With a bit of persuading

You can see Mr. Warritch hesitate, and you put on your most winning smile. "Come on! It's no fun with you cooped up behind that desk!" You put the clipboard on your legs and start unbutoning your shirt. "It's so hot in here...." That's not a total lie, as the sunlight from the rooflight and the side window is bearing on you, but mostly you want to get him looking at you and the cleavage exposed by your tank top.

After you've unbuttoned your shirt the whole way, he sighs, labourously getting up from his desk to move to the couch to sit next to you. He sits as far away from you as he can (which doesn't take much considering how much of the couch his bulk takes up) but you scoot a bit closer to him, idly brushing your foot against his as you recross your legs again, and leaning a bit so he can get a view down your top.

"So what exactly made you decide to be a fund manager?" you ask.

"The money."

"Oh come on." you reply. "That's not a very good answer." You lean back against the couch in thought, idly twirlying a strand of your hair. "Surely you were young once, with ambitions and dreams of more then just making money...of doing good things, having a family..."

You know you've struck the right chord with your words, and the older man scowls. "That was a long time ago. Real life means you can't have everything you want." You see him steailng a glance at your thighs, as he's likely caught a glimpse of your thong by now with how short your skirt is - it'd be hard for him not to with how little attention you're paying to covering yourself.

"But you're a very powerful man, with a nice office, and who's made a lot of money in his life." You put the clipboard on the couch for a moment, shrugging the shirt off of your shoulders. "Money's nice, but there must be...other ways for you to get what you really want." You don't notice his gaze on your bare arms and shoulders as you laugh. "I'm sorry, it's just so warm in here for me. I don't know how you can stand it...." After a beat, you turn back to him. "But money can't be everything, can it?"

"I thought so once. But it turns out that money's all people are really after." You can tell who it is he means by that. "And I'm good at getting people that. It's why I am where I am." You can see his eyes are drawn to the bra and tank top straps on your shoulders.

"That sounds so...cynical." you sigh. "And depressing."

"That's what life is. Depressing." With that, Warritch gets up, moving slowly to a mini-fridge nearby. "I need a drink."

His office has a small liquor cabinet and fridge, and you notice with some consternation that he didn't offier you anything. You wonder if you should ask, and 'accidentally' spill something on your flimsy tank top.

As he goes about preparing his drink, you decide to up the ante, as you know he's fighting the urge between acting on his lust for your nubile body or his general hostility towards women with his ongoing breakup with his wife. You move to his desk, pretending to look at various files and documents, and you put down your clipoard to peer at a few more things.

"Don't touch anything. I'm almost done." He's either preparing something very potent, or something very complicated, or both. You spy an open drawer, and decide you should leave him a 'gift' in there as a momento of your visit, and to further help your teasing ends when he sees what you've done.

It's not like they'll be staying on once you finally break him anyways. But what to leave him? Bra? Thong? Or...both?