Hades gently led Victory a few steps away from the surrounding mortals. He wasn't worried that anyone would overhear them. A mortal couldn't overhear a god unless the god wanted to be overheard. But Hades still preferred to have any bit of distance they could have in the club. It wasn't exactly a private sort of setting, and living crowds made Hades uncomfortable. Besides, he needed a second to cover up the fact that his throat had closed up the moment Nike had addressed him.
He didn't quite know how to proceed from that point, and really, really didn't want to. Hades liked Nike. He always had. But he hated why he was there. He hated owing people. Depending on anyone. Asking anyone for anything. He hated that he knew he couldn't do this himself. It was one thing with his subjects. He was their king. He ran their realm. He made sure their needs were met. He took care of any external or internal threats. For whatever reason, duty, obligation, loyalty, fear, respect, love, they had to follow him. Nike didn't. She may not have started as an Olympian, but she was definitely one of Zeus's. And this wasn't an area exclusive to the Greek pantheon.
Was he supposed to compliment her now? Wasn't that how people who wanted things from other people usually started these things? Nike did look nice, but she always looked nice. Even in battle, she pulled off looking like a war torn wreck nicely. That didn't say anything. Pointing that out would be like gesturing towards the ground and saying 'Look. There's a floor.' No one could possibly appreciate that. He could mention the pearls. They were big right now. For some reason. But what could he say about them? They were a bunch of white unremarkable spheres all stuck together by a string, and if the string broke (which it always did. Lousy craftsmanship), they'd roll all over the place. It would take forever to pick each one of them up, and someone would still wind up slipping on one that was missed and break a perfectly nice table lamp with their head.