“Script Money” The Novel

Chapter Five

Everyone wants their hands in the Sack

Biscayne Bay, Florida.

Mandarin Oriental Hotel, 1:37 pm.

He only reached out to his ex-fiancé's brother because he still respected Nick. Because Nick had a sweet spot for his loyalty, and if he wanted to get back to the top of Cromartie, he would need Nick's reliance on him.

Glendall knew he could find Raleigh easily. Just follow the party or track the credit card transactions. He was determined to find Samirah's brother simply because as much as he hated that bitch---he loved Cromartie Productions, and he couldn't see his company stunned by a $12,000,000 name claim.

Not before he got the money he invested into this company first. Or he snatched it ultimately from Samirah and her entertainment cult. When she began working with that prick Kareem Cashmere, Samirah had been chiseling blood from Glendall's career and their relationship. And now the blood war was about to be a battle for the entire Cromartie Empire.

His private jet landed an hour ago. He met with his driver in a black Range Rover at Miami International and contacted Nick Cromartie. "You're a head hunter for the Cromartie Studios, and you're scouting one of the most important anchors for tonight's show. Good luck finding him." His boss said over the receiver. He then ended the call.

Glendall spent the afternoon taking in the sunny seaside of southern Florida. The expansive hills of lavish residences of wealthy entertainers, shopping boutiques, and buildings lined the streets. Where Lamborghinis and Aston Martins prowled without scurrying off from mundane day laborers, he noted that Biscayne Bay was much like Brickel Bay, where only the rich, preppy, and snobbish unwound in luxury.

When he got to the hotel, Glendall was impressed that the boy could have found such an impeccable resort to hide in. The Mandarin Oriental was five-star elegance.

He checked in with the concierge at the desk before taking the elevator to Raleigh's penthouse suite. Telling the woman it was a company affair to gain clearance to his summer pad without suspicion.

When the hotel manager opened the door, she stood outside and waited as Glendall entered.

Draped in a $6,000 Vera Wang suit, his alligator hide wing tips clocked loudly as he roamed the marble floor in surprise. In the living room, dozens of ample breasts passed out on the floor, couches, and on top of each other—mostly party girls or strippers. Room service seemed to arrive on cue every fifteen minutes, then another ten minutes afterward with more booze until someone puked. There were empty plates, prescription bottles filled with codeine, and broken champagne glasses sprawled across the room in every corner.

He inhaled the stench of used condoms, perfume, marijuana, and Mongolian take-out as he spotted Raleigh knocked out and intertwined with three naked women. "Hey. Raleigh. Get the fuck up!" Glendall slapped him as he stooped over the orgy.

Groggily the boy shutters. "We staying 'till the Puerto Rican Day parade." He mumbles unbidden.

"The what?" Grimacing, he grabbed him again. "Raleigh!" He knew Raleigh's malnutrition came from drugs and unfit habits Glendall leveled his head and punched him in the temple.

His second wake-up call.

Raleigh finally grumbles onto his side. Then, he comes to. He was stocking his elbow and remembering where he was. His face was matted and disheveled as he scanned the hookers and the drugs around him. "Wait a minute. I met her at the Puerto Rican parade." He said and chuckled as he caressed her breasts.

"What the fuck are you doing, man?" Glendall is furious as hell. "Do you know how badly Nick wants to kill you right now? What is this? You wanna sue Cromartie just so you can buy coke and strippers all fucking day, is that it?" He couldn't believe the boy would take a vacation so close to Miami, where Nick was raised and kept deep Jamaican ties in the streets.

"Fuck you, alright!" Raleigh sat up, snorting a line of cocaine from last night's coke party. "What do you think I made the biggest T.V. name in Atlanta for? Huh, so I can rock like this, man! Because I made Script Money, what everybody going fucking crazy over."

"You wanted a label Raleigh."

"And I had one; then Sam stole it."

"It flopped in the first year, dumbass. You broke the rules. You can't get rich trying to get all your friends in the same business with you. They never want it like you do or did."

A hooker began giggling at Raleigh while he sat there getting yelled at. Clamoring over to get a morning bump. "Oh, you watch Script Money too...I would love it if you gave me a chance to suck Kareem's dick. Mm, he is so cute." She cooed, then sniffed loudly.

"Shut the fuck up. Get your little homegirls and get the fuck out." Raleigh looked askance. She frowned and got up. Then she stumbled around the room looking for her clothes while Raleigh shook his head pitifully and picked up a bong to take a toke. "You see, I did that."

