4. Isla
CHAPTER 4
ISLA
“Did you like the club?” Julian asked as he poured us both a glass of wine.
My hand paused in the process of pouring the pretzels into the bowl. “It was fine.”
Julian looked at me over his shoulder. “Isla, are you being a bitter lemon?” he asked with a frown.
Yes. I am. “Okay, it was nice,” I conceded grudgingly. “It had more class than I expected from someone like Zayn.”
Julian scoffed but said nothing. He was ludicrously neutral when it came to Zayn and me. In truth, it irked me. I’d known Julian longer. I was his best friend, not Zayn.
Julian must have seen what I was thinking on my face because he gave an exasperated sigh. “You are ridiculous in your prejudice against him,” he scolded as he settled on the couch with our wineglasses.
His outburst was unlike him, and when he saw my surprise, he shrugged. “I can only say nothing so many times,” he grumbled.
“His guy, Rye, like the bread, took my client and then asked for all my clients.” I felt it was necessary to tell him this again.
“Rye’s a ballbuster, ignore him. He wasn’t serious.”
I watched him take a drink. “He was wearing a burgundy three-piece suit.”
Julian nodded his approval. “Classy.”
I elbowed him as I sat down, putting the bowl of pretzels between us, ignoring his hiss of protest. “Not classy. Cliché.”
“You’re behaving like a child,” he admonished gently, his hand already reaching for the pretzels. “You didn’t even want to go to the club. If anything, the fact they’re handling it all in-house is actually what you wanted. A reason not to go there, now you have it, and you’re still annoyed.”
I sipped my chardonnay and avoided answering him.
It wasn’t the point.
The point was…that wasn’t the point. I took another drink of my wine, the cool liquid doing little to wash away the lingering bitterness on my tongue. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Julian was right. I was being stupid. Petty. But somehow, knowing that, acknowledging that, didn’t make the knot in my stomach any easier to untangle.
“So, what’s this movie about?” I asked him, desperate to change the subject. My voice was light—too light—but I ignored the crack in it.
Julian shot me a knowing look. He didn’t call me on it, but the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth told me everything. He saw right through me as he always had.
I tucked my feet beneath me, curling into the couch, and trained my eye on the screen. The film blurred into a mess of colors and sounds that barely registered. I pretended to focus on it, nodding along as Julian mumbled something about the poor plot. But my thoughts were elsewhere—revolving around Zayn, his stupid amazing club, and his stupid rules that were in danger of affecting my business.
He had the upper hand. I hated that. And it wasn’t even personal—it was just business —real business, my livelihood, my income, the important stuff that paid my bills and kept my life together. My reputation was tied to making things work and delivering results for clients who put their money and their trust in me. That trust was fragile, and the idea of it crumbling because of Zayn’s in-house planner rule made my hands clammy.
Still, there were better ways to fix this than sitting and dwelling on it. I had no idea what those ways were yet, but I would find them. I had to.
I shifted in my seat, my gaze flicking to Julian. He was watching me, his expression soft but calculating, as if he were waiting for the moment when I cracked. To confess something I wasn’t even ready to admit to myself. I didn’t crack. Instead, I smiled and took another sip of wine.
He popped a pretzel in his mouth and leaned back on the sofa. “Do you even know what the movie’s about?” he asked, his casual tone contrasting with the shit-eating grin he was wearing.
“Of course,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “You’ve spoken the whole way through it. Who needs subtitles? Know what I’m saying.”
“Tell me.”
“What?”
“Tell me what the movie is about, Isla.”
“It’s about…um…” I waved my hand at the screen and the end credits that were rolling. Had I missed the whole thing? “People. And the stuff that happened to the people.”
Julian snorted, shaking his head. “Smooth. Really convincing.”
“Shut up.” I giggled despite myself, tipping the bowl of pretzels towards me and realizing he had eaten them all. “I’ve got a lot on my mind; this is my first night off in what…a week? Two? I needed to relax. Who cares that I didn’t watch it? I enjoyed the chill time.” I saw that I had him. “With my bestie.”
“You weren’t planning Zayn’s demise?” Julian asked me almost apologetically.
“Ugh, please. That guy does not get to take up real estate in my head. It is what it is. I’ve moved on.” I poked him in the ribs. “Maybe you’re more hung up on it than me?”
“Nope, I am quite happy for you both to stay to your corners and keep as far away from each other as possible.” He turned to face me. “Did I tell you about the sweet new office building I designed today?”
