I'd start with reciting the Black-Scholes formula with fierce, smoldering eyes in my Burberry's striped, blue poplin button-down. Following that, I'd snatch the nearest available violin for an impromptu [but totally rehearsed

] rendition of Brahms'
Hungarian Dance #5, but not before asking for her favorite stanza from Dante's
Commedia to deliver it back in the original. After that, we'd compare CVs, debate who's wittier, Stephen Fry or Christopher Hitchens? [doesn't matter, I'd let her win

] while I, in time-tested Getbig fashion, confidently guide her hands to my crotch for a provocative prelude of ineffable pleasures before capping the ensuing fuckfest with an episode of Inspector Morse.