He got up and padded out onto the balcony away from the women. Glendall followed the weed scent outside.

For a moment, they both gazed out into the Atlantic Ocean. He stared beyond the strolling pedestrians crowding the beach below the ashen blue afternoon. "You can take a yacht from here and be in Cuba in two hours," murmured Raleigh. "I want to go there this week. Have some pig head soup; maybe find me a foreign girl I don't have to hide this from." He shrugged, firing up his bong again and hacking.

"Yeah, we'll see how that goes for you."

"You wanna tell me why you flew to Biscayne to chat with me?"

Raleigh was awake and stoic. Listening to Glendall go on about appreciating Samirah for carrying on his name into Hollywood while he smoked. "I came here to put you up to speed about all the shit going on at the studio," said Glendall numbly. "While you were snitching to the judge about your chump off pain and suffering, Sam closed a network syndicate package worth $400,000,000. They gave it to her even when they were sure your old man would use his chances to gamble with other sitcoms. PEN signed off, convincing the rest of the investors that Script Money will be their brand for a while."

"Ain't this a bitch. The same big sister I used to watch playing in animated cartoons is worth four hundred million now."

Glendall laughed with a grin. "What can I say, man? The name was perfect. 'Script Money'...and Sam's planning to put some hot shit on there this fall. She even has some 'whose got talent' show Kareem's camp dropped, so you can still fuck with music and be a part of sounds around the house."

"Why are you telling me this? What's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"The fuck do you think I mean? You think I like you rubbing this bullshit in my face," says Raleigh.

"No. I'm trying to keep your punk ass from making a gigantic mistake that could hurt this company. Script Money got Cromartie accounts on smash, thanks to you."

"You think I'm a sucker because I had the guts to sue my sister. Huh? You think this a publicity stunt, don't you?"

"Raleigh chill the fuck out," Glendall braced him with his hand. "Look, here's the deal. I know you have shares in Cromartie. Sam can't stop you from being a part of the estate or any percentages Script Money rakes in, but there are ways you can get way more money than $12,000,000 worth of name infringements in court, alright? All you need to do is trust me on this. I know a couple of investors we bring to the studio, and I promise we can pitch for three times the shit you had tied up in your music."

He noted Raleigh twiddling with his pipe and thinking about his proposal, perhaps wondering what he could receive if he annulled the lawsuit. Glendall had a secondary plan as well. One involved the Sig Sauer .9mm he had tucked underneath his jacket.

Exhaling deeply, Raleigh replied. "Shit! You Hollywood-talking motherfuckers run more bullshit than Wall Street. Okay, okay. I'll tell my lawyer to call off on the suit. Temporarily. You tell Sam I want back in on all the sound mixing."

"Alright, my brother." Glendall gave him a dap.

"Hold up. I need to know something first. Is it true Sam called off the wedding and made you some rich fucking head hunter?" Raleigh inquires with a scowl. "Cause you sound like one; I'm just saying."

Glendall thought about his gun. "Your sister thinks she's so un-fucking-touchable since that punk-ass writer began dropping scripts like he's Justin Lin or something. Sam worships that motherfucker buying him Ferraris and all kinds of shit! She may even be sucking his dick. I'm glad it's over."

Her younger brother scoffs with a smirk. "Man, the Sak Life camp does have the streets on fleek."

"Don't worry. You let me see 'bout that arrogant son of a bitch, Kareem." Glendall assured Raleigh. After resolving Samirah's legal dispute against her sibling. Luckily without putting a bullet in her brother.

* * * * *

The red coupe swerved around a thoroughfare, topping out at seventy miles. No concern about strolling bystanders getting hit or fleeing from the police at the moment. The lot was a rental and auctioned off for a mile, spinning rampant in the Ferrari 488GT that came with Ms. Fines' initial sequence. She had trained to take down a high-speed vehicle in hot pursuit. In this scene, she fled behind the car, extending her taut arm and aiming a replica gun under her clinched brow. "Such a beautiful car gone to shit." The gun bang was replicated, loud and climatic, by audio work, causing the driver to seem shot and rev out of control. It mainly was kicking up dust in a mean donut.

Ms. Fines lowered her pistol to her hips, cased the car strutting in stilettos, and pounced on the driver as she flung the door open. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I ain't mean to run, ahh I just got outta jail." Most criminals whimpered this and martyred their kids on the quick draw, but it still got them booked.

