The Cartel - Ashley Antoinette Snell [54]
“I thought I took care of that problem.”
“Well, I’m not really dressed. I don’t like to have company over when I’m looking a mess,” she replied, playing hard-to-get. Miamor heard her doorbell ring again and rolled her eyes to the ceiling because of the interruption.
“You see, considering how you got up out the bed last night to shower and do your hair before you woke me up, I figured you were high maintenance.”
Miamor smiled and replied, “Just a little bit,” as she made her way to the door. She was so into her conversation that she opened her door without looking out of the peephole.
Carter stood before her leaning against her doorframe, his cell phone in one hand and a black designer garment bag in the other. “Now you don’t have an excuse.” He handed her the bag and hung up his cell phone. “Go get dressed. I’ll be waiting for you when you get out.”
Miamor was ecstatic. She had never been courted in such an upscale manner. Half the time she didn’t even have time to seriously entertain a man, but she was going to make time for Carter. She took the bag from his hand with a bashful smile and unzipped it, revealing a Marc Jacobs original. She had heard that the popular designer was coming out with a new high-end line of clothing, but it wasn’t due out until early 2010. Here Carter was standing in front of her with a dress that hadn’t even hit stores yet.
How the hell did he get his hands on this dress? Bitches about to hate. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in about an hour,” she said, blushing graciously.
Miamor hopped into the shower and applied her MAC cosmetics before attempting to put on the dress. She wore her hair in a bone-straight wrap, with Chinese bangs cut in a slant across her forehead. Spraying Donna Karan’s latest fragrance all over her body, she found herself hoping that Carter would like the scent. It was odd for her to care about what a nigga thought of her, but she had to admit that she wanted Carter to feel her as much as she was feeling him.
Miamor admired her strapless pale yellow dress that fit her body loosely and ended just below her knee. The silk fabric wrapped around her slim waist and lay seductively around the curves of her body, giving the ensemble an edgy look, while the simplicity of the rest of the dress had an old Hollywood glamor. It was sophisticated and much different than her normal style, but she liked the change. And she had the perfect Manolo stilettos to go with it.
Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she had to smile. She was the shit and she knew it. She emerged from the bathroom an hour later and walked back into the living room, where Carter sat waiting patiently for her.
He looked up at her, and the look on his face told her all that she needed to know. He was pleased with her appearance. She had accomplished her goal.
“Thank you for the dress,” she said. “I love it.”
“Thank you for wearing it. I love it too.” Carter grabbed her hand and led her over to her dining room, where Rachel, her chef, presented them with breakfast.
“You are too much. You know that, right? I’ve never met a nigga like you.” Miamor laughed. Carter was on point in every way.
“There ain’t another nigga like me,” Carter replied with a smirk.
Normally conceit appalled Miamor. There was nothing worse than a stunting-ass nigga who couldn’t back up all the shit that he talked, but Carter’s confidence was attractive, and he had already proved that he didn’t make empty promises. She knew that he was an entirely new breed. His game was different than the Down South men she had encountered, and she appreciated his refreshing Flint swagger.
“You got a passport?” he asked out of the blue.
“Yeah, I got one. Why?”
“I want you to come away with me this weekend to Costa Rica.” Carter said it in a nonchalant manner, as if he was merely asking her to go out on a casual date.
“I can do that,” she replied with a breathtaking smile.
Carter knew that she was trying to keep her cool, because the infectious