I Woke Up Next To A Half-Naked Bad Boy in School [Epilogue] And He Suddenly Made Me His Personal Slave?!

[5 Years Later]

Don't.

Just, don't Sam. You'll regret it in your later life.

Or not. Whatever.

"--I'm surprised that you're not at home crying because Brandon left you," Evelyn sneered. I was never, ever going to go on one of these stupid events ever again. Ever. It's been years since we last met, and now that I was 21...Evelyn looked bitchier than ever.

And tall. Freakishly tall, with long legs.

I felt so tiny in comparison.

"Brandon never left me," I shot back, rolling my eyes. Evelyn Spencer had a bit of a grudge against me, and I was trying to stay as far away from her as possible. But like Brandon, she worked under her father's real estate company too.

Yup, after graduating from college, he finally set aside his differences with his father and worked under him again. And Richard Compton was really a nice man, it was just that none of the Compton's men were really notorious for their act of affection towards each other.

But trust me, when Brandon and I was left alone, he had no fear of showing his affection towards me anymore. It was funny, how a few years back I actually dislike his character...even though he saved me from the awful Tom (long story that I don't really want to talk about) and made me a deal. I usually joked to myself that I was treated as a slave as a normal human being.

Two of my best friends, Danny and Amber often reminded me of that too.

"In fact, we are happier than ever," I said, shrugging casually. But inside, I was slightly panicking. I haven't seen him all evening, and if he left without me I swear I would strangle him with his own intestines.

"Really?" Evelyn snorted. "Then where is he?"

Fuck.

"He's...he's just...uh..."

"Hey sweetheart," a deep voice cooed behind me, and I instantly felt my knees went weak. Oh thank god, he came right on time! "Hi," I said, careful not to breathe out a sigh of relief and pecked him on his lips.

"Evelyn," Brandon said, winking. "You look dashing in that dress," he said, nodding wisely. Evelyn, despite herself, blushed. "It's new."

"Yeah, well it makes you look so much fatter," Brandon said, innocently grinning and pulling me away as soon as Evelyn looked as if she could sink her manicured nails into his eyeballs. "Brilliant," I said. "You give more reason for Evelyn to hate me."

"What the hell do you care?" he muttered, intertwining his fingers with me and bringing my hand up to his lips. "She's done us no good anyway," he whispered, kissing my cheek. I pushed him away. "Brandon, please," I said, rolling my eyes. "You look like some kind of a lust-filled guy who's ready to rip my clothes off in front of these crowd."

"I am ready to rip your clothes off--"

I hit him with my evening bag, but he caught it easily and snatched it away from me. "Okay that's just not fair," I murmured, crossing my arms over my chest. He opened the bag and looked inside it oddly.

"Why bother buying this freakishly small bag if you're not even going to bother putting stuff in it?" he said. "Because it's freakishly small."

"Then why did you buy it?"

I frowned. "Because it's fashionable and it's a must for evening events or fancy dinners," I pointed out. "My iPod nano couldn't even fit in this," he teased. "That's because you don't have one," I pointed out.

"Really? Then I should buy one."

"That's not reasonable either. You've already got your ordinary iPod so stick to that until it's broken," I said, waving my finger in front of him. "Fine, when we get home I'll toss it into the blender then."

"It's not like you know how to switch the damn thing on anyway," I said, a smug smile spreaded across my face. He chuckled lightly and looked at me intensely. "Samantha, frankly...you don't know either."

Note to self: never buy a blender that looked so hi-tech it could be used by spies and only spies.

Second note to self: don't be too lazy to read the confusing manual.

"Then either of us can't break it," I replied coolly. "...I know how to work the oven."

"I don't want to have roasted iPod for dinner, if that's what you're saying," I said, glaring teasingly and he laughed. "Mr. Compton!" someone said, heading towards us. "Nice to finally meet the man who's the successor to the Compton Industries throne," he joked. "I'm Mike James Howard, New York Times," he introduced himself.

Brandon smiled politely, and I almost giggled when I look at him.

One night, we confessed a bit of our secrets. He told me whenever people introduce themselves to him and whenever he smiled as politely as he could in reply, he would be thinking, "What the hell do I care?"

"Pleasure's all mine," Brandon replied. "Although, I'm in a bit of a rush here," he said, glancing towards me. That was the code word (that only Brandon and I know) for "I have no mood to talk to you. Get out of my face."