"Sir, I need you to step out of the car." She says, yanking his arm.

The man cups the cherry-colored blood on his torso and struggles out.

"I like this foreign better than I like doing paperwork," She cranes her neck, slinking her fingers into his belt loop. "So, it's going to the pound...but if you can show me a juicy cock to turn into (my pound), I'll cut you some slack." The officer would've stuck whatever size into her matte lips. She was kneeling and pulling the man's pants down as she slowly arrested him with her glossy mouth.

The video went on for ninety minutes of Cardona giving a blowjob, laying across the hood, being licked, and demolished in insatiable positions until the criminal fisted the Colombian beauty's bodied hair and aimed his load. Them both moaning in libidinal lust.

Ara snipped the video as Kareem yelled, "And cut it!" leaving her face mutilated.

The actors were cleaned up in a nearby bathroom inside the rented warehouse, given plush towels and playtime by Booger, taking a break before another set. Minutes after her "Ms. Fines Facial Pursuit," Cardona came out of a small dressing room wearing an angelic piquant complexion wrapped in a silk robe; she seemed to entertain the Sak chasers like a Broadway family.

She looked around for Kareem.

He was giving his production crew their checks. Cardona came out near him. "For you, since we can't have ends left behind." What he paid her came in a canvas Bally knapsack. She peeled back some of the wads. "There's forty grand in there. I'll bring more when this gets in. Here's your signing bonus," Kareem hands her a key fob. "Pink slips in the bag."

"Bullshit! You're giving me your car."

"Look at you; you earned it," He replied. "Plus, I gotta get rid of it; it's driving Money crazy." He sighs and takes in his employees, drinking in their pay. "Yeah, man, I'm starting to see what she means by enjoying the people."

Cardona grasped the keys to the dusty Ferrari in the distance. Humbly, she smiled. His docket number coming to her files had turned over cash and a coupe; she slipped her arms around him. "Thanks, Kareem," says Cardona kissing his neck. Elsewhere they heard the Sprinter pulling off. "The boys are leaving; you need a lift?"

Kareem nods and caresses her back.

"On the way, you can wash my car."

"Yeah, whatever. I don't wash cars anymore. I cop new ones."

* * * * *

Twenty hours later.

Cromartie Studios.

Currently, the director is swamped with her official line reading. The production team and all the starring actors came to the table and walked through each line of the upcoming script. Four gorgeous adaptations were on the line, and Samirah had to choose one to film.

"Whose ready to present their script today?" she said, clasping her fingers.

"I thought." Kareem begins until Gizzle Tate jumps up and exclaims. "I think Kareem here should chill for a quarter on the bench. He's been the busiest guy in Hollywood. Why don't you give some of us crime writers time to stunt? Back up."

"Uh-oh, we got some beef." a man beside her says.

Samirah admires how Kareem obliges to the competition. "Dude, you don't know shit about crime." He murmurs, ushering him to take the floor with a smug look.

Gizzle clears his throat and focuses on Samirah. He pitched a crime drama, PaperWhite, about a local stock boy at an online shipping company who discovered an off-the-grid route where he could smuggle kilos of blow via Kindle tablets. He was beginning a drug ring filled with cash, betrayal, Federal indictments, murder, and power. "We already have Ryan Summers and Lou Sismondi on board to star as our drug lord and his love interest. We were thinking about shooting it somewhere nondescript like Portland."

Samirah glanced at Rashad Ballard, her assistant director. "What kind of budget are we looking at?"

"Um, since crime action comes with many edgy impact scenes...and Ryan and Lou ain't union stars yet, I'm guessing five to eight million," replied Ballard in an uncertain spiel.

Gizzle hurried on. "I can also cover thirty percent with my own money as well. I'll knock on door after door to produce this thing."

Samirah shakes her head, considering. Then all at once, she pales.

Suddenly, doors swing open by Shaquea, the assistant. "Um, Sam, Mr. Turner says he's sending you a bill for all of his stuff you threw out." She murmured.

"You tell his broke ass to hit wardrobe. Thank you, Shaquea." Samirah thanked her bashfully, then spotted her leave. She wondered why Glendall would shoot off all memos to her, that one. She did have his property placed in her main corridor and called for a towing company after standing and glaring at their relationship becoming a yard sale. Samirah knew her love had to find someone genuine.

All at once, Glendall's bill rang true.

Raleigh.

