[Not that smile, no. But that is one of the reasons she tolerates him; to see if he's capable of other kinds.]
I don't hate you. [She tilts her head to accommodate his fingers and reaches over toward the bar, where a tray of dirty martinis sits. Lacus plucks a sprig of olives out of a glass and eats two off the toothpick, a drizzle of liquor trailing down the inside of her wrist.]
[And then a grin as she offers him the third,] And that, I think, is what you find most intriguing about me.