Buying The Exiled Heir: He Is Mine

her Birkin bag

heels and walked out of the p

he elevator and hi

ing at the oversized men's shirt hanging off her fram

s opened to the u

e, slamming the heavy door

eering wheel, her chest still heaving from the

rned t

life, vibrating thr

a Hotel garage, the tire

k rushed in through the cracked win

light and glanced a

the curb outside the

is hands shoved into his pockets as

s, no fleet of Maybachs

shed in her mind, detailing how his grandfath

ht turn

ind her hon

, defiant line of his shoulders against the freezing wind struck a sudden, uncomfortable chord in

s my asset now, she told herself, a fierce, territorial instinct overriding her

he her entirely, and her stomach t

steering wheel

e asphalt as the Porsche whipp

in front of him, t

d slid her sunglasses over her eyes to

have my new business partner fre

aised an

folded his large frame

m instantly filled the sma

f-the wrinkled men's shirt, the missing buttons, the

t," she muttered, more

Side. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the underground garage of

lored cashmere sweater dress, a pair of sheer stockings, and her favorite black Louboutin

sa goddamn S

d back into the driver's seat w

ve straight

o the entrance

or. He did not blink at her attire-because

walked toward the entrance, her hee

immediately and guided them t

e tasting menu in fluent French,

n the white tablecloth

ifting her chin. "You need to ea

ed up his s

arrying the heavy weight of a

f the fish and l

rosity, boss," he said,

rm rush of satisfaction

e leather checkbook a

from her wallet and dropped it onto

ipt with a quick, a

tched her

ry amusement pooling in his eye