Everyone glared at a terrorist. Quizzically, Raleigh dressed casually as he sat down. "Pleasant surprise seeing you, son. I had prayed to your mama we'd find you as soon as possible." Nick grinned icily.

"Nice to have you here, Raleigh. Paul, what you got?" Samirah felt a wave of relief.

Bullet dodged.

Paul Matthews told her. "I reached out to Seth Rogen and J.J. to do something wicked in a setting two centuries from now. Something supernatural, and since Danielle Long is hot with the spooks, I think she and Bashar Isha will be perfect for a trilogy like Hearts and Hunters. To produce, we'll need a starter of $25,000,000."

"Keeping in mind Seth and J.J Abrams better have their studios seriously backing your ass up on this thing. You're asking for a whole helluva lot of my money," said Nick.

Kareem came in. "Me personally, I hate sci-fi movies. They always got some retarded robotic-looking shark-eating motherfuckers up. That isn't exciting. I fuck with Seth, he's a funny dude, but you need more than this aggressive replication to buy his attention."

"Well, Mr. Cromartie's fantasy dystopia averages seventy to ninety mill during first week releases. I just finished binge-watching From with my wife." offered Ballard solemnly.

"I don't give a fuck about spending a quarter hundred million binge-watching; you can watch a sci-fi flick with some geeky hooker. Cromartie needs a blockbuster record-breaker because we only have Script Money holding down primetime right now." Nick said.

Samirah despised her father's irascible comments, often directed toward Rashad Ballard. Nick wasn't a fan of his wife's nephew. There wasn't much space left for the Cromartie heirs following her mother's death, let alone shares for some avuncular deed sharing. Her assistant director was a permanent shareholder, a former actor, whom Samirah appreciated around the studio, but often defended whenever Nick acted like an asshole in front of his nephew.

"We get it, Daddy," Samirah scoffed. Then she took on a lighter tone when she asked Kareem about his current project. "We're in the locker room during pre-game, and we need somebody to step up, control the rock, and run the numbers up for Cromartie. What you gone do?" asked Samirah.

There was the swagger Kareem Cashmere possessed. How he stood against adversity with confidence and a "fuck you" attitude to people like Gizzle Tate and her ex, who envied him. When he spoke to Samirah, it was like she was his bottom bitch. Sprawled naked across a cheap motel bed, listening to her daddy pitch his baller-esque visions while she bagged up the nickel bags.

Kareem Cashmere was a visionary with the air to be her next Eros.

In times like now, she knew her hazel eyes affected him. He pored over his white booklets of scenarios, fidgeting with a black Sharpie. "First, I want your minds to drift off into a series. One that looks like our bottomless budget powers it from beginning to end. Forget about the millions on top of millions of dollars this will take to make this shit big. You're letting me crash a fucking helicopter into a private school over the top, okay?" Kareem got a stern look at the team. Then took to his feet. "Now, I want you to tell me what all writers have in common?"

"We're all perverted inside vibes who only become brilliant on pot." joked Paul.

"Man, whatever, perverted maybe. But I'm better than you with or without the weed. C'mon what else?"

"What about our names always getting misspelled, and we never get the credit we deserve? Face it, we'll never be able to hit the Met Come on, and people notice us off tops like Tyrese Gibson," added Gizzle.

Kareem's brow sagged laboriously. "No..come on. What the fuck are you, Lifetime writers? Every writer in this room can guarantee two things in this business: we sit on our faded and reclusive asses and come up with some fantastic blahzay-blahzay from end to end, knowing how shit will turn up or down no matter what? We run the scripts that leave everyone stuck on fucking stupid 'till we say, 'Okay, you captivated piece of shit, here's the ending you never imagined.' We sell one helluva script."

"Even if it's all a lie," Samirah murmured.

She had grown up acting, it being her first love.

"Then the next thing we do in this business is reaping the advances. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I want to present to you ADVANCE." Kareem said, holding up a hefty script and nodding.

Raleigh chuckled in the back. "You wrote a movie called ADVANCE. This is going to be great."

Nick stretched his brow over the script. "It's an acronym. What's it stand for?" He asked, being patient with the piece.

Samirah picked up her manuscript and listened to her star writer. She glanced through several pages and wondered whether Kareem was careening into oblivion with this story or getting somewhere compelling.

