7. Isla
CHAPTER 7
ISLA
While I sat at my desk the next morning, my pen tapped off my notebook. I should’ve deleted the message.
Instead, I let it linger in my phone, a reminder every time I opened my messages, taunting me like a dark promise.
You work fast, Isla.
I’d stared at that for what felt like hours, but I was sure it was more like a minute. Minutes. I kept picking up my phone and looking at the brief exchange.
I’d spent more time than I should wondering why two messages had unsettled me so much.
Laying my phone face down on the table, I picked up my notebook instead. The list of things I had to do for an upcoming event blurred together.
Focus, Isla. I needed to be sharp. No distractions.
But the truth? Zayn was a distraction. No, he was more than that. He was a storm.
I knew it in high school. I knew it four weeks ago when he walked into Elixir, all smirks and confidence, taking up space with every step. In high school, I had control. I thought I could handle him.
I was as deluded then as I was probably now. No. I was wiser now. I already knew he was dangerous. He had me second-guessing everything, and I didn’t like it.
Like the time I asked him to kiss me so, when I played seven minutes in heaven, I would know how to kiss someone. I didn’t want to kiss Julian any more than he wanted to kiss me. The very thought of it made both of us gag. Julian had told me just to kiss someone, it was dark, it was in a closet, and it was expected to be rough at first.
But what if my whole seven minutes was rough? I couldn’t take that chance. I was a wallflower. I was boring. I was seventeen years old and had never been kissed.
I mean…gawd, how would I live it down if I didn’t know what I was doing?
So, I went to Zayn. Because that man kissed anyone, and every other day, there was a different girl at his side, hanging on to his every word. I’d seen him make out with girls at parties. I’d heard all the sighs and swoons over Zayn Freaking McCabe in the corridors, in the dining hall, and in my classes.
When the harsh reality of that evening pushed me to desperation, I’d gone hunting for a sure thing. Zayn.
My eyes drifted to the window as I remembered the way my heart had raced when he leaned down, his lips a hairbreadth from mine. I’d shut my eyes because I was sure he was going to refuse, and I didn’t want him to see my disappointment. But he hadn’t been mean. He hadn’t played a joke.
Zayn McCabe had been my first kiss, and it had been lovely. Better than lovely. My second kiss was so disappointing compared to that. My third was not much better. In time, I stopped comparing.
My thumb traced my bottom lip, and I briefly wondered what it would be like to kiss him now. Almost ten years later, I was sure the man had much more experience, and since he excelled at pretty much everything, I was sure he’d also excel in the bedroom.
In the bedroom? Jesus, Isla . Letting out a laugh, I scolded myself as I looked back at my laptop. Shaking my head, I had yet again let him distract me. Again .
I tried to focus on the email in front of me—details about Lyndsay’s charity event—but instead, I’d let my mind drift back to that damn message. His words. That familiarity that he didn’t have. You already know as if he had a claim to me. As if I was still the girl who asked him to be her first kiss.
I remembered another night when I stood in front of him, asking for something I hadn’t even known. But I pushed that thought away hastily. I tried not to think about that night.
Letting out a sigh, I pinched the bridge of my nose. My head throbbed.
“Focus,” I muttered under my breath, but it didn’t help.
He had me second-guessing everything. He had me remembering things I had no right remembering. And I didn’t like it.
The hotel renovation. Lyndsay’s gala. They were not what I was concentrating on.
I needed to put him out of my head. Julian was right. It wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth it. I saw his voice, that smirk, those eyes that knew far too much about me—that mockery.
Why did he have this power over me despite everything I had done to avoid him? I hadn’t seen him for five years. I remembered the last time I saw him. I was standing in the hallway, soaking wet, and he was in a doorway, his black jeans unbuttoned, black shirt open, revealing his abs and toned chest. His hair was messy, and his feet were bare. I’d interrupted something, and I still remembered the look of exasperation he gave me when he opened the door and found me on the other side.
“Isla?” Zayn looked over his shoulder. “Wh a t the fuck you doing here? Who let you in?”
The music from the downstairs party boomed through the house; I was sure the floorboards were vibrating. It was so loud. I had never seen a party like this, and on my desperate bid to find Zayn, I had walked into the house, knowing no one and seeing people party in a way my college friends and I did not party like. The smell of drugs had been strong in the air. I was sure one couple had been having sex right out in the open… But none of it mattered. I needed Zayn.
A guy with tattoos on his face had told me he was busy upstairs and that I would need to wait. I didn’t have time to wait. Some very pissed-off people and three bedroom doors later, I had the man I needed in front of me.
“I need your help.”
“Again?” Zayn smirked as he looked me over. “What now? You’ve never given a blow job?” He squinted at me thoughtfully. “Licked pussy?” He saw my surprise at the insinuation I was a lesbian and laughed as the door started to close. “Go find someone else to screw , Isla . I’m busy. Get the fuck out of here.”
I still remember the look of surprise on his face when I stopped him and pushed the door open. “Fuck you, dick. I need you to help me find Julian.” I’d seen the anger morph in his eyes when I called him a dick, but I didn’t have time for this. “Zayn, look at me.” I gestured to the fact I was dripping wet. “I’ve walked the entire campus trying to find your skanky ass, it’s pouring outside…” He looked me over more carefully. “Damn it, Zayn, you think I would be here if I didn’t need your help?”
He’d hesitated, and in that moment, I knew he was listening to me. “What happened?” he asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice. In a house that sounded like I was in the inside of a speaker, I knew I’d need to shout. He saw my wince at a particularly loud screech from downstairs and snatched my hand, pulling me into the room as I hastily avoided looking at the naked girl on the bed.
Zayn closed the door to the bathroom and leaned against it. “Speak. Now.”
“He got into it with his dad,” I started immediately. There was no need for backstory with Zayn. “His dad was drunk.” I lowered my voice, my fingers rubbing my lower arm. “I tried to stop him ?—”
I yelped when Zayn grabbed my arm, and he pushed my sleeve up, revealing the bruise on my arm that was already turning an ugly purple. “He did this to you?” He dropped my arm and started buttoning his shirt. “Julian’s dad? He hurt you?”
“He was hurting Julian.” I faltered under his glare. “I tried to stop him.”
“You jumped between them?” he guessed, his eyes sharp when I nodded. “What happened next?” His eyes were as hard as their steely-gray color.
I started to cry. It only pissed Zayn off , and I started to cry harder. “He left. But…” I wiped away my tears. “Julian has a gun,” I whispered. “He went after him when he saw my arm.”
“Fuck.” Zayn opened the door, raced into the bedroom, and was already jamming his feet into his boots. “Stay here, Isla. Don’t fucking leave this room until I come back for you.” The girl was sitting up in bed, the sheet around her, looking between him and me, her face a mask of confusion. Zayn motioned to her to get up. “You, out. Is, lock the door behind me, you open it for no one but me.” He didn’t care the girl was shimmying into her dress or that my eyes were bugging out of my head as I tried to look anywhere else but at the sight of her nakedness. “Isla!” Zayn snapped at me. “Lock it. No one gets in. You’re not safe here.”
He was gone before I could question him, taking the half-dressed girl with him. I did as I was told. I locked the door and took a seat at the desk, and I didn’t move until the following morning when Zayn shook me awake to tell me to go home. When I asked how he got in the locked room, he never answered. He walked me out without saying anything about what had happened. All he did was hand me money for the cab that was waiting for me, and when I took it, he walked back into the house without a word spoken.
Julian refused to talk about that night. No matter how much I pestered him, he wouldn’t give me anything until I eventually let it go. The next time I saw Zayn McCabe, I was in Elixir, and he was wearing that same blasted smirk and looking at me with the same mockery he always did.
I checked the time on my watch, ten thirty. Too early for wine but not too early for a walk. A quick break to clear my head.
I grabbed my jacket, picked up my phone, and put it on silent. No one bothered me as I walked out the door, and the elevator was empty when I got on