The conversation shifted then just as I’d hoped it would. But even as Julian launched into details about his newest project, the thought of Elixir and how I would navigate around it being the most desirable location for events lingered at the back of my mind.
No matter how hard I tried to push it aside, it wouldn’t budge. It was a puzzle I had to solve, a challenge I couldn’t afford to ignore. But I had no idea how to put those pieces together.
The allure of exclusivity was what would draw people. I already knew people were talking about the club, eager for opening night. When they found out you could only book through the club, they’d be desperate to claim a spot.
It was a clever marketing ploy—I could admit it even if it burned. The exclusivity would pull away my clients like a magnet, drawing them away before I even had a chance to counter. The venue was a prize, one I should’ve been able to deliver to my clients, and yet here I was on the outside looking in.
I reached for my wineglass, disappointed to notice it was empty. I had no recollection of drinking it. My mind stewed on the predicament. It wasn’t just about the club itself; it was about what it represented. Zayn had created something irresistible, something that had the power to overshadow every other venue in town, and he’d done it in a way to lock me out. I mean, that wasn’t personal; I knew that. He wouldn’t have specifically made this about me , but the effect was the same.
There was no compromise.
Even as my best friend continued talking, his voice a familiar comfort, my mind refused to let go. I couldn’t stop thinking about how smug he had been, that infuriating confidence he carried like armor. He knew exactly what he was doing—making it impossible for me to compete.
I needed a countermove. Something clever, something unexpected.
I refused to let that shit Zayn McCabe beat me.
Julian cleared his throat, and my eyes snapped to him, seeing he’d paused and was waiting for me to respond to something he had said. I didn’t hide my guilt, and he gave me a rueful smile.
“You’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “There’s room for you both in Gracemont.”
I appreciated his quiet acceptance of my not listening to him, so I scooted to his side, took the comfort he offered, and pretended to believe him.
But the truth was, I wasn’t sure there was or how I could fix it…and I didn’t have the faintest idea where to start.
* * *
By the time I pulled up in front of The Grand Gracemont, I was running on nothing but determination and caffeine. I’d spent a week scouring my contacts, analyzing venues, sketching out ideas, and replaying every kind of event I had planned in the last year. All to find one establishment in Gracemont that fit with my plan. The Grand wasn’t exactly the kind of place people were clamoring for, but it had potential. It was a beautiful old building with history, elegance, and a solid location.
What it didn’t have was the exclusivity and prestige of Zayn’s new club.
Yet.
I pushed through the heavy double doors and into the foyer. Black and white floor tiles arranged in a checkerboard design immediately caught my eye. The Grand’s foyer was a striking example of art deco sophistication, blending geometric elegance with opulent luxury. The grand, pun intended, double-height space was illuminated by a massive, tiered chandelier of cascading glass panels framed in polished brass. The ceiling features were stepped patterns accented with gold leaf that reflected the glow from the soft lighting. It cast an unforgiving yellow glow over everything, but it didn’t detract from the beauty of the fixture.
The walls were adorned with bold geometric motifs in deep jewel tones of emerald, sapphire, and amethyst. Paired with sleek black and chrome finishes, they created a striking look.
Along one wall ran the reception desk, made from glossy black lacquer and inlaid with mirrored panels, topped with vases of flowers that assaulted my nostrils as I got closer.
Lilies. Why did every bouquet have to have freaking lilies?
Art deco–inspired furniture, plush velvet armchairs with curved arms, and long rectangular coffee tables made of glass and brass were arranged in conversational clusters atop richly textured rugs.
The impressive staircase exuded glamour and refinement with gleaming brass railings, and the checkerboard patterned steps ascended dramatically to the mezzanine floor,
The hotel effortlessly curated the golden age of the 1920s and 1930s, offering an ambience of timeless elegance and sophistication.
This was not going to be easy.
I made my way to the concierge desk, eyeing the overabundant vase of flowers with distaste.
“Hi, I’m here for a two o’clock appointment with Gerard Fitzsimmons. It’s Isla Wells.”
The concierge smiled with a familiarity that made me wonder if I already knew him. “He’s expecting you; he’s taking tea in the conservatory.”
Another excellent plus in favor of The Grand. Not only was its location on the outskirts of Gracemont, but it also had sprawling manicured gardens and a large conservatory—where you could take tea —and it also had the added bonus of bedrooms.
I assured the concierge I knew my way to the conservatory, and as I walked, I took in every detail this old hotel had to offer.
