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I’ve got just the property in mind: pristine rock-climbing land. I’ve even sweet-talked the owner, Damon, into selling.
The only problem is his spoiled, rich bitch daughter, Elizabeth. Not “Liz,” and not “Beth.” “Elizabeth.” She made sure I knew that when she spit the land deal back in my face, with her snobby nose up in the air.
There’s a way for everything I’ve built to end here. I can even get the Syndicate on board, with its trillion dollars in assets, to build something truly remarkable on Damon’s mountain.
This could be what we’ve all been waiting for … if not for Elizabeth.
What the hell. I guess I can attempt to talk some sense into her. If, that is, we can stand each other long enough to try.
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