Her Seduction (A Contemporary Interracial Romance): UnReal Marriage, #8

By Tasha Hart

She hates him. She loves him. She can't decide.

 

Zandra has started her dream job and she needs to prove herself. She needs to bring her A-game if she's going to cut it at Sistaz club.

 

But Jake isn't gonna make it easy.

 

But seriously. This boy is so fine Zandra can't decide whether she wants to slap him or kiss him.

 

Maybe a little bit of both?

 

He's just so cocky and he won't ever give up teasing her. He makes her so mad! She's gonna make him pay for it though. She knows just what to do to get under a guy's skin and Jake is no exception.

 

They gotta work together, sure. But Zandra is not about to be walked all over. Even if its by someone she's falling in love with. But when things escalate out of control, what's it gonna be? Her dream job? Or her dream?

 

Discover what happens in this thrilling contemporary romance!

 

**Previously titled: Zandra's Seduction.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summerhouse Publishing
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215488836

Book preview

Chapter One

Zandra

Striding across the parking lot under the afternoon sun, I do everything I can to calm myself. It’s easy to feel like a ton rides on today.

I love Sistaz. Ever since my roommate first brought me here two years ago, I’ve loved everything about the place. The vibe was perfect, the atmosphere was just right, the music was bumping, everything was exactly my speed. Plus, it was a business owned and operated entirely by black women. Tell me that’s not special.

Looking up at the sign, I let myself revel in the hope that this place could become my home for real. The fantasy that those women I’d come to know by name might actually become my Sistaz. That would be more than a dream come true—it would be everything.

It feels a little strange to push through the door without having Gunner wink at me, or Levon give me the once over, but I was just going to have to get used to the lack. That stuff made me crinkle up my nose back in the day, now I secretly love it. As often as I visit, it felt more like a ritual now than anything else. A game.

Hi, girl! Squinting as my eyes adjusted, I already knew the sound of Patrice’s voice. "We’re closed, Zan-Druh! Come back tonight!" She falls apart laughing, and I can’t help but join in. Trice has one of those laughs that begs for company.

I shake my head at her antics. What are you doing?

"Same shit I do every afternoon, girl. Restock, and check my inventory. You think this liquor shows up on its own? Bitch, I do this!"

I don’t suppose Roslyn is around?

At my question, Patrice leans across the bar and tucks her chin low in a conspiratorial way. What’s going on?

She’s got an appointment, that’s what’s going on. Roslyn strolls my way from a table over by the offices. Hey, Zandra.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Baylor.

Oh, fuck all that ‘Mrs. Baylor’ stuff, you know my name.

I said what’s going on? A grin split Patrice’s face nearly in half.

Girl, mind your business. Zandra, you want to come over here with me? Roslyn turns without even looking at Patrice and heads back to her table. That gives me the second I want to roll my eyes at Trice, who makes a face back.

Playtime is over. It’s time to get serious.

All right, Zandra. You wanted my time, you got it. What did you want to see me about?

Well, Mrs. Baylor, I wanted an opportunity to talk to you about your social media and online presence. Over the last five years, the importance of…

Roslyn waves her hand like she’s shooing away a fly. Girl, sit down. And lose your phone voice, there are no white folks here to impress. Immediately, all the starch drains out of my spine. What’s all this about social media?

Roslyn, I say as I scooch down into the chair opposite her, I’ve been coming in here a lot.

I know.

And things have obviously been going well. You’re full every weekend.

I know that, too.

But I think things could be even better.

A look somewhere between intrigue and weariness washes over her face. I’m listening.

She doesn’t look enthusiastic, but I know I can take this club to the next level. "You’re full on weekends, but you and I both know that for a place like this to be a hit, you need to be doing weekend numbers on a Tuesday. Now, I’ve been doing some searches, and Sistaz has virtually no online presence."

We have a website!

Yeah, but it looks like it was programmed by George Washington Carver. She almost looks offended, so I change my tactic. "I’ve been studying this. Taking marketing classes. If you bring me on, I could not only update the website, but I can create and manage accounts for Sistaz on every social media platform you can find."

Is it that important?

Postcards under windshield wipers don’t do it anymore. We need banner ads on websites, pictures all over the internet of how jumping this place can be, scrolling ads, we need it all.

We’re doing just fine. Roslyn is a tough nut.

For now. But this isn’t just a ‘regulars’ place, you need new blood. Fresh faces coming through that door are what will pack this place. You and I both know that nothing draws the eye like a line out the door. The best way to get a line out the door is to get people’s attention before they leave the house.

Is that so?

With everything I can bring to the table, the people who would either stay home or stay uptown will be taking cabs down here trying to get in.

My palms sweat, but I can feel I’ve made a good case. Roslyn nods for a second, then meets me with a sly smile.

My heart flutters before she even speaks. Girl, that is one hell of a pitch. You’ve got yourself a job. Her hand meets mine in the middle of the table, and she holds it after we shake. But I’ll tell you, it’s up to you to pay your own salary with the added business, you hear me?

That shouldn’t be a problem, Mrs. Baylor.

I told you, get the fuck out of here with that ‘Mrs. Baylor.’ Call me Roslyn like everybody else. She scoots her chair back to indicate that the interview is over. Go on through to the back offices. Off the main room is a small office with a desk and computer. That one can be yours.

Most of my work can actually be done remotely…

Zandra, just go look at your office.

Breezing back through the doors, my feet barely touch the carpet. The whole place is threadbare, but it looks like home. I’ve never been back here, but it already feels familiar.

One of the doors is ajar, so I push it open to see the desk with the computer Roslyn mentioned. What she forgot to tell me