"Not at all," the sharp-dressed man says, dismissing his dinner date's worries with a small wave of the hand. "Spaceflight is hungry work and I could use some grub myself." Donnie looks at the menu again, then places his order for a pint of Dubliner Whisky and a blooming onion before leaning back in the polished leather seat.
"I haven't been working with the esteemed Williams and Mordhauser long," he confesses. "Convair, though, I'd met before. It was her idea to take me on, so I know a thing or two about her impulsive generosity." The lawyer flashes Nodoka a grin, pearly whites gleaming in the light of planet below. The motion of her chest draws his eyes inexorably, like a snub-fighter caught in the gravity of a binary star, but with an effort of will that would have been beyond his younger self, Donovan tears his gaze away. His prior train of thought is not so fortunate, lost forever in the crush of-
He shakes his head and refocuses determinedly on the woman's face. Eye contact, Davidson, don't screw this up. "Well, if it's connections you're after, you've come to the right man." He fishes in his breast pocket, retrieving a silver case wider than it is long. "I know people who know people, we could probably set something up. And I happen to know that Williams-Mordhauser might need a courier at some point in the near future. Mind if I smoke?" Donovan pauses after popping open the case, fingers on the white cylinders within. "Would you like one yourself?"
