Her Revelation (A Contemporary Interracial Romance): UnReal Marriage, #3

By Tasha Hart

His boss wants her business. He wants her body.

 

Of course Roslyn is going to look at the totally drop dead gorgeous nightclub executive who calls himself Jackson with suspicion. He works for her business rival! Someone who wants to crush her hopes and dreams of the nightclub she started and buy it out from under her.

 

No way is she gonna let that happen.

 

But then Jackson does something that surprises her—he helps. First by telling her what's coming and how to prepare, and then by actively helping her business grow.

 

But can she trust him?

 

And more importantly, can she afford to fall in love with him? Because they're in such close proximity, and the attraction has always been there, they're catching feelings. Something like that could wreck her dreams a whole lot more than a business rival. What's she gonna do?

 

Discover what happens in this thrilling contemporary romance!

 

**Previously titled: Roslyn's Revelation.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summerhouse Publishing
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215513774

Book preview

Chapter One

Roslyn

I don’t see you, I murmur and stride right past the pile of mail waiting in my inbox.

By inbox, I mean a poorly assembled IKEA side table positioned next to my office door. Its legs don’t stick out in the right places, it’s tilted at a sharp angle, and anything that’s not flat falls right off. I should have gotten it replaced years ago, but I like the damn thing. It was the very first piece of furniture I bought when I realized this place, the space that would become Sistaz, was mine.

Truth be told, I have no idea why I went with a crappy little end table. I saw it and it just felt right.

I put it together myself and it served as my desk until I bought a real one. It used to represent everything I’d accomplished in its own strange way. Now, it held up envelopes filled with dream-crushing bullshit. I don’t have to read the sender’s info to know that fact.

I try to sit still at my desk since there are several pressing emails to answer. One of my liquor suppliers doesn’t have a specific vodka brand I want and needs to know what to send instead. My hiring manager wants me to look over a few promising resumes. I can do all of this in my sleep.

It’s not enough to distract me from what I know I can’t avoid.

Fine. I push away from my desk and storm across my miniature office. I can cross it in two steps. It’s small, but it gets the job done. Once the club opens, I’m rarely in here anyway. Lay it on me, bastards.

I scoop up the mail and toss it on my desk. Nearly every envelope is embossed with a fancy company seal. Someone should tell these people a snobbish looking seal doesn’t actually make a person good at their job.

I tear open the first envelope. I don’t read more than the first few lines before tossing the paper on the desk.

My interest rate just went up on the club’s mortgage. Again.

I don’t look to see why. I already know I’ll find some made-up reason. They’ll do anything to wring a few extra dollars from me. It’s nothing new. They’ll paint it as a risky deal, justifying themselves as they slowly bleed my dry.

Yes, Sistaz is a nightclub. I’m not going to pretend there isn’t the occasional scuffle between customers but no more than any other club in the area. Glasses get broken. Floors get scuffed. Walls get dented. That’s what happens when a space is occupied. People unintentionally leave their mark. We’ve never had any serious property damaged. Not even so much as a broken window.

Yet, the rates climb.

I know the mail from the insurance company will say something similar.

When Patrice brought Chase on board to do some PR work for us, I thought I’d finally get to take a breath. While Chase worked some damn impressive marketing magic, it didn’t last forever.

Even though Sistaz is packed every night, the profits are nowhere near where they need to be. If something doesn’t change soon…

I refuse to finish that thought. I didn’t work three jobs for years to afford this place, just to lose it now. Simply getting this building was ten times harder than it needed to be. Then again, that’s how it’s always been for me.

I don’t mind. It keeps me strong, smart, and resilient. I’m going to need some extra resilience if I’m going to figure out a plan to make this work.

I’m not losing my club. It’s not an option.

Last time I spoke to my accountant, he suggested what he called a clean sweep. He thought it would be a fantastic idea if I fired my loyal, hardworking employees and hired new people with lower pay.

That stupid idea nearly got him fired.

I’m willing to make whatever sacrifices I have to make for Sistaz to flourish, but I will not cut my employee's pay.

I refuse to be that business owner who sits on her ass and rakes in huge stacks of money while my employees break their backs for me just to barely make ends meet. I’ve been the underpaid employee before. Many times.

One of the worst feelings in the world is knowing you worked your ass off to the best of your ability and it’s still not enough to put food on the table and keep the lights on. I can’t do everything I want for them, but I can pay them fairly.

Yet if I can’t keep the doors open…

I sink into my chair, defeated and deflated. There are too many problems and no time to find good solutions.

I cover my face with my hands and focus on my breathing. I can’t let this break me. I’ve come too far.

A gentle knock pulls me out of my frustration. My entertainment manager, Jessica, stands in the doorframe.

What do you need? I paste on a smile.

There’s someone here to see you, she replies. He’s from the bank.

I can’t hide my frown. Those damn leeches can’t give me a moment of peace, can they? I snap.

I can tell him you’re not here, Jessica offers. I’m tempted to take her up on it, but I know that won’t fix anything in the long run.

No, I sigh. I’ll handle it. Thank you. Jessica smiles and departs.

Before I leave my office, I take a look in the mirror hanging on the back of my door.

My sleek black dress hugs every curve and is equal parts playful and professional. I smooth down my hair, which looks more red than brown under the harsh, back-of-house lights and there’s a touch of fear in my eyes.

That will never do.

I give myself a stern look. You’re tougher than this. You’re stronger than this. Take a breath. Pull it together. Get it done.

I’ve perfected the art of self-pep talks over the years. It’s a great skill to have when you’re the only person you can rely on.

I stand up straight, throw my shoulders back, and saunter out of the office. The banker isn’t going to know what hit him.

Chapter Two

Roslyn

My confidence waivers slightly as I balance on the balls of my feet in the sky-high stilettoes I’ve chosen to wear with my dress. I flip my hair over my shoulder and concentrate on each breath that I take. I remind myself that everything is going to be fine.

I’m not letting them defeat me, I