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... as she checked her watch for the hundredth time.
Tryson was late—too late.
Her fingers curled into a fist, an unspoken urgency burning in her chest.
She had to talk to him.
Earlier, she had pleaded with her father to reconsider pulling out of the partnership with Tryson’s company.
She had been so certain he would agree—until his response shattered her expectations.
He had refused. Flat-out. No explanation. Just a cold, unwavering rejection.
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