Deja Vu

By Ms Monique Interracial Erotica Bundles

He's dangerous... he's bad for me... and he's obsessed with me!
Could a mysterious billionaire be the answer to her problems... or cause more of them?

Octavia attracts a certain kind of man. Specifically, white scumbag jerks that cheated on their wives or can barely hold down a job.

That is, until a man saves her not only from a bad date... he saves her life! He's sexy, smart, and makes her feel beautiful. But is he worth the danger?

She's threatened with a gun and left scared for her life. Will Bradley be able to keep her safe and win her over?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HeartthrobPublishing
• Release date: Feb 6, 2019

Book preview

Deja Vu

Urban Billionaire Romance

Ms Monique

Published by Dark Queen Publishing

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No, I don't think I'm free, sorry.

I try to smile and seem friendly, but really I'm pissed off. I'm pissed off that I'm 25 years old and I'm still only being asked out by losers. Is it because I'm black, or is there some other reason that it's impossible for me to find someone worth loving?

My mother told me to lower my expectations. That was 5 years ago, and I've lowered them further every year. I went from wanting to marry a handsome, rich Southern gentleman who was Baptist to wanting to marry just about anyone that isn't a scumbag. No cops, no teachers, no druggies or alcoholics. Is that really so hard to find these days?

Well it turns out it is. The fella in front of me doesn't seem too bad from the untrained eye, but he came into the office where I am a secretary asking for Bob Pitch. Bob Pitch is the psychiatrist on the third floor. I'm sure you can see my issue with that.

Aw, come on. You don't got a ring on your finger, what could you possibly be doing on Friday night? I'll take you out to a fancy restaurant! Probably one someone like you would never get to see. He stuffs his hands into the pockets on his vest. His stomach forces the fabric to pull against the buttons a bit.

Someone like me? I ask, knowing exactly what's going to come next.

You know... someone black. I'm sure you come from the poor side of town.

I roll my eyes and sniff. I have a date with some girlfriends, mister. I'm sorry. Now I'll have to ask you to leave or I'll call security. Of course, there isn't any security here. Just a bunch of offices rented out by various business men, lawyers and psychiatrists and the occasional author.

Bob Pitch's client pouts for a second. He looks up at the ceiling like he's trying to think of a way to force me to date him. A few seconds go by and he looks back down at me. He pulls his head back, spits right on my face, then turns around abruptly and marches out of the building yelling racist profanity at me.

The door doesn't even have the chance to close before the next man comes in. I'm still cleaning my face in horror as he steps up and immediately pulls a handkerchief from his tailored business suit. Did that scumbag that just left spit on you, miss?

Looking up at him, I'm caught between annoyed at the question and mystified by his looks. His eyes are bright blue and beautiful, his cheekbones as high as heaven and his lips perfectly curved. Chances are he won't ask me out.

Yeah, he did. I wipe the last bit of spit from my face. Thankfully, none of it got into my mouth. Who are you here to see?

Dennis Young.

The lawyer on the ground floor. Now I hope he doesn't ask me out. He's probably in the middle of a messy divorce after cheating on his wife or something scummy like that. Looking him up and down, I convince myself he's definitely the type to do that. His good looks probably mean he's always looking for a younger woman to conquer. I press buzzer number 2 to let Dennis know his client is here, then wave the man down the hall. Before he leaves, he flashes me a smile that could kill a woman with a weak heart.

I place his handkerchief down on my desk and hope that I'll get a moment to myself before the next man comes through.

I have enough time to get one cup of coffee and take one sip from it before Dennis's client comes down the hall holding papers. I have no idea what kind of lawyer Dennis is, but I don't trust any of them, and I definitely don't trust anyone who goes to see one.

Thanks, Dennis. I'll call you later about golf. He turns to me and smiles that winning smile again, plopping the big pile of papers on my desk. Could you take my card and give that to Dennis on his way out? He's going to forget my number, he always does, and it'd be best if he got a reminder.

He holds out the white card. It's minimalist, just his name and number. Bradley Strange.

I take it and nod. Sure thing, Mr. Strange. Is there anything else I can do for you?

You could have dinner with me tonight. What time do you get off work?

The way he just comes out and says it catches me off guard. I smile at him. Wrong move. Smiling when you're asked out makes them think you're playing hard to get when you say no. I drop the smile immediately and shake my head. No thank you, sir. I try to keep work and my private life separate.

He clicks his tongue and looks up. I expected you'd say that. I won't press you again. Can I have your name, at least?

I hesitate as I stare into those icy eyes. I, uh. Oh, I'm Octavia.

He holds out his hand for me to grab, and I take it. It's large and strong, and warm even though it's cold out on the New York streets. I find the smile creeping back on my face and myself unable to remove it as I look up into the tall man's face. He winks, and then he's gone.

As the cold air from the street rushes into the building, I feel my tense muscles relax. And then I'm able to breathe again. I didn't even notice that I stopped breathing. Scary!

