2. Isla
CHAPTER 2
ISLA
I was here because a client had canceled on me at the last minute, and this—this club, the shiny new venue—was the only option that might save my month. I refused to look at my phone again; the message from earlier was imprinted in my mind.
“We’ve decided to go in a different direction. No need to move forward with you for the opening event. Your venue choice was good at the time, but we have to move with the times.”
Move with the times ? As soon as I read it, I knew the client had moved right over to Hardgate and Elixir . God, even the name had set my teeth on edge. It wasn’t the first time a client had changed their mind while I was planning their event, circumstances changed all the time, but it still stung. It stung sharper this time because I knew exactly what had happened.
I’d put weeks of work into their event, so much thought into creating a night that their guests would remember, and for nothing. At least they didn’t have the audacity to ask for their deposits back or time already charged. A small condolence, but it didn’t soften the blow.
Call it pride, spite, or whatever you wanted—it was probably nosiness—but their email had made me do the one thing I’d avoided for weeks. I picked up the phone and called Elixir’s club manager, asking to view the venue for “potential clients.” I already knew it screamed luxury and would be the perfect backdrop for a high-profile event.
I also knew it meant I was stepping, willingly, into Zayn McCabe’s world.
At the top of the stairs, I pushed the lingering frustration aside and walked into the main club. Sleek and modern but the historic features of the original building had been incorporated into the decor seamlessly. It was expensive and edgy with touches of decadence that screamed money and prestige. Black leather seating in carefully positioned booths, glints of marble everywhere, and walls adorned with beautiful art pieces didn’t look out of place.
The bar ran the entire length of one wall. The amount of glass on display, either in bottles or glasses or mirrors, was enough to make me feel sorry for the cleaners. The dance floor was situated opposite it, and I saw the DJ booth, which drew my eye to the upper levels with what appeared to be private boxes for the VIPs.
It should scream overdone and tacky. Instead, it looked like an exclusive dance club or equally a private club for ladies who lunched.
It was perfect, and yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as I looked around. It wasn’t just the polished surfaces, the glamour, or the decadence. It was something deeper. Darker. There were so many security cameras; maybe that was what it was. I doubted there was a blind spot on this whole floor.
I wasn’t fooled by the shiny newness. I knew what lay beneath it.
Or who .
Zayn.
The money behind this venture, and his influence was everywhere. I’d heard rumors and whispered stories about him and the clubs he owned. It was said that his clubs, like this one, were the front for something more sinister—modern speakeasies or hidden clubs tucked away beneath the surface of a popular accessible club. And while I was here on a purely professional standpoint, I couldn’t ignore what this place was really about.
I didn’t want to get involved with Zayn or his business, but this morning’s message had reminded me why I didn’t have a choice.
“Ms. Wells?”
I turned to see a tall man in a deep-burgundy three-piece suit walking towards me. He looked more like a GQ model than a club manager, but his wide smile put me at ease a little. My wide-leg turquoise pants and white chiffon blouse had looked clean and professional this morning, but now I felt inadequately dressed and regretted I hadn’t put on the matching suit jacket.
“Ms. Wells?”
“Yes!” My voice had become a high-pitched squeak, and I’d hurriedly coughed to cover it. I flicked my ponytail over my shoulder, desperate to recoup my first impression. “Sorry.” I threw him a smile. I was just taking it all in.”
The guy was tall and solid looking. As I spoke, the blond brickhouse smiled wider, which I hadn’t thought possible, showing even more perfectly white straight teeth. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said as he extended his hand to shake. “I’m Rye Nowak, the Elixir club manager.”
As I shook his hand, I tried not to flinch as his smooth, huge hand swallowed mine in a firm grip. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve heard about you.” Rye spoke with casual confidence. It didn’t stop my eyebrows from rising into my hairline at his declaration. “The event company you work for has a solid reputation.” He half turned as he looked at our surroundings. “As you can see, Elixir will lend itself well to many different types of events.” He gave me another smile. “In fact, our first six months are booked already.”
“That’s positive,” I said, forcing myself to smile back. Six months? The event for the client who dumped me this morning was in two weeks. “What are your opening days?”
“Every day and night.”
“You’re open seven days a week and are fully booked for six months before you’ve officially opened?” Had I heard that right?
Rye gave me a smug smirk. “Elixir is going to be the most popular venue in Gracemont.”
“Sounds like you already are,” I muttered as I looked around again. “Is it private events only?”
“No, Thursday, Friday and Saturday will be open to the public.”
Frowning, I turned back to him, the question on my tongue, but he was already pointing to the booths on the upper levels.
“We can still cater to private parties.”
“I see.” My mind went to dark places even though I knew I should be a better person, and I shook my head slightly to chase the negative thoughts away.
“Tour?”
“Sure.” I followed him around the perimeter, noting there were more booths than I initially thought. The stairs to the booths were concealed behind a false wall, and it would be easy for VIPs to enter and exit without the general public seeing them.
The booths were even more luxurious than downstairs. Plush deep leather chairs and sofas. Stocked shiny marble and glass bars. Some had pool tables, some had arcade-style games, and some had both. More than one had a pole in the middle of the dance floors. Yes, they had their own dance floors situated right at the glass partitions that looked down over the main dance floor below.
It all reeked of prestige and wealth. I already had a list of clients who would demand to be here. The lighting was perfect for creating an intimate atmosphere, and the layout was designed for exclusive events—high-profile ones because this was a place for the city’s elite, not your average partygoer.
