She had that perfect, apathetically cool attitude of someone who'd grown up rich, utterly astonishing to find in someone who lived here, like this. She was no gaping, wide-eyed girl from the gutter pulled into the light, and Apollo knew it was going to be a challenge to make her visibly impressed.
He was, absolutely, up for that challenge. "You want to drive it later?" he asked, casually, keeping it understated (for a given value of understated...) as he flicked on the music. It was a playlist he'd curated specially; a few of the groups she'd mentioned last night, a few of his favourites of a similar genre, a few pieces that spanned genre with their genius (some of which he'd composed and sang himself, not that he was going to bring that up unless she noticed, and asked).