3. Zayn
CHAPTER 3
ZAYN
I watched the door close behind Isla, fighting the smile as I turned back to look at Rye. “I didn’t know you were showing her the club.”
Rye shrugged, his smirk one I was too familiar with. “Just took her client, they confirmed yesterday, and from how quickly she contacted me, I guess they told her today.” He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pocket. “She’s not a fan,” he added with a mock pout.
I grinned. “Isla Wells is not a fan of much except the sound of her own disapproval.” I walked over to the bar, went behind the counter, and took a bottle of sparkling water out of the fridge. I handed one to Rye. “I hear she’s a good party planner.”
“ Event planner,” he corrected me. “They get touchy when you liken them to amateurs ,” he added with air quotes.
I grunted but didn’t comment. With a final glance at the door, I pushed Isla Wells and her uptight character out of my mind. “We’re behind on deliveries. Tell me why and what you’re doing to fix it.”
Rye opened his water and took a drink. “We’re behind because you expect everyone to work to the same schedule as you do; they’ll come when they come, which ,” he added, speaking over me before I had the chance to interrupt, “is before opening night. What I’m doing to fix it?” His look was full of amusement. “I’m reminding you that you’re a control freak and everything is under control.”
“If it was under control, then my deliveries of booze would be here,” I grumbled as I stepped out from behind the bar. My attention wandered to the door again. “Who did we take off her?”
“Corporate party. They specialize in…” he hesitated. “I don’t know or care. There are thirty of them paying top dollar, and there is a little extra to be here during the opening week.”
“They share her proposals?” I tightened the cap on the bottle of water.
“Obviously.”
“Good. Use them and make them better.”
I stepped through the door I knew Rye wouldn’t have let Isla near because it led to the lower-level club. Satisfaction stirred in my chest as I took in the familiar space. Like its counterpart upstairs, the decor was a study in dark opulence—black leather, polished wood—and here the walls were a deep blood red. Black chandeliers cast muted shadows across the room, their light glinting off the glass and marble. I’d toyed with the option of spotlights; the clientele who would use this level shouldn’t feel the need to hide, but I knew all too well that those who thrived in the shadows preferred to remain unseen.
This level had been my vision—a space for society’s boldest and most secretive, those who wanted to see and be seen but only on their own terms. I moved deeper into the room, my shoes echoing softly against the wooden floor as I walked. I was eager for the club to open and be filled with muted conversation and music. Even empty, the atmosphere of the room promised to be everything I had planned for.
My hand trailed over the back of one of the booths as I moved toward the far end of the room, where a heavy curtain of black velvet cordoned off a private section. Once the club was opened, that section wouldn’t be for the faint of heart. It was for those who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to take it—for those who understood the value of discretion and, most importantly…how easily it could be bought.
I stopped and looked over my shoulder, my gaze sweeping the room. As much as I liked the exclusivity of this level, it wouldn’t be without its risks. Power attracted power, and some would use this space for more than just private conversation and expensive drinks. Deals would be made here, alliances formed…and broken.
It was one thing to create a haven for the elite and powerful—it was another to control the chaos that came with them.
But that was my job, wasn’t it? To know who to trust, who to watch, and who to stop before they crossed a line.
I let the weight of it all settle over me like a second skin, reveling in the power this club would bring me. There was a certain kind of satisfaction in knowing it would be under my control—not just this space, but its energy, in the lives that would play out here in whispers and shadows.
This was my world.
And I had no intention of letting anyone forget it.
At the door at the far end of the room, I pressed my thumb into the scanner, heard the click, and opened the door to the entrance to my office. Climbing a few stairs, I went through the same process and opened the door to my sanctuary.
A stark contrast to the hidden club below and the public level, my office was well-lit, neutral in decor, and challenged any shadow that dared cross the threshold. Where the club outside enticed its occupants to hide their secrets within its seductive darkness, this space refused to play that game.
The office walls were in a pale dove gray, smooth and unadorned, save for a single, large abstract painting in muted tones of white and gray and then a slash of vibrant red. It had cost me more than I would ever admit, but the piece’s simplicity spoke to me. The floor was wooden, like outside, only here it was oak flooring, the highly polished surface catching the light from the recessed spots above. Unlike the chandeliers in the club, which seemed to dim more than illuminate, the lighting in my office was clinical and uncompromising.
Like me.
A glass desk dominated the center of the room, its sharp edges reflecting the room’s stark design. My desk was clutter-free—just a sleek laptop, a leather notebook, and a single pen. My desk chair was high-backed and ergonomic, but the gray leather was deceptively comfortable. Two matching armchairs sat opposite. The design was relaxed and professional, conveying a sense of calm and control to whoever occupied them.
The cool air of the room enveloped me, crisp and slightly sterile. A subtle fragrance of citrus and cedar lingered, clean and faintly invigorating. It was purposeful. Everything about this room was intentional.
The glass walls on one side overlooked the club’s upper floor, the window tinted to prevent anyone outside from seeing in. From here, I could observe without being observed—a feature that wasn’t just convenient but necessary. Trust was a currency in the business I was in, and knowing who could be trusted required constant vigilance, which was why the other wall in my office was filled with screens.