Gerard stood as I walked up, his hand already extended in greeting. I shook it, disliking his clammy palm, and discreetly wiped my hand on the back of my skirt as I sat down. Gerard was in his late sixties, and I loved the fact he was wearing a cream linen suit, a peach-colored shirt, and a silk neck scarf.
“It’s wonderful to hear from you, Isla. It’s been a few months.” His smile was warm, though I noticed a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me, Gerard,” I said, summoning my brightest smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all.” He waved away my concern. “Tea?” He gestured to the teapot, and when I shook my head, he seemed disappointed. “What brings you by? Do you want to plan another gala here?”
I winced internally. On my way to the conservatory, I noticed the posters I had hung for the last gala still plastered on the lobby walls. Although they were two years old, they might be the most current items in this venue.
I maintained my smile as he watched me. I had used The Grand three times in the past five years, and each time, my clients were less than impressed. It wasn’t really Gerard’s fault; the venue was stuck in the 1920s, and so were some of its staff.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something...new.” I settled back into the slightly uncomfortable wrought metal back of the chair. “I’ve been thinking a lot about The Grand and what it could be. This building is incredible, architecturally sound, has historic charm, and is in a perfect location?—”
“But?”
My smile softened. “But…I think it could be so much more, and it’s overdue an upgrade.”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “An upgrade?”
Leaning forward, I nodded. “Yes. A refresh. A reinvention. Something bold that would attract a new kind of client—ones seeking luxury events, high-profile lunches, and exclusive parties. I believe The Grand could be grand again.” I hated myself for the cliché as soon as I said it. Nevertheless, I continued. “Gerard, you know there are newer, fresher venues in town; this beauty can’t compete. It needs to stand out. And...I want to help make that happen.”
Gerard looked skeptical. “While that sounds wonderful, Isla, it also sounds expensive .” He picked up his teacup and took a sip. I recognized a delaying tactic; I was a master of them. “The Grand doesn’t have that kind of resources like the newer places do. We’re a more specific clientele, not a flashy new nightclub.”
So he knew about Elixir. Well…that was a positive thing. Wasn’t it?
“Look, I understand,” I assured him, holding myself back from leaning forward and appearing too eager. “I’m not saying we turn The Grand into something that it’s not, but with some targeted changes, like lighting, decor, add some versatility to the layout, we could transform some of the space without losing the character at all.” He was listening intently, which gave me hope. “Imagine hosting events that could place The Grand on the map of venues. Attract high-profile clients, bigger budgets, more exposure…it’s possible.”
Gerard’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That still sounds like a lot of work. Expensive work.”
I folded my hands in my lap, knowing that maintaining my outward calm was essential. “It’s an investment, I understand,” I told him, softening my tone. “But you won’t be alone. I’ll help you every step of the way. I have the contacts; I know an architect and a designer. This doesn’t need to be high-end; I can find affordable options, and I would promote the new look to my clients and the agency’s clients…free of charge.” I’d have to beg, borrow, and steal to get my boss to accept that, but it could work.
Gerard looked out over the meticulously landscaped grounds, his gaze distant. “It sounds outlandish .”
The walls were purple, green, and blue, but I was the eccentric one?
“The Grand has been in my family for generations. It’s looked like this for as long as I can remember. I don’t know if I want to be the one to change that…”
I took a deep breath. “I completely understand, I do. But think about what’s going to happen if you don’t. The new club downtown is not just a nightclub. It’s versatile, a nightclub, a conference space, luncheons, galas, you name it, they’ll adapt. You aren’t competing with that. This venue has been in your family for generations, like you said. Shouldn’t you be ensuring that you keep it alive ? Help make it thrive?” I looked around the conservatory. “We’re the only people in here, Gerard. You need to change. I can help you.”
He watched me, his eyes assessing me, his gaze thoughtful. “I assume you have a budget in mind?” I nodded, and he licked his lips. “And you think this could work?”
I nodded again.
“Do you have the proposals with you?”
I relaxed and gave him an exaggerated eye roll. “You think I tell you all this and don’t have my business plan in my purse?” I scoffed, glad to see him smiling. Pulling out my folder of notes along with my iPad, I felt a surge of excitement. “With the right changes, The Grand could be right up there as the most sought-after in town.”
Gerard huffed but then he realized I was serious. “You think so?”
“I really do,” I said firmly. I opened my folder, taking out the papers.
“All right, Isla, let’s take a look, but this better not bankrupt me, young lady.”
I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”
And just like that, the first part of my plan fell into place.