“What’s the best way to check availability? I’m sure I will have clients who want to host events here.”
“Directly through me,” Rye said, and I noted the slight clip to his tone. “The only way Elixir will host events is through me and our in-house event team.”
“So…no outsider event planners? Like me? Or my firm?”
He confirmed with a nod.
“Then why let me see all of this?” I asked as we made our way down the stairs to the main floor.
“You have a list of clients who want to be here,” he said with a wide smile, but now there was a gleam in his eye that, together with the smile, reeked of smugness. “I’ll happily take that list off your hands.”
My laughter was loud in the quietness of the club, the acoustics of the place making it seem as hollow and disbelieving as it was. “You want me to hand over my client list to you ? Are you crazy?”
“No. I’m a businessman.”
With a wide smile that matched his earlier one, I shook my head. “No. You’re an idiot.”
I turned away from Rye, and that was when I saw him.
Zayn McCabe.
He appeared as if he owned the place—well, if the rumors were true, he did . His tall frame filled the doorway. He wore a deep-gray suit, and I hated that I noticed how well it fit him. His eyes swept over me with a knowing, slightly condescending look that made me want to take a step back and punch him at the same time.
“Isla?” His voice was low, smooth, and far too familiar for my liking. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
I resisted the urge to turn away as he walked towards me. “I could say the same about you.”
Steel-gray eyes mocked me as the top left corner of his mouth tugged slightly upwards. “It’s my club,” he replied, reminding me I had walked into his personal lair. “Has Rye given you the tour?”
“He did.” I refused to look at the man beside me. “Though it seems it was a waste of both our times.”
Zayn tilted his head slightly; his dark-brown, nearly black hair, short on the sides with slightly longer strands on top, neat but ruffled in an effortless way, didn’t move a millimeter as he looked between Rye and me.
“You upset Gracemont’s most high-end event coordinator?” he asked Rye. His gaze swept over me from top to toe and back again, meeting my gaze, his amusement clear as I blushed at his lingering appraisal. “That’s usually my job.”
“Still an ass, I see.” It was time to go. I should never have come here. “I came to view the space, not populate your guest list.”
Zayn chuckled, that low, almost mocking sound. “Don’t tell me you asked her to share, Rye? Isla doesn’t play well with others.”
I kept my gaze neutral, but inside, I was seething. I focused on him, deliberately holding his gaze. “I was here for business, not pleasure. But your staff wasted my time.”
Zayn’s eyes flickered with laughter. “Business? Do you have a client who would be interested?”
He knew . He knew I got dumped this morning, and I bet Rye had already shown my ex-client the space. Bastards.
His taunt was like a slap, but I kept my emotions under control, not letting him see how angry I was. As a professional, I refused to lower myself to his level.
“You’ve got your business,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ve got mine. Let’s keep it that way.”
Zayn’s expression darkened, the familiar arrogance slipping into something colder. “You’ve always been a little uptight, Isla. I suppose that’s what makes you so good at what you do.”
I didn’t respond to that. We both knew it wasn’t a compliment. But I had learned not to let his words get to me. We were on different sides of the fence, always had been. He was the kind of person who thrived in the shadows, running his operations from behind closed doors. I was the one who made things happen in the light, who put together events that catered to the powerful and the rich and were legal .
“Thanks for the tour,” I said to Rye, my tone clipped. “I’ll see myself out.”
Zayn studied me for a moment, a flicker of something crossing his face before it was gone. “Not the whole tour?” he asked Rye as he kept his gaze trained on me. “She may not like what she finds.”
That , right there, told me everything I needed to know about Elixir. I wasn’t naive. I had been around long enough to know that every shiny and new place had its secrets. But Zayn’s secrets? Well, he was a different beast altogether. The rumors about him, the whispers about his illegal dealings, his underground network, and his connections, only emphasized how much I wanted to leave.
“It was good to see you,” I lied. Turning, I looked back at Rye. “Thank you for your time.” And wasting mine .
When I turned back, Zayn had moved closer, and suddenly, it wasn’t about business anymore. My breath caught in my throat, and from the darkening of his eyes, I knew he had noticed my reaction to him.
His presence captured my whole attention, and my inner self was screaming in frustration as I stood mute while he stepped into my space. He didn’t need to say a word. He was like a magnet, a force that demanded attention. His eyes, light but unreadable, bored into me, making my skin prickle with discomfort.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he said, his voice smooth, too smooth. He was trying to get a rise out of me. “You’re welcome anytime.”
I nodded, determined to remain professional. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Zayn moved back a step, and I tried not to hurry as I walked past him. My eyes were pinned to the doors like they were lifelines. I could feel his attention on my back, following me like a storm cloud, and every step I took felt like a hollow echo in my chest.
It wasn’t until I was down the stairs and outside, taking gulps of fresh air, that my anger and resentment surfaced.
Everything, everything, was a game to him. I was merely a plaything he liked to toy with.
God, I hated that man.
Straightening my shoulders, I mentally shook the last hour off. I knew I would lose commissions and bookings to Zayn’s new club, but I also knew not every client would be able to pay his prices.
I was rattled by the entire afternoon. I wouldn’t lie, but I also couldn’t afford to lose focus. Heading back to the office, I vowed never to set foot inside his club again.
That was my first encounter with Zayn in five years, and I would be quite happy if it was my last.