Draco gave a very un-Malfoy snort at her comment about selling herself and him not being able to afford her. "Sorry, love. You're not my type." It was freeing, in a way, to throw off the shackles that came with being Draco Malfoy. No restraints, no weight to carry around. He could escape the scorn and prejudice, not that he did so often. Just occasionally, like now, when it was needed.
Picking up his tankard, he smirked and held it out to the side. "I'm hiding, can't you tell?" He then brought the tankard to his still smirking lips and took a drink before setting it right back down.
Catching the tender's attention, he motioned for another bit of whiskey, this time asking for two. The shots appeared on the table and he pushed one to his new table mate. "Well, care to share your devious little plot? Merlin knows you must have one to come and bother me."