"Alright, look, I understand you were the one who… Technically invited me to dinner with you, but I won't let you pay for both of us. Shallow income be damned, you owning the single biggest casino in existence be damned, I can't allow such an evening to go by without me paying for the two of us. Understood?"
The director spoke not with confidence or firmness, but rather as if he were testing the water. Seeing if Lady Luck would be gracious and allow him this one indulgence.
She merely smiled, shrugged and murmured huskily, "Fine by me, baby."
It was only after two strangely warm glasses of wine (which had half-melted ice cubes in them for whatever reason), and two hilariously cold and undercooked meals and a 'stern talk' between a glaring, growling goddess and an inexperienced and generous server that Paolo realized just what had happened.
"Wait… You just talked us into a blank check. Everything's covered?"
Lady Luck crossed her legs, grinning with white, near-sharp teeth showing. "Yes. And?"
The director massaged his temples, inhaling deeply.
"You paid for us both, so to speak," he sighed raggedly, "Is that what you meant to do?"
The goddess in front of him could only give a wild, shrieking cackle at the implication that she had taken on some grand feat of manipulation - because she had, of course, she was a genius.
"The house always wins, Ravinski. Never forget that."