DIARY OF A ZEE

It was friday morning last week and as usual i had to go visit lagos biggest investment house to legitimatize my illicit underground money i made during the week.All dressed up in a black silk lined bottega veneta suit with black prada shades to match with my herms suitcase at my side,i steerined my black on black ford mustang 1967 dubs i bought last summer in new jersey.
Arriving at the parking lot,i dropped my keys with the attendant who now adores me cause some weeks back i left him enough money to quit his job.probably he had poor debit skills.
Being elevated up the 13th floor,i mustered all courage cos i knew the EFCC were a for a long time on my tail trying to nail me for my financial transactions,that couldnt stop me,i was so much engrossed in hitting the top of personal worth.
Having arrived the 13th floor,i sat in a cosy reception waiting to see the boss,as i took short glimpses around those waiting,i could only see men twice my age with so many aides and assistants,they all wondered how someone my age was caught up in the high net worth individual forum,i thought to myself when would young peeps my age start hustling and making paper,alot of them{like most of you}still spend so much time on internet sites trying to chat up friends when there was so much money outside to hoard.
Out of the boss's office who has now become my close associate,i strolled with my characteristic swag to the open office compartments to see my portfolio manager.she was a perfect 10,nine yrs older than i was and exclusively expensive,i got her car some new shoes last christmas, 26 inch giovanni rims for her good job on my investments and ofcourse in bed.she claimed i was a pure blood african the last time we played fight umder her bed cover.I had always suspected she visited a voodoo priest trying to tie me down cos of my enourmous wealth.
Looking through her compartment she wasnt there,but cause i had to push in my money into mainstream that day,i took a stroll further,searching for any female manager,wat came to my mind was this..... if a girl cant recognize the make of my suit she couldnt deal with me,she has to have a high taste for her to know what my finances needed.
After 2 steps ,i heard zee from behind,turning back i saw a hottie chuckling,i whispered "wats the make of my suit?" she got it right and so without delay i dropped my suitcase with her and turned to leave,trying to leave she asked for a complimentary card of some sort,i handed her my card,all black without nothing inscribed on it,it was a duplicate access control card to my suite at le meridian where i relaxed after deals.
Just this afteroon,i arrived my suite to find this exotic hottie i dropped my suitcase with on my bed.Creamed up with chocolate and ready to prove to me why she should be my favourite portfolio manager.
she is right here at the other room in my suite as i write this piece,peeps what do i do,is it my fault i gat so much money?

NB:THIS IS AN EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK "DIARY OF A ZEE".