At the very least, he could take her serious when she mentioned how important this opportunity was. She took Quidditch seriously. Perhaps, not as important as he took it, but who did? When she sat her arse down on his desk, he shot her a glare. "That isn't a chair," he grumbled, pushing her off. Gryffindors. Raised in barns, the lot of them.
He had to admit, however, he was kind of hungry himself. He'd spent most of the day at the facilities and he certainly didn't waist time with making lunch. He had other things on his mind, like the crappy way his team was flying. "You don't captain cause you don't have the stats," he grinned, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of the chair and sliding his arms into it.
Heading for the door, he gave her a look that clearly asked what the bloody hell she was waiting for. "I'm not buying. This isn't a date," he exclaimed when she finally deemed it important enough to leave his office.