Greer smirked, "I would have wondered who you were and what you had done with Daphne Greengrass if you had shown up looking demure." It was the truth - she was as... open, wanton, as he was, it was what intrigued him about her.
Greer lead the way to the kitchen - elegantly situated and sparsely decorated, of course - and made her a Manhattan, not asking if she was interested in that particular drink. Handing it over, he looked her up and down again, "No need to be so formal, take your jacket off, stay a while," he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
For Greer, sex was a means to an end - it felt fantastic, true, but it was just another outlet for his obvious and abundant anger management issues. Perhaps that was why he had a thing for upper-crust blondes - they were a target of a lot of his temper, anyway.