Falling Hard
he ordered.
His assistant, Maddox, nodded and disappeared. Moments later, the door opened, and she walked in. Small frame, soaked from the storm, lips trembling but head held high. Ezekiel’s cold, whiskey eyes dropped to the pathetic state of her cheap dress clinging to her curves, the worn-out sneakers on her feet. Isla Ramirez—twenty-three years old, broke, desperate, and exactly what he needed.
“Sit,” he commanded.
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