The real power lay in the live feed on the screen even though it was a different kind from the one outside. It wasn’t in the quiet, seductive hum of the whispered secrets in the leather booths; it was here, laid bare and unafraid of being seen by those who would step into the office, where control of structure and decisions was made with precision and intent.
This office was my refuge, the one place where I allowed no chaos to intrude. It reminded me of who I was, of what I needed to be to keep everything I had built running smoothly.
My office mirrored me in many ways: deliberate, calm, untouchable, and a reminder that even those who thrived in the shadows could flourish within the light.
I opened the laptop, and within moments, all the screens came to life. After punching a sequence into the laptop, I settled into my chair and watched Rye lead Isla through my club. It had been years since I had seen her, and time had been good to her.
The once-skinny adolescent had grown into her frame, slim but far from boyish. Her figure was lean and graceful, but there was subtle strength in the way she carried herself. The tailored pants emphasized the curve of her hips while the soft, voluminous blouse only hinted at the fullness beneath, leaving just enough to the imagination.
Her dark-brown hair was in a high, sleek, and professional ponytail, making her high cheekbones appear more angular in her oval face. I watched her as Rye led her around, her eyes taking it all in. Her sharp intelligence was evident as she studied the club.
I saw the exact moment Rye told her she wouldn’t be hosting any events here. Her eyes narrowed on him like a hawk narrowing in on prey, sharp and unrelenting. Rye didn’t flinch, but I got the distinct impression she would have relished seeing him squirm under her glare. That look—sharp, cutting, and utterly disapproving—was one I was familiar with. I’d been on the receiving end of it from her more than once.
Julian Turner was a friend of mine, and where Julian went, Isla inevitably followed. They had always been a package deal. Julian had a talent for finding fun, was easygoing, and was quick to laugh. Isla, however, was the sober counterpart to his chaos. Sensible, somewhat quick-witted, and unafraid to put her foot down, she brought an air of authority even as a teenager. It was a quality Julian lacked. I’d learned quickly that her approval was hard-won, and I’d never tried.
I knew she was an event planner. I hadn’t expected her to show up at Elixir so soon, but I had expected her eventually. Isla Wells wasn’t the type to let an opportunity slip past her. She was determined, almost relentless—qualities I could respect even if they tended to make her unpredictable. And even though years had passed, I couldn’t shake the memory of the night when she first took me by surprise. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
It was another high-school party. I was bored, but the house was buzzing with bodies and noise, and everywhere I turned, every corner seemed to be brimming with energy. I was in the kitchen, half listening to some jock tell his friends how sweet his girl’s pussy was. I wanted to tell him it was as used as she was. She wasn’t sweet; she spread her legs for anyone, a fact her jock boyfriend didn’t know. I was contemplating telling him she was a shit lay because I was bored and looking for something more exciting than my barely touched beer.
Just as I put my beer on the counter, I saw Isla march into the kitchen. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and her look was determined. I automatically looked for Julian, but seeing he wasn’t there, I looked back at Isla.
Her cheeks were flushed, not from alcohol—I doubted she drank much back then—but from agitation. Her eyes locked on to me with clear purpose. I watched her as she approached me, her arms wrapping around herself uncertainly, completely contrasting with the look in her eye.
“Can I talk to you?”
I almost looked over my shoulder despite knowing there was nothing but a wall behind me. “Why?”
Isla bit the corner of her lip, but she reached out to me, and her hand tugged at my arm. “I only need a minute.”
Curious, I followed her, ignoring the taunts from behind me. Isla either didn’t hear them or chose to ignore them. She led me through the crowd, ending up in a dimly lit corner of a hallway. She opened the door, and I followed her into a small bathroom.
“How’d you know this was here?” I asked while Isla pushed the door closed and locked it. I looked at her with my eyebrow raised.
“I tutored Maria in freshman year.”
“Of course, you did. So…what do you want?”
Isla planted her hands on her hips and almost stunned me to silence with one sentence. “I need you to kiss me.”
“What? Why?”
Isla blinked. “Just do it,” she snapped, stepping closer, her determination vibrating off her like static electricity.
She barely reached my chin, but damn, if she didn’t make me feel like she was towering over me. Gently, I pushed her back. “You drunk?” I asked even though I couldn’t help the smirk that was tugging at my lips. “Where’s Julian?”
Isla’s glare intensified. “I can’t find him,” she huffed, throwing her hands in the air. “And I need to do this now . The game’s starting, and —” She cut herself off, letting out a sharp breath of frustration at having to explain herself. “Can’t you just do it?”
“Tell me why.” I leaned back against the door, crossing my arms as my eyes deliberately raked over her. Her loose hair framed her face, and her dark lashes fanned over slightly upturned hazel eyes. With a straight nose and bow-shaped lips, objectively, she was far from ugly. She was the type of girl who would get more attention if she didn’t have her nose in the air. But that was just…Isla. Julian’s no-fun, all-business friend.
“What’s the game, Is?” I asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
Her jaw tightened, the blush creeping up her neck betraying her frustration. She stood there, trying to match my nonchalance, but the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her blouse gave her away. She was nervous though she’d probably bite her own tongue off before admitting it.
