08

8

The opulent, gilded establishment was overwhelming in its extravagance.

Nathan Wilson perched off to the side, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, while I found myself seated beside Victor Sanders, uncomfortably aware of the dress Olivia Thompson had selected for me. I'd defiantly draped a coat over it, clinging to what little self-respect I had left.

The surface before us was strewn with legal documents and various alcoholic beverages.

"Mr. Wilson, you certainly have me pegged," Victor remarked, his pudgy hand resting on my shoulder, his coarse digits sliding across my jacket as if appraising his latest acquisition. "It's no wonder you've prospered since your return."

I felt sick to my stomach, but I dared not move with Nathan observing.

"You're prepared to relinquish such a charming little thing?" Victor snickered, eyeing me lasciviously.

Nathan inhaled deeply from his cigarette. "As long as you put pen to paper, everything's up for grabs."