"Bertie, please." He took her hand for a moment, then gave his erstwhile conversation partner a noncommittal wave before getting up to stand beside her. "Not at all. Give it another minute and I'd have probably started in about dreams, anyway. Embarrassing. Shall we?" he gestured to the bartender to put her on his tab, and swept an arm out toward one of the tables lining the dim room. There was a lot to be said for the shoulder-rubbing benefits of bar seating, but he did actually want to talk to her. "The work's not much worth talking about at the moment. I'm trying to pitch a book - you know," he said, with a sardonic smile and a casual shrug of his shoulders, "like we all do when they stop throwing us money. It could be going better."