“Fuck. I just need this money to be right and I don’t have time for bullshit and slip-ups.” Peering over her big black-out Chanel shades, the Cali sun piercing through the dispensary window shades, Mila took a quick drag of her slow burning zigzag filled with her favorite nerve calming strain, ‘Royal Highness’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, she shouldn’t have been smoking while technically at work, but being that it was her family’s business, nobody really cared. A few hits of a higher CBD to THC didn’t hurt, as long as she didn’t get sloppy with it. It also didn’t hurt that this was her family’s business.
She lifted the corner of the paper she’d been scribbling numbers on before calling her connect. On the now slightly exposed side she could make out the full 9-digit code it would take to generate the 3 credit card numbers and 2 bank accounts. She wouldn’t lift the paper fully, as the camera might pick up something, and she was a “no trace” type of woman. Her eyes darted around the room double checking for any quiet bystanders or customers she might have missed by chance. While she knew for sure that her Aunt was out of town, she knew she could never be too careful. For added security, she doubled back to lock the door and put a “be back in 30” sign on the outside to deter new visitors.
“Mary-4-7-3- Quincy -9-2-1-Tango…” She read off the letters and numbers to her connect in a low but clear voice. She had a gently commanding tone, and the way she spoke had a sing-songy type of cadence to it normally, but during any “business transaction” she spoke with a little more authority. A thick woman, but barely a full 5’1” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>frame, Mila’s presence commanded respect in every avenue of her life as if she was 7ft tall. She was “sweet & low” as her father called her. A velvet glove with an iron fist. She could say and do some of the most savage things, but you’d have no idea that she cut you as deeply because of her charm. Right now though, she had no time for pleasantries, and 7 of her 8-minute business time limit had already whizzed by. Two things Mila Santiaga never played around with was her time and her money, and both were on par with one another in her eyes. Once she got confirmation that her code was confirmed and the sequence was started, she disconnected the call. No need for goodbyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked up at sleek and modern, 2-minute too fast, digital clock on the wall and smiled. “I didn’t even break 7 full minutes.
With the most important job of the day out of the way, Mila could now focus on her other streams of income. For about a year and a half, she worked to make herself extremely relevant in the public eye, but became an overnight sensation when famous rapper Drake made a song about her, with an interlude of her moaning as he orally pleasured her in the studio. Things got really bad though for him because when she told him she wouldn’t choose him over her fast life, he made a now deleted series of drunk tweets and videos of him crying for her. The hashtag #MilaPussy catapulted her into overnight stardom, and she was all together impressed, disgusted, and surprised by the amount of money she had made just being herself, and teasing millions of onlookers on the internet. She was now bringing in almost $300,000 a month, just by streaming herself stripping, talking shit about guys, and financially dominating men on her OnlyFans. It made her angry that she spent so much time in college, graduating a year prior, with a degree in Electrical Engineering, but she definitely knew she needed a fallback with some weight on it.
Chuckling to herself and snapping back to her mental to-do list, she arbitrarily wiped off her most prized possession, a diamond Cartier watch that Angel got her as a high school graduation gift. She loved him from the deepest parts of her heart, and that watch to her was more like a wedding band. It was dear to her, and out of every gift he’d ever given her, that was probably the second best one. The first was his heart. She let her mind drift back to the day that he saved her life when they were teenagers. She smiled at the thought of who they both were now. Though she never knew the ins and outs of his every move, she knew for certain that he was in fact her Angel, and she made it her purpose to always be his, regardless of who else was in her life, or wherever she was. She granted him full access to every part of her that he wanted access to, and he honored that gift and guarded it. Their bond was an unbreakable one. She affectionately called Angel “Love” because to her, he was the only real representation of the word in human form that she had known. The only Love in her life that flowed freely, without condition or reason
“Speaking of Love,” she said out loud. “I need to fucking call him”. She looked down at her phone sitting on the counter and noticed there were 3 text messages. Two of them from her connect. She frowned, and snatched her shades off. Her long and flamboyantly decorated acrylic nails snagged a few strands of her wild and curly hair before they clacked against the screen as she punched in the code to unlock her phone. She skipped past the text informing her that one of her “OnlyFans” loyal viewers had given a worship tribute of $10,000 and went straight to the connect’s message. Message 1 read: “I heard it’s hot as fuck in Cali Mee.” Mee was Mila’s nickname. She raised her brow because she knew what he was suggesting. She furrowed her brow, and bit her lip as she read the next message. “Bruh.” She breathed out and rolled her eyes. Message 2 read: “These hoes on my top. Tell these bitches get lowww Mee.” He was telling her that something was fucked up. He fucked something up and needed to get away for a while, and that she probably should too; --and definitely not to text or call any time soon or ever again. Either way, that was $25,000 that Mila needed to recover and now she was pissed and on a money mission. She erased the messages, and put her shades back on.