“My name is Isla.” She studied me, quite obviously debating how much to tell me. “Seven minutes in heaven.”
“Fuck. What age are you? Twelve?” I laughed. The sound echoed around us, and the corner of her eye twitched. God, she hated it when I laughed at her. “You’re serious?” I asked, straightening up.
“Don’t make this a thing, Zayn,” she snapped, her brows knitting together in that frown I was so used to. “I’m playing. Period.”
“It’s a game for kids.”
“Ugh! Fine! You want to know why? I’m seventeen and never been kissed, okay? Julian said he’d do it if I was determined to play. He said he’d help me so I’d know how to…you know…kiss.” Her cheeks were bright red, and she wouldn’t meet my eye. “But now he’s disappeared, and —” She pointed at me dismissively. “And you’re here. So…will you?”
I laughed again, full and unapologetic. “Wow. Thanks. Now I know where Turner fucked off to. He’s hiding from you.”
Her glare could’ve set fire to the room. “I’m not asking because I want to. I’m asking because you’re here, and I need this. But this isn’t about you; it’s about me. I don’t want to be the girl who’s never…who doesn’t know what she’s doing. Or because you’re too much of a coward to help me.”
I stepped forward, and she stepped back, the sink stopping her from moving farther. I deliberately pressed closer. “I’m not a coward,” I told her softly. “You, however, may be insane. Go play your silly games and leave the kissing to the grown-ups.”
Her lips pressed into a stubborn thin line, and for a moment, I thought she might actually try to punch me. Instead, she shrugged and said, “Fine. I’ll ask someone else.” She pretended to think about it. “Brady Sanders, I used to tutor him. He could be discreet? Right?”
Was she discussing it with me? Like I cared? But…Brady Sanders was a senior like me and an asshole…like me. But he was a smug, handsy prick who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of someone like Isla, especially if she walked into his orbit unprepared. The thought made my jaw tighten.
“How the fuck does Turner put up with your shit?” I muttered, shaking my head. “Come here.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she recovered quickly, lifting her chin like she’d just won a victory. “Okay.” She wet her lips nervously. “Make it quick.”
“This is what you want, right?” I asked, my voice low.
“Yes,” she said though it came out more like a whisper.
I leaned down, closing the gap between us, and for a second, I thought she might bolt. But Isla stood her ground, stubborn and steady, her eyes flicking between mine and my lips. At the last second , her eyes fluttered shut, and then our lips met.
It was meant to be brief, just enough to shut her up, get her out of my hair, and send her on her way. But that changed the moment I kissed her. Her lips were soft and tentative, but as I pulled back, Isla leaned in, her fingers clutching the front of my shirt as if she wasn’t ready for it to end. I licked her bottom lip, and her mouth parted slightly, letting me in, letting me taste her.
The realization hit me as I felt the soft tug on my shirt, her lips pressing into mine. Isla trusted me with this. Even though she didn’t like me—in truth , she barely acknowledged my existence and me hers—but right here, she trusted me.
I pulled back, breaking the kiss, watching her eyes open slowly, her cheeks a deeper shade of pink than before. She looked unsure of herself.
“Happy now?” I asked her, not liking the roughness of my voice.
She didn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes lingering on my lips, but then she nodded briskly. “Thanks. This never happened.” She ducked past me, unlocked the bathroom door, and disappeared. I stood there, frozen, my shirt still twisted from where her fingers had clung to it.
Twenty minutes later, I watched from the shadows as she waited anxiously to be picked in her stupid game. It was pathetically sad to see the nerds giggling and whispering as they played a game I’d played at eleven. They were a mix of juniors and seniors, and I was sure the guys had already come in their pants at the thought of being so close to a girl, never mind kissing one.
As if Isla had manifested him into the room, Brady Sanders walked in and quickly realized what was happening. “You playing, Isla?” he asked her casually, jerking his thumb to the closed closet door. At her hesitant nod, he grinned. “Well, now I am too.” He reached into the group, ignoring everyone, and spun the bottle. With sheer luck, it landed on Isla. Brady hooted.
Isla blushed scarlet, looking around the room desperately. Her eyes landed on mine.
I saw the panic in her eyes.
As Brady reached for her, I walked through the group, grabbing her hand. “Fuck off, Sanders.” I closed the door in the face of his protests. The closest was dimly lit and compact. I turned to Isla. “Once again, you’re welcome.”
Isla stared up at me. “You weren’t playing,” she whispered.
Such a fucking stickler for the rules. This was who I expected. “No one cares, Is.”
“My name’s Isla.” She shuffled her feet. “So now what?”
“We wait it out.”
“No kissing?”
I snorted. “I think you’re done kissing for the night, Is, don’t you?”
I still didn’t know if the huff she answered me with back then was one of derision or disappointment. Watching her on the camera, so self-assured and commanding, it wasn’t hard to reconcile her with the girl who’d marched into a kitchen and demanded her first kiss like it was a business transaction.
But that was Isla for you—bold, relentless, and always impossible to ignore.