The office is utilitarian; the cream-painted twin of the one on Beaumonde Mal guesses, given that Zoe's description would match this space entirely. Bill is taking a bag from the safe on the back wall. She turns, and hands the bag over with another of her bright smiles. “Your pay,” she says grandly, though her eyes are dancing with mirth.

Mal fights to keep his expression inscrutable. “Thank you,” he replies, “Pleasure doing business with you.” The lie tastes bitter on his tongue.

“And you, Captain. I confess, I'm hopeful that you'll be choosing to business with us on a more regular basis.” She speaks playfully, almost flirtatious.

Mal maintains his blank face. “I'm not sure about that,” he replies honestly, “The pay is excellent, but I'm not sure I want to fly that route again.”

Bill eyes him with dismay. “I know a man like you would have gone to check on the poor crew of the Hugo,” she says softly, “Terrible, what happened to them. But come Captain Reynolds. You aren't scared off by Reavers, are you?”

He knows she's deliberately pushing him, and refuses to rise to her bait, ignoring the prickling of panic the mention of the Hugo freights. This kind of goading might work with ao man idiots, overly concerned with their reputations, but not him. “I'm a cautious man,” he says with an ironic smile, “And I don't like to risk my crew's lives. There are other jobs we're in a position to take now, that don't necessitate straying so close to Reaver territory.”

He can almost see the wheels turning behind her blue eyes as he speaks, trying to decide on a more suitable tack. She nods, and he turns to leave, his hand on the door when she speaks again.

“Alright, Captain Reynolds. I can see I've underestimated you. Inara was right, you're a complicated man.” His iron mask slips for a moment at the mention of that name and Bill moves to press the advantage. “I wouldn't be offering you a simple haulage contract,” she declares, “You'd be... an associate.”

“How would that be any different?” he asks