Or "Good evening! You look splendid tonight," to a horribly-dressed woman meant, "You look like a giant, pregnant plum."

"No seriously, I have something to do," he whispered. My face fell. Drat, that meant he had to go somewhere or fly off to somewhere again. We walked out to the frontyard, where the crowd was laughing and chatting with each other whilst drinking champagne.

I bet that more than 60% of the people here tonight would go home drunk.

"So who is it with this time? Isaac Bowler?" I asked, remembering the big argument those two had a few weeks ago that didn't seem to stop. "He's an ass, just give it up and ignore him," I said, shaking my head.

He laughed. "It's not as simple," he said. I swear this guy said that so many times it might as well be his motto. "But don't worry, I won't be leaving here tonight," he muttered, dragging me to the center of the crowd where the ice sculpture of the swan was at.

Huge, ice sculpture of a swan that was so not worth the trouble (the man who was supposed to be delivering it here accidentally cut its head off...soo...). Yeah, being an event planner was that hard! Every detail must be in check and--

Wait, didn't I tell you? A few weeks with Rachel in summer a few years back paid off. I took a course in event planning, and VOILA! I was one of the most sought-after event planner there was! To be honest, I specialize in weddings the most because people kept marrying every week.

"But I need to go over the plans to sell our old apartment," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. I looked at him, aghast. "Why? I thought you loved that apartment!" I said, but secretly I was happy.

There was this couple next door who were so loud that we couldn't even slept at night at one point. Honestly, how could anyone sleep when they hear, "Oh god! Bob! Faster!"

And the guy's name was Bob? Really?

"Yeah, finally there's a vacant penthouse in the middle of the city," he said. It was kind of ironic, in a way...that he was working in the real estate business but had a hard time finding an apartment that doesn't have anything to do with Compton Industries.

He claimed that it was too weird.

"But our...active...next door neighbors is not the only reason why we're moving," he said, turning around and grinning. "The view then?" I guessed. We had the worst view in history of worst views. Every morning, we wake up at the sight of an obese man running on the treadmill naked. He lived right across our building, and it was fairly close.

His lips twitched. "Definitely the view," he said and I laughed. "But..." he trailed off, a bit more seriously this time. "The main reason we're moving is because the apartment is too small, and I don't think you like it very much."

"But it's close to where you work," I suggested, shrugging. "So I don't really mind," I said. He frowned and reached for his phone. "I don't care, I want to make you the happiest woman alive," he said, finally pulling out his famous iPhone.

Which I mistook for his wife when we were young. BlackBerry was his second wife. It was a long story...

But a paper fell out along with it. He didn't seem to notice as he was too engrossed with his inbox. I rolled my eyes. Let's just hope to god that the old, 17-year-old workaholic Brandon wouldn't return from its grave.

I crouched down and took it. "Hey B," I whispered. I knew he didn't like to be interrupted when he was in the middle of work. "Is this important?" I asked as I got up and started to smooth out the paper.

Then, I suddenly felt my breath got stuck in my throat.

'Will You Marry Me?'

He hummed a bit and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. I just stared at the paper and the gorgeous ring on my palm. "I do want to make you the happiest woman alive," he whispered. "Sam, you've always been there for me and even when I'm having a ridiculously rough day, you manage to make me smile every single time," he said, touching my shoulder lightly.

I was speechless.

I was choked up, and speechless and...god. Was I dreaming?

"And no matter what I do, I don't feel it's enough," he said, a serious expression on his face. Idiot, I thought. Everything you do for me is far more satisfying than just 'enough', I wanted to scream. "I love you, Samantha Bennett. And I want to spend my whole life with you, and if you'll say no...I...I don't know what to do..."

"You're such an idiot," I choked out. "Of course I will!"

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Update 10.03.09: The sequel could now be found here!!

A/N: Holy crap!! Did you read that?!

Well, I guess most of you expected it anyway.

Anyway, while writing this...I must say that I may have changed my mind. I didn't know why I suddenly decided to change my mind, but I feel as if Brandon and Samantha's story won't end...there.

So yeah, there would probably be a sequel. I'll keep you guys updated through my journal, and whoever have me on their 'Watch List' is...well, I guess...lucky, perhaps (if I ever decided to write the sequel).

Ahem. Keyword: Probably.

Thank you to all of the readers who have been so supportive to me, and those of you who messages me and rate this story and even have the will to read it until the end! Wow, just wow...you guys are the best!

~Ayrese.