She watched him in the mirror behind the bar. He'd been looking at her for the past ten minutes. Dark suit, light shirt, cuff links, and handsome. Just like hundreds of men before him. When he stood and began to walk towards her, she knew he was going to hit on her. She wasn't here at the Prohibition Bar at the Foshay Hotel to be picked up. She just wanted a quiet drink to herself, time to think, and a roomful of noise around her. And this guy was about to spoil it.
He was two steps away when she whirled in her chair and stood to confront him. She pointed her finger in his face and a stern look shot from her eyes.
"I don't know who you are or what pick-up line you think will amuse me but don't, just don't. I've had enough pick-up lines to last a lifetime."
She kept her finger in his face as a confused look crossed over him. His confidence evaporated; he focused his eyes on the french tip of the blood-red nail that was inches from his nose.
"I already know you're going to tell me I'm beautiful. Men, mostly boys really, have been telling me that since I was twelve. I already know I'm beautiful and I already know the effect I'm having on your biology. If you want a shot with me, buddy, you better come up with a comment or a question that tells me you get me. You got that? You've got exactly fifteen seconds to impress me with your insight about who I am or what I want or I'm walking away with my Tanqueray and everyone in this bar will know you blew it. Your time starts now. This finger stays in your face. If you can't think while a woman has her finger in your face, then you're not man enough to be with me."