time, I should get back to it.