She might as well have just grown a second head. "A bar," he repeats, completely thrown.

He does recover though. Quickly. Because his rational brain chastises him. She can own a bar. Hell, she'd probably be really good at it. She's intelligent, has the street smarts, and doesn't take crap from anyone. It might be an excellent fit. He still has trouble seeing it in his mind, even after he talks himself through it. "I have agents on staff who routinely review the market," he informs her. "I could get one of them to help out."