After he finishes with his day-job duties (separate from attending diplomatic functions to stand around and look handsome) he attempts to let himself out of the room with the comconsole and all its data to sift through, only to find that the hallway has turned into a bar.
He looks over his shoulder. The office is still normal. Which is to say there are no other exits.
Ivan goes into the bar, squinting.
"Miles wants me to be his substitute because he thinks it's going to be boring. I don't want to be his substitute, because I know it's going to be boring."
"I'm very sociably inclined. Anyway, Miles, dress greens, look sharp, it's in an hour."
"Suck it up," snorts Ivan. "I'm going to go change. But call me in if you decide to argue with a mirror."
And he and Ivan go and meet various assistants of the Zoavian ambassador (Ivan inquires of his the demonym and she tells him that's what it is) and serve as their escorts at the party. The food's lovely.
The food is lovely. The loveliness of the food somewhat makes up for every other aspect of the situation.
There is another of the same a couple days after; this sort of event is scattered on an irregular basis between the clockwork of Ivan's day job and the as-time-allows of Ivan's out-of-the-embassy social life. Miles and Mark continue to develop rapport and are eventually moved to visit the embassy gym in addition to the endless reading-and-partially-telepathic conversations.
The Dendarii go about their business without any disasters that require elaborate Milesian shenanigans to depart the embassy and see to them in person.
Miles's money and his orders from Tau Ceti come in - he and his Dendarii are wanted elsewhere in the galaxy with all speed. Ivan bids him goodbye and proceeds about business as usual, including going with Carolyn to some kind of traditional cultural festival, which is very cultural, involves tasting a few dozen kinds of cheese, and sees him heading home via tubeway from its slightly far-flung location in the late evening.
Welp. Not a whole lot Ivan can do about that while stunned. He can't even collapse particularly gracefully; look, there he goes, completely without poise. How embarrassing.
Yep, that would be fast-penta, because there goes Ivan's urge to pass out, the physical complaints associated with being tied to a chair, and his verbal filter. Blink, blink.