"Oh honey. I saw your brother in here once with you. He wouldn't bat an eye if you showed up with a motherfucking elephant. You're his goddamn princess, aren't you?" Harlow didn't see that as a bad thing, either. After all, he himself had been spoiled absolutely rotten. It was just another thing they happened to have in common. His father might not have liked him very much, but his every wish had still been indulged his entire life. "Anyhow, I like your clothes too. You wear them well."
"Mmm, I don't feel like I've succeeded until someone's thrown a punch," Harlow sighed, shaking his head and touching his paint-stained fingers to the scarred bump on the bridge of his nose. "But if you can convince him not to kill me, you can try. I'll back off on it, anyway. Something tells me he might wind up doing a little more than knocking my jaw out if he catches hold of me right now." Harlow loved to pick a fight, but occasionally he had to admit when he'd bit off more than he could chew. He was scrappy and quick, but Cutter was kind of huge and awful mean looking. Harlow could handle most of the fights he instigated, but he knew he wasn't going to come out on top of any run in with Cutter.
The concoction sounded tasty, sure, but it wasn't enough to get her on his level. Harlow shook his head, grabbing two glasses and starting to mix his own drink for her. Tanqueray, lemon juice and honey all mixed into a yellow cocktail, and Harlow offered that out to her instead and took up his own glass. "We're drinking this tonight. I won't tell," Harlow promised, clinking his glass against hers in a toast before he took a gulp. He figured that her classy taste would happily latch on to the slightly sweet Prohibition-era cocktail, and he'd hopefully be able to coax her into having a few of them.