Draco dropped his quill to the desk, sitting back in his chair and watching Millie as she flounced into his study. Glass of wine in one hand, tell tale flush in her cheeks - so she was on her second bottle, at least. She had that liquid slink to her gait, the rolling walk of the inebriated that he'd always found so desperately charming.
Rather less charming when he was in the temper he was in tonight, however. And Millie - not this Millie, the older version - was the cause.
"Rather rich," he drawled coolly, "considering less than a week ago I was unaware I had a daughter." He picked up his glass of scotch, sipping at it.