"Um-hum." Michael vocalized through closed lips as he allowed the last of the mouthful to slither down his throat. Whatever the job was, lunch was just fine. He set his spoon back on his plate and reached for the quarter-bottle of champagne. He wrapped the cloth around the cork and twisted the bottle to extract it slowly, with the proficiency of the habitual champagne-drinker. A gentle hiss of escaping carbon dioxide and the biscuity delight of Dom Perignon’s bouquet prefaced the pouring of perfection into his fluted glass. He took a first sip of the drink and gave the sigh of the satisfied hedonist appropriately pleasured.