Chapter 8 The Aftertaste Of Gold

• Nathan POV
• The weight of Isabelle’s hand on my arm felt heavier than the mountain of corporate debts I had cleared during the third-quarter restructuring.
• I stood under the suffocating warmth of the crystal chandeliers, the faint, sweet smell of her jasmine perfume clashing violently with the sharp, woody notes of my own cologne. To the cameras lined up behind the red velvet ropes, we were performing a flawless routine. I smiled whenever the local news anchor pointed a microphone toward us. I chuckled at the scripted jokes of the state senators. I wrapped my hand around the small of Isabelle's back, letting the smooth silk of her green dress slide against my palm just long enough for the high-society photographers to get their front-page coverage for tomorrow's business section.