I do date sometimes. I just almost always regret it, and when I don't regret it he does. I have to keep trying, though, since getting married has been my dream since I was a child. Being a secretary is fine and it pays the bills, but finding an honest man and standing by him through thick and through thin, well, that's just heaven for me.

That point of view has made me a little bit unpopular with some of my feminist friends, but what are you gonna do? Drop your dreams in order to be a better feminist? No thanks.

Tonight's date is promising. He works on Wall Street, but he's not an asshole. At least that's what my best friend Becka assured me when she set me up with him, and she usually gets me good guys.

Usually.

I'm dressed in my finest, a little black dress with some pearls around my neck and a small silver ring on my left middle finger. I tied my hair up in a loose and messy bun, but it looks glamorous on me for some reason. My hair may be fake, but it's high quality and I look stunning with it.

Opening up my small clutch purse, I check to make sure I have my debit card. I've been walked out on enough times to know I need to bring money in case the asshole leaves me the bill before slipping away quietly. Maybe I shouldn't call him an asshole before I meet him.

I push my card back into my purse, and by the time I look back up he's here. On time and everything! Good way to start the date.

You must be Octavia. You're more stunning than Rebecca said. He holds out his hand and, taking mine, kisses me on my knuckles. I giggle and blush. My name is Charles, but you can call me Charlie.

Okay, Charlie. I smile and he sits. He's not bad looking, probably a solid 7. His hair is a bit thin, but it's styled so you can hardly tell. His eyes are so dark they're nearly black, and his nose is strong. Always liked a man with a strong nose.

The waiter comes over and immediately we're poured glasses of red wine. The expensive stuff. I hold back a wince and hope Charlie doesn't dine and ditch me with the bill. So, what do you do on Wall Street, Charlie?

He flashes a huge grin. I make money! I deal with stocks for my clients. It's a rush when everything goes right. I've actually had a pretty lucky streak lately!

The night goes by fast, but through the whole thing I feel like I am being watched. I'm finished my steak and Charlie is finishing off a second glass of wine when I finally figure out why.

Octavia?

The voice sounds familiar, but not familiar enough for me to put a face to it. Furrowing my eyebrows, I look around.

Octavia, what a surprise to see you here.

I look up. In another gorgeous business suit stands the man from yesterday, the one who gave me his handkerchief. I grimace, looking to Charlie apologetically. The night has been going so well. This is the last thing I need to happen.

And with Charles, no less. They shake hands.

A dark look comes over Charlie's face. Good evening, Mr. Strange, he says. I try to figure out what his tone means, but it's escaping me.

Charles, do you have a second? I have something I need to discuss with you, about work.

No, I don't think-

Millions of dollars are on the line. Bradley Strange gives my date a look, one full of danger.

It's okay, Charlie, I can wait here. I flash him a smile to encourage him. Boy if I ever see this Bradley guy again I'll punch him right in the nose! How rude can you be?

The men leave. I scroll through my phone, reading updates from friends on Twitter about how awesome their nights are going. I consider briefly tweeting about my night, but think better of it. I don't need everyone to know I have a stalker who ruined my date.

So I wait. And I wait.

Charlie never comes back. 45 minutes later, I even get up and follow the direction they went. I ask a waiter if he's seen Charlie or Bradley, and he points to the bathrooms. Sure enough, Bradley is standing there on his cell phone. He sounds pissed.

When he sees me he holds up a finger asking me to wait. Yeah, that's fine. Just fire him. Ouch. Someone's going to be having a bad day tomorrow. He hangs up and sighs, shaking his head before he looks up at me.

Have you seen Charlie?

He examines my face for a moment. Then he takes a deep breath in. He had to leave early.

What. Deadpan. Not a question. More of a demand.

Yeah, something urgent came up. Sorry about that.

At first I want to accuse Bradley of scaring Charlie off, but then my stomach knots up. I lean forward to try and fight off the pain of my anxiety. How the hell am I going to pay the bill.

Bradley puts his hand on my shoulder. Hey, are you alright? Your face went white. You weren't enjoying his company that much, were you?

I try to breathe, but my lungs feel like they're collapsing. The bill is going to easily be more than I make in a week. I don't know how I'm going to pay that bill. I force the words out through gasps. Bradley stands back up and places a finger on his chin, thinking.

I don't think you'll have to worry about that. Hey, Jim? He walks away then, through the door that says EMPLOYEES ONLY on a small plaque. I cross my arms while I wait. Before too long Bradley steps back through the doors beaming. He's holding a bottle of the wine Charlie had been pouring for us. It's all taken care of, Octavia. Would you join me for a glass of wine back at my place?

I want to say no. I know this guy is a scumbag. His wife is probably out of town and I'll see photos of her up on the walls. But at the same time, something about him makes me want to get to know him better.

Tugging my chin up, I look down my nose at him. "I'll give you my