Superficial (DE)

Eight.

Cerise had her freshly pedicured feet pulled up into her office chair as she scrolled on TheRealReal searching for a good purse steal with her father's Amex card number already saved into her computer— the pair of Hermès sandals she'd chosen to wear that day on the floor under her desk.

Brandon meant it when he said once he's on your mind there was no getting him off. The thought of him was practically driving Cerise mad. He was like the bright light people say they see close to death— so alluring and enticing. There was just something about the way he spoke to her mind that made her melt like putty around him. He had this physical control over her body already and she'd yet to even give herself to him.

Brandon was intoxicating to the highest degree— like some type of potent pheromone that made her lose all sense of direction and time. Like magnets— their polar attraction was sickeningly strong. It was unsettling for Cerise— how he'd gotten her wrapped around his finger so easily, how she melts under his slightest touch.

And she wasn't upset with him, she was upset with herself for acting so poorly and unlady like like that— climbed right onto that man's lap like she had no sense. But it was like she had no control over her body. Not only her body, but her mind yearned for him— his presence and the way he's able to pick her brain apart so effortlessly every time they're around one another. Perhaps that is why she's so drawn to him, because he feeds her mind something she'd never experienced before— substance.

But she was torn, between what she knows is right and what's wrong— and he is what's wrong. Cerise knew that as a sworn attorney, the exchange between herself and Brandon was extremely inappropriate and unethical on her end— and could damage their case. She'd allowed the lines of professionalism to become blurred and crossed.

That's exactly why she'd been sitting at her desk at the firm doing nothing all day but running up her fathers Amex card because she couldn't do her work. Every time she worked on Brandon's case all she could think of was the way Brandon's lips fit so perfectly with hers, and how soft they were, and the way Brandon held her so tightly in his strong hold as they kissed one another, hungrily, and how her spirit felt as if it gravitated to him— and then she'd spiral.

A knock at her door made her sit up slightly, not bothering to lower her laptop screen because she didn't care.

"You coming home for dinner tonight?" Michael asked upon opening the door.

"Yes," Cerise said.

"You're bringing your bestfriend tonight still? You know your mother and I love her," Michael chuckled trying to create conversation but failing miserably.

"Yes I am," Cerise said, shortly.

Michael cleared his throat as he awkwardly looked around her office before up at her and her unamused expression. "Can we talk baby girl?" He asked. "I'd like to talk to you,"

"Sure," Cerise said, taken aback by him wanting to talk. Never in her twenty-three years of life had he ever "wanted to talk".

"I—," Michael paused, exhaling dramatically. "I'm sorry Cerise. I am sorry for the way I spoke to you, the comment I made to you and—," He paused again, this time as if he were taking a moment to remember the rest of a recited apology more than likely written by Velma.

Michael would practically almost catch hemorrhoids apologizing on his own.

"I am so proud of you and you enthusiasm for law. You still have that spark to just get in the field and not care about a win or loss— you just want the experience and I don't want to put that out. My job is to be there to catch you in case you accidentally fall after taking your training wheels off and I want to help you in any way I can for you first big win sweetheart," He smiled meekly.