Spike knew this game and he knew it well. Taunt the bad guy, lure him into a specific location, and let the unnamed plan fall into place. The one that either offed him or trapped him so that the world didn't end up shattered to pieces. Spike knew it. He had been the villain, once upon a time, and he had faced the same routine over and over again to the extent where it was naturally expected when he walked into an invitation.
He didn't know what Angela's little plan was. From what Heidi had stated, she was someone that he wanted to be wary of. Don't let her touch you, Spike reminded himself. That much, he figured, was something that he could handle without too much of a fuss. Spike was fairly quick on his feet, after all. But was he quicker than a woman bent on making sure that he got in her own blows? He supposed that they would have to see. Spike didn't seem to be terribly worried though. In fact, as he pushed his way into the hotel, Spike appeared to be more than calm with the situation. He wandered right into the lobby, plopped down onto one of the couches, threw his arms behind his head, and propped his feet up onto the table in front of him.
Without even so much as looking at Angela, he opened his big mouth and said, "oi, streetwalker, think you can bring me a cup of blood? I'm feeling a bit peckish."