Sliding her hand across her thick, round ass in her black tight jeans out of sheer habit, she bent to reach under the counter and grab her oversized black-out Luis Vuitton monogram duffel that she was carrying as a handbag today. She made a mental note to take a pic of her fit for Instagram later. Her shiny $2000 crocodile skin black thigh high, open-toed, platform boots click-clacked against the Valejo dispensary’s concrete floor as she made her way to the front of the store to unlock the door for her co-worker coming in for the next shift, and a few customers. Her breasts were on the smaller side, but definitely full enough that they danced on beat with the sway of her thick hips as she walked through the store. She half smiled and gave an insincere apology to them all for making them wait.
One large and hefty man who smelled like Brut and peppermint, but had on $800 shoes, a manicure, tailored pants, and bmw keys in his hand stuck his nasty tongue out and slid the slimy thing across his lips in an attempt to be flirtatious to her. “Shidd” he hissed at her while looking her up and down, “I would’a waited 45 MO’ minutes if I knew yo sexy ass was gonna be the treat at the doe!” Mila was so glad her shades were super dark because she rolled her eyes at him so hard that she hurt her own head.
Putting her shades back on, she chuckled to herself “I don’t even have time to work this one.” Mila shook her head as she walked out. Even though she could have probably milked him for about $5000 before the week was out, she had way too much to do. She slid her phone out of her back pocket as she opened her black Benz G-63 door, climbed into the cooled seats, fastened her seatbelt, and updated her twitter with a selfie and a caption that read: “Louisiana, I hope you ready, cause I’m coming bitchhhhh”
Now that a few things were changing in Cali, Mila needed some new scenery, and possibly a new plan on her money mission. She even was considering creating an avenue in Medicinal Marijuana outside of her family’s. While Hathian was nowhere near Cali in terms of size, economy, and overall vibe, what it lacked in flash, it made up for in hunger. And if it’s anything like it was when Mila left 2 years ago, there are lots of opportunities for Mila to expand quietly and without the bright lights and distractions of Cali life, there. If there was anything she knew how to do, she knew how to manage a project and gather people for a purpose, and that's what she planned to do.
She looked at her phone before driving off, and saw two offers to headline a few nights at a few clubs in New Orleans at $15,000 each since she tweeted that she’d be in Louisiana. "Cha-chinggg!"
From: Philadelphia, PA
Weight: mad THICK
Highest Education Level: Bachelor's Degree in Electrical Engineering (2019 grad)
Occupation: Social Media Influencer/Entrepreneur/Online Sex Worker
Family History: Father - superintendent of Philadelphia School Board, Mother - Marijuana business pioneer, one sibling, good folk nothing spectacular. Just really concerned with keeping up with high society bullshit
Limits: No dismemberment, no defecating on me, no death
Personality: Witty,flirty, a little bitchy to guys, party girl, jaded, assertive, self-serving, feminist/very woman empowering-ish, foodie, enchanting
Why Hathian?: Mila came to Hathian 2 years ago, running from her basically arranged wedding. Their parents groomed them to be together since childhood, and she left dude at the alter. A year later, she moved to NP, and while there she finished college, and got into modeling. She became a internet celeb after dating a celebrity who made her go viral after their breakup. She moved to Cali and has been living her best life. Her plug jacked some stuff up and she took that as an opportunity to come back to Hathian and quietly build a little network of bad bitches to get rich with. She will work alone until connections are organically made. So she's back and feeling everything out.
Good to Know:
I love meeting new people
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