She met his gaze. That was good, that was important to him. He didn't want to find after all her talk and bravado she'd falter at a man she couldn't control. ...Again. She'd failed with Sherlock after all, and that was still prevalent in his mind. Though she'd confused him, oh how she had confused him. He'd heard some of it, while he'd been consulting her and now, meeting her face to face. Oh he could see what she'd done and it must have been beautiful. Pity he didn't remember it really, waste of her art. And Moriarty could see that too, she walked like she owned the place, had dressed to impress and not once had she flinched in his presence. Others had, countless others.
Admittedly meeting him usually lead to death, only a few times had it not done. He did wonder how things were, how his empire was getting on without him.
Now though, now was the time to focus on the woman in front of him, not worry about the past. Oh yes, she'd require every bit of focus, just for the evening. She'd held out a hand. Good, good. Brave, some would say. He took it and shook firmly, his thumb momentarily grazing her skin. Soft skin. He remembered clearly threatening to remove it from her if she failed him. And she had failed him. But then again here they were, brave new world and she'd done well with the camera.
Call it a reprieve.
"Miss Adler" he said simply, doing her the courtesy of not calling her Irene. Not yet at least, and she had behaved oh so appropriately. "I'm glad you had enough notice to find something to wear." he said, raising an eyebrow slightly, the only reaction to her attire at all. It was impressed. Or as impressed as Jim Moriarty got anyway. "So tell me, am I what you expected?" he asked, motioning a hand to the table set out for dinner and already laid with wine lists and menus. "There's only so much you can get from a voice and an image." he asked as he sat opposite her.