Cerise Harvey is a twenty-three year old hopeless romantic and over achiever, following closely in the shadows of her father, Michael Harvey- top criminal defense attorney of New York, legacy. With big shoes to fill, she's always gone above and beyo...
"Cerise honey— you remember Governor Thompson, don't you?" Michael asked with a smile, placing his hand on Cerise's lower back.
"Of course daddy. Governor Thompson— how are you?" She greeted, shaking the old man's withered white hand— the same man she'd met the year before at the annual philanthropy gala.
"Almost couldn't recognize you behind the mask," The Governor joked poorly, referencing the black lace masquerade party mask on her face.
Cerise giggled phonily. "It's me," She joked along.
Though Cerise and her father were having a competition of who has the largest ego, she'd never break her word to her father so she came as his plus one tonight— just as she had been doing since she was six years old.
She'd hate to disturb his image.
This year was different however. Mrs. Collins, the chairwoman of the charity event wanted to spice things up this year with a masquerade theme— all donors dress in ball room attire with a masquerade mask you obtain at the security checkpoint near the entrance of the building. And to get the donors more involved this year, they'd be auctioning off dances with the beautiful eligible women of the night to the highest bidder— the donation going to the woman's charity of choice.
Rich people prostitution.
Anything involving competition had Michael's name written all over it, so in true Michael fashion, he volunteered his beautiful baby girl— because no one was more beautiful than his girl.
He was going to get the highest bid of the night.
Cerise managed to sneak off, snagging a flute of champagne on the way to the bathroom. She took a sip, setting the luxurious glass of bubbly down onto the counter of the Instagram worthy bathroom.
She removed the mask from off her face, leaning into the crystal clear mirror to check her makeup before going into the Judith's Leiber clutch she'd stolen from her mother's closet and applying a light coat of gloss to her full lips. Cerise freshened up, spritzing her pulse points with her sample sized Bond No. 9 Greenwich Village. Michael had rented her a beautiful crystal gown from an underground designer— spaghetti strapped covered in dazzling jewels that hugged her slim body perfectly to wear for the night.
Velma's glam team did a light makeup with loose pin curls and minimal jewelry to finish the look.
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"Welcome to our twentieth annual Philanthropy Charity Gala!" Mrs. Nadine Collins, the chairwoman of the organization greeted into the microphone over the crowd of donors.
Cerise smiled politely at the other women who stood on dots on the stage along side her behind the giant black velvet curtain— all to be auctioned off for the night.
Cerise of course was the only black woman— the remainder of the selection white women between the ages of twenty-one and thirty, all probably the daughters and nieces of wealthy donors.
