Adler hadn't consciously decided to meet his stare. That came naturally to her. Admittedly, she was used to most men faltering after a few seconds, her grey gaze unnerving them, forcing them to reconsider base truths about themselves. That he didn't was no surprise.
His palm in hers...interesting. Skin as soft as her own. Clearly his claim of never getting his own hands dirty was true. And that split second he took to brush his thumb - was it meant to unnerve her? He'd need to try better than that. Or maybe he was simply curious. Wondering how high a quality of shoe he could make. She suppressed the thought ruthlessly, not letting a trace of it show on her face. That was in London, and this was America, a whole new world. Literally.
She acknowledged his comment about her clothes with a simple nod. She knew she looked good - she always did. But she could tell he wasn't displeased. Moriarty might consider himself unreadable by most people, but she wasn't most people.
She took off her coat and draped it over the back of the chair, then sat and crossed her legs in a deliberately demure fashion. "What I expected? Now there's a question. But I don't have expectations, Mr Moriarty. Except for clients, and I'd never insult you and think of you in such a way." She could imagine him as one, oh she could, but that wasn't a safe topic of conversation in any sense.
Picking up the menu, she stopped before she opened it, smiling slightly and looking him in the eye again. "And what about me? Does The Woman match the voice match the image?" You could hear the capitalisation in her voice, although it wasn't intended. It was simply how she thought of herself.