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...
"Good evening Ms. Harvey— the time is seven p.m.," ANNA said.
Cerise quickly shot up out of her sleep, ANNA's loud voice startling her awake as she looked around the cold, dark room she were in— her heart racing.
The room was the size of a small apartment— grand and luxurious with all the heavy ceiling to floor curtains pulled open allowing the city lights to serve as a night light, providing just enough light in the room to see.
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She looked down at herself— still dressed in her halloween costume with one of her breasts threatening to spill from her bustier top. Her hair was a frizzy mess and her head felt like someone was trying to pry open her skull with a jack hammer.
Cerise stared at the shiny black Grand Piano beside the bed, trying to remember what happened last night and where she was now but she had zero recollection after leaving the rooftop party she'd went to lastnight. She didn't even know where her phone, purse, or shoes were at.
So deep in thought, she didn't even notice Brandon come out of the bathroom— his tattooed body glistening with a fluffy black towel wrapped tightly around his waist.
"You're awake— finally,"
Cerise froze hearing Brandon's voice, slowly looking over her shoulder at him as he casually moved around the room— steam still seeping out of the adjacent bathroom.
Brandon's house.
She'd never been anywhere in his penthouse besides his living room, kitchen and terrace— she'd never even used the bathroom at his place before.
"W-what happened?" Cerise asked, her throat dry and her voice raspy.
"You came to yell at me and tell me you miss me," He said casually.
A lump formed in Cerise's throat as she tried not to stare at him— her eyes defaulting to anywhere in the room besides his toned, hard chest. Brandon dropped his towel and stepped into his briefs as if Cerise weren't in the room.
"I miss you?" Cerise repeated with a dumb founded tone. "I slept here— in your bed?" She asked. "Where did you sleep?"
"In my bed," Brandon said nonchalantly as he applied deodorant to his armpits.
Cerise fell silent, her breathing becoming labored as her anxiety entered the chat. "We didn't— do anything right?" She asked sheepishly, finally looking over at him as he continued to get dressed in lounge wear after his shower.
"I'm a grown man Cerise— I know how to control myself," Brandon informed. "You did ask me to though,"
"Ask you to do what?" She asked quickly.
"Fuck you," He chuckled to himself watching the color drain from her face as she got second hand embarrassment.
"Oh my God," Cerise muttered, covering her face with her hands. This was the second time she'd made a fool of herself. "I am so sorry," She mumbled.
