Maneater by Mary B. Morrison

since Deuce. I shivered, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
    Donna stared at the driver, who was holding open the office door. “Have a good time, Ms. Belvedere.”
    There was no way I couldn’t have a good time tonight.
    â€œMy name is Danté,” he said, opening the back door of the limo.
    Wish he’d open my front and back doors, I thought, sinking into the smooth leather seat. “Thanks,” I said. Was I grinning at this tall purple-blackalicious man with glistening white teeth? Or at the view of his dick imprint, which was at eye level, until he closed my door?
    My gaze stalked Danté until he settled into the driver’s seat. All I saw after he drove off were buildings, people walking down the street, and trees. The black suede divider shielded my view of Mr. Fine Ass Danté.
    What would Seven do? I texted her, Girl, this man is so fine.
    No reply.
    I texted her again.
    U forgot your laptop at my house. Want me 2 send it 2 U?
    I prayed she’d tell me where she was. I wasn’t comfortable not knowing where my best friend was. Was she safe? The picture she’d texted me was beautiful. Although she should, Seven would never cheat on Maverick. He’d changed her like no other man we’d talked about. Wished I had a man that attentive who didn’t want kids.
    Was this how Seven lived? I had no idea. She drove herself everywhere. She never told me, but I couldn’t imagine a limo picking me up for dinner with Maverick and not doing the same for her. My girl could’ve set me up with Danté. She probably figured I wouldn’t go out with the limo driver. The one time Seven had invited me to a game, Maverick had emphatically told her, “No.”
    Danté cruised along the lake, parking at the docks. When he opened the door, it was like a scene straight out of Coming to America . Rose petals had been strewn along a rich ruby red plush carpet leading to a huge white yacht. Holding my hand, a guy dressed in a tuxedo escorted me aboard.
    I didn’t get another glimpse of Danté as he drove away. I wanted to see him again. Go out with him. Get to know his story. Fuck him once a week or at least once.
    My jaw fell when I saw Maverick dressed in an off-white blazer and slacks, a blue and red silk scarf neatly tucked at his neck, an off-white fedora tilted on his head. The only item missing was a cigar. His smile was warm and inviting.
    â€œYou look absolutely beautiful, Zena. But I want you to look stunningly gorgeous,” he said. “Leslie will help you prepare to my liking.”
    Prepare to his liking? Is this how he’d captured Seven?
    Following this strange woman, Leslie, I understood how my girl had fallen in love with Maverick and why she wanted to drop the twenty-five pounds to please him. Would Seven lie to me about possibly being pregnant?
    Leslie interrupted my thoughts. “Once you finish showering, your attire will be over here. When you’re properly prepared, Mr. Maxamillion will join you on the top deck.”
    I showered and lotioned my body with Ecstasy Shea Soufflé. Prada perfume rested on the vanity. Dare I spray on Seven’s favorite cologne? Obviously, he wanted me to, otherwise there would’ve been more options, unless this was her private room. Exiting the bathroom, I took a deep breath when I saw, suspended from a hanger, the white dress Seven had bought for her wedding reception. We’d picked out that dress a year ago, together. I stood still, closed my eyes, then sighed heavily. Seven looked absolutely gorgeous in that dress from Bloomingdale’s.
    Sitting on the edge of the bed, I retrieved my PDA. No text messages from Seven. This was her second day away. Maybe she was busy working out. Perhaps her phone had died. It wasn’t like her not to text me back. I texted her, U okay, girl? then sat my phone on the bed.
    My fingers danced along the pearled and sequined knee-length halter dress, which fit me