He told them ADVANCE meant---Attacking Diplomatic Vigilantes and Needing Cinematic Espionage. ----A CIA-funded division that uses an expendable entertainment family filled with elite directors to take down former intelligence villains without media backlash. "Okay, I like that. You got the suspense-secret agent, action-crime thriller going on all in one. Espionage ups this thing to an international shoot." said Samirah, admiring Kareem jumping out of a typical approach.

"I want this to be Jason Bourne running the Fast and Furious gang." He affirmed. "A team effort like Now You See Me looking for Taliban in Benghazi. Get this where the film crews are the magicians and the special ops guys. They facilitate as spies. They kill off terrorists with diplomatic ease in Congo, Istanbul, and Australia, and they still manage to drop your PaperWhites, your Hearts, and Hunters, all equally badass movies. Notorious movies, these guys can drop on top of the box office in whatever country they're snooping around. Fans get a dope movie, and the White House orders their cover-up on Netflix and chill night. What do you think?"

For a moment, the entertainment house took in the scenes. She was quietly waging Kareem's dynamics, the several plotlines, selling it in tickets worldwide.

Noting a thriller like this matched with James Bond production caps,

"Sam, your guy is something else. We can turn this thing into a franchise, baby." Ballard whispered to her. He then turned to his uncle. "Mr. Cromartie, with their credits in mind, we could marquee this thing for Kareem in a major feature. I'm talking Jade Sugiyama, Chi-Chi Mugabe, Antonio Lattimore; we can get some massive names to sign off on this job. With what we just heard alone, Warner Brothers, Lions Gate, any upscale studio would option this now." He went on pitching a possible cast.

"Daddy, I love it." Samirah removes her glasses, glowing. "And... maybe, I can even see myself taking the lead as some (head director) of ADVANCE." Winking at her super writer.

Kareem moves closer, groveling on his knees and cupping her palms. "Man Samirah, you pass this thing right now and star in my film. I promise to eat your ass like a chicken plate."

"Oh?" Samirah could feel herself igniting instantly.

Ballard smiled and stood. "All in favor of the ADVANCE series kicking off first thing this fall, say ah." He gave his nod first.

"I'm with it."

"Sign me on."

"Yeah...but only if Nick lets me handle the mixing on this," said Raleigh.

"Like hell I am." Nick scoffed. "Ah."

"No. I'm not getting pushed behind this. This shit could take months to make." Gizzle declined harshly and stalked out.

Samirah pouted. "Aw...Gizzle, come back!" She sighed. "Look what you've done. Since you promised to make me finger-licking, I guess I'm in too." Kareem beamed and scooped her up from her chair, making her shrill. "Ah!"

Paul Matthews flings his script across the room. "Jesus Christ! Why the fuck didn't I think of some shit like this! ADVANCE!" He exclaimed nearby.

"Ah, my son Sam, let me have at him." Nick came over and clung to Khalil proudly. "Everyone at Cromartie will bitch about their premieres. I want you to know you're a lucky son of a bitch. Because right now, I have $100,000,000 waiting for you guys to start doing this movie come mid-August. That's a budget very substantial for any screenwriter. Think about your return on this. I swear to god, that'll be so fucking unbelievable; Michael Bay may even call us." Samirah listened as Nick strolled out along with Khalil's lending an ear. Taking in his script as an actress/director because she could work attentively without asking herself, did some man appreciate her work? Samirah saw this feature hitting big at the theaters. And it kept her mind intrigued by her desire for Kareem Cashmere.

Soon she'd have to square away Glendall.

* * * * *

Herm Franco's Diamond Galleria

Duluth, Ga. 6:53 pm.

The Rolls Royce Ghost parked off the grid behind the diamond galleria. In a reserved parking space. Alone. A section reserved only for people who called in and requested private stone settings. People who bought diamonds like suits.

The driver was on break for an hour. They then told him to pick up the gift box once the jeweler notified him in thirty minutes. He was leaving them a window of privacy.

Samirah's Burberry Prorsum dress is on the floor. Along with her heels, $30,000 handbag, and new storyboards for the ADVANCE. movie. She was naked and straddling his lap as she gripped the headrests, grinding her hips into his dick and taking him harder and harder as her body jolted in his lap.

"Oh yeah!" She screamed repeatedly. Her skin shattered underneath the starlight headliner inside her Ghost as she came uncontrollably.

Kareem had a rod-like she'd always expected.

He began massaging her breasts with his mouth, his voice rose, and he palmed Samirah's cheeks until he felt her pouring into his lap like juice trickling from a counter. "Damn, you had to wait 'til you dropped that fool to give me some of this." he moaned as he kissed her chest, stroking her neck. She could feel him exploding and jerking inside her.

"Yes!" The orgasm was leaving very little to say.

Cooing over intermittent tides, Samirah whipped her black hair back. "Ah baby, don't use that as an excuse...I made you famous...I will buy you cars...I put you first every time." She gasps as she shutters, clambering onto her back next to his body. "Oh my God, we should be dating with a dick like that. I'd move us to Beverly Hills. "

Kareem's iPhone is ringing all at once, and he's searching the car for his pants, saying, "Oh shit! Sam! You see my phone?" He panics.

Samirah ferrets it from her underneath her cheek and hands it to him. "Imani." She mouths tiredly.

"I know." He mouths back.

They were quickly waving some space between them—Quickie in the rearview.

Kareem answers. "Money, what the deal, baby? No, I was doing a little shopping, checking on a few things. Hey, peep this, screen testing starts this week.... yeah, I got the option...come on, babe, I don't fucking play! Look, tonight's a big night for us. Yo, get everybody together; we will do something special tonight." Samirah ignored the gnawing in her heart as she drifted away from his chit-chat. Slipping on her sundress and pulling her hair into a bun as she picked up her phone and texted Nick: What do you think about Bogota, Colombia?

He was forming a location while Kareem finished his call.

"So you're gonna propose to her tonight," said Samirah after he hung up.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Just like that, right after we just had sex."

Kareem freezes when her phone beeps.

"I mean, yeah. Imani's been running it up with me; you feel me? She's the only woman I've seen any of this with. And I think I'm ready, man. I spent tonight fucking off with you 'cause I'm pressing reset after this. Cause as much as I love Money; she'd be the only chick who'd behead us and stick on the hood of this Ghost."

Samirah sucked her teeth. "Yeah, she is a crazy bitch...all I'm saying, Kareem, I don't want you snatching out some very sensitive pussy, then asking this girl to marry you later on tonight. Like I ain't gone care about you leaving after you smashed in my car. Did you forget I bumped you ahead of three international bestsellers today?" Samirah hoped he understood the lust she was drinking in. His expression seemed nonchalant and assuaged.

"I know, but don't be a bitch about it, Sam. C'mon." Kareem's voice was gallant. "Besides, we had a promise remember? You slay in my movie, and I lick that pussy like a cupcake." He squeezes her thigh, then cackles goofily. "I ain't gone lie; I've been waiting all year to do that to you."

Samirah sighs. "Me too."

He makes her giggle unbidden, but her feelings feign the effects this time. "Whatever. You're a mess, boy," Samirah adds. "I guess I gotta be happy for you two. Anyways, Nick thinks South America will be a good debut for your project."

"Nice, Nick kicks out all that paper just so our black asses catch Zika virus."

Suddenly her driver knocked on her tinted window.

Samirah pressed a button. "Yes, Miles?"

"Mr. Franco asked that he speak to you about the ring personally."

"Now?"

The driver looked askance. "Good evening Ms. Cromartie. It'll only take a minute of your time." Herm Franco stood near her Rolls Royce patiently.

Samirah rolled the window up. "Oh, my god. Herm's standing outside with your girlfriend's engagement ring."

"What? Tell him to hand it to you."

Hastily she told him to get dressed and act normal. Samirah and Kareem were celebrities and needed to make this sighting carry on cordially without going viral online. She sprayed the interior with body spray and then double-checked the car before eventually opening the door for the jeweler.

"Herm! You didn't have to come out here to bring me this. What's the matter with you?" Kareem said, talking fly and casually as he sidled through the passenger doorway.

The jeweler opened a tiny velvet box. "Nothing, sir; I wanted to express to you this personally is a very coruscate four carats ruby baguette. In Greenwich, a royal Herr tried to outbid me and called it the 'The Rosebud' mounted with thirty-eight white diamonds complimenting the center stone, and.."

Kareem ceased the jeweler's spiel. "Herm, Herm! Please shut the hell up, my brother. It's beautiful, exactly what I expected." He reached for a small birken bag filled with mounds of cash. "Here. Now get the hell out of here. Go!"

He exchanged the bag for the little red box and slammed the door. Samirah observed how deeply he exhaled as the driver began leaving the parking lot. She realized Kareem Cashmere could fuck her like a pornstar. But sadly, he was preparing for a lifetime with Imani Thicke.

And beginning with a rosebud.