Writing Prompt #13

13) It's the 1950's and there you are, at the office, drinking your lunch. What are you drinking and who are you with?

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Here's mine:

13) She crossed the room in neat, tiny strides, her pencil skirt restricting her movement. There was a satisfying click as each heel landed, punctuating her determination to get this over with. She paused only long enough to fix them each a drink before advancing on his desk. No novice to the game, she perched on the end of his desk with an accented lift of her hip that sent the fabric of her skirt stretching tight across her bottom. The movement drew his eye.

He reclined in his chair as she went to hand his glass to him. The buttons she’d undone before slipping into his office gaped as she leaned over, giving him a view of delicate lace and flesh. His interest noticeably peaked. She felt nothing but the hardening of her resolve as she sipped at her sidecar, wondering how long she had to play coy before he would make his power play.

His lack of finesse was legendary in the office. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long; she had things to do, including tackling a pile of manuscripts. She resisted the urge to look at the clock. Another sip of her sidecar. A coy glance. A short trill of laughter after an inane remark of his, just the way her mother’d taught her. A pause in the banter—the moment presented itself. She didn’t hesitate before pressing her lips to his, tumbling into his lap. This was a working lunch, and she damn well deserved a raise.