Oh, he was all charm and wit — even wittier than most — and something else. Something quite predatory. It was intriguing, but not something she could entirely read just yet, which was also new. It was like stepping outside for fresh air but only to be pushed into a corner. Thankfully, Irene was ever the fearless woman, or rather her mask was. There is no indication that she has any suspicions about him. In fact, if he was as dangerous under that McQueen suit, and susceptible to her own games of power and play, then this would be a bonus to her already productive evening.

As she's softly spun across the floor, train of her dress gliding behind her, she knows eyes are on her. Better make it a good performance. With a firm grip, her fingers close around his hand and one Louboutin slides between his feet, leg slightly pressed against his. "How dull for them." The inch between them disappears. Her eyebrows raise in both interest and challenge. "But neither have I," she counters, just as the music picks up and she sweeps back. They're off, and Irene takes the lead.