[ If Cadence's eyes flash dangerously at her client-turned-not-quite-paramour, she's wise enough not to let the wider gallery catch her rage; she grabs his arms as soon as she feels it starts to slip from her waist, outwardly the perfect picture of physical flirtation. She leans in close, using his shoulder as a screen as she hisses at him. ]

That "purveyor of junk bonds" was about to give me some "insider trading" level information on some new stock options for you, you idiot. While he's a washed up hack, he still has old fraternity brothers on the boards of the third and fourth-largest shipping companies on the east coast, and both are eyeing some potential mergers next quarter. But because you were too busy tripping over your own dick in your desperate attempt to insult him and prove you're not getting cucked, I only got half of what I needed. Now I'm going to find some more drunk, old, horny bastards to tease details out from, if anyone else here even has anything of similar value.

[ Her fingers, still lingering on his arm around her waist, dig sharply into his sleeve, enough to feel through the layers of fabric. ]

Are you happy with yourself?