Chapter 325
Isabella spun around too quickly.
She collided with something solid and unyielding.
Nathaniel stood directly behind her.
Her face pressed against the muscular plane of his forearm.
He glanced down at her. A frown creased his brow. “Problem? Something else you need from the hotel room?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back. “It’s a circus out there. We walk out like this, we’re instantly recognized. Do you have any hats?”
“No,” he stated flatly.
She grimaced. Damn it. She’d gotten in hidden in his embrace. How was she supposed to get out?
He considered for a moment. “The offer still stands. My arms are available.”
Again? He wanted to carry her again?
Her instinct was immediate refusal. “Not happening.”
There had to be another way.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Multiple pairs. A group of staff was approaching.
Isabella didn’t think. She launched herself into Nathaniel’s arms. Her arms looped around his neck. She buried her face against his chest.
His arms closed around her instinctively. A faint smirk touched his lips.
The staff reached them. A chorus of respectful greetings followed. “Mr. Blackwood.”
Nathaniel adjusted his hold on her. “Yes?”
The lead staff member kept his eyes lowered. “Sir, you haven’t reviewed the quarterly reports for some time. Since you are here, I took the liberty of bringing the latest.”
The Grand Monarch was merely a convenience for Nathaniel. His brother Sebastian often dragged him to clubs. The usual establishments were distasteful. Chaotic. Unregulated.
So, Nathaniel had his people create one. The Grand Monarch had strict rules. An exclusive atmosphere. Impeccable surroundings. Membership was limited to the top thirty entrepreneurs in Westchester and the nation’s elite three hundred families. A million-dollar minimum spend per visit was enforced. Anyone causing trouble was ejected. Violently, if necessary.
He’d expected modest returns. Instead, it became a grotesque symbol of status. The elite flocked to flaunt their wealth. Profits soared. It consistently outperformed every other bar by a factor of ten.
The report held no interest for him. But the woman in his arms changed his mind. “Proceed,” he commanded.
Isabella stiffened. Proceed? Now? Here? He was supposed to dismiss them. Get them moving.
This would take forever.
She was trapped. Surrounded. She couldn’t speak. She could only wait. Silently. Agonizingly.
The CEO began reading. “First quarter fiscal year 2020. Gross profit for The Grand Monarch reached fifty-three billion. Alcohol sales account for thirty percent. Service fees comprise five percent…”
A torrent of numbers. Data. Dry, corporate jargon.
Nathaniel listened. His arms remained around Isabella. The report droned on. First quarter. Then the second. Then the third. Expenses. Services. Facility upgrades. Five minutes felt like an hour.
Isabella was fighting sleep. The man continued, undeterred. “Our five-year expansion plan targets key cities domestically, with a long-term goal of global market penetration by…”
He was moving on to future plans now.
Isabella shifted in his hold. His scent filled her senses. Clean. Masculine. Potent. Her cheek rested against the hard contour of his chest. The defined muscle was unmistakable even through his shirt.
This position was dangerously intimate. She’d been in his arms for an eternity. Under the watchful eyes of his entire staff.
What if someone saw something? A stray strand of hair. A familiar curve of her body. What if they figured out it was her?
She couldn’t take it anymore. The waiting was torture.
She pressed a finger firmly into his back. A silent, urgent plea.
Nathaniel felt the prodding pressure. A slow, knowing smile curved his mouth. He made no move to acknowledge it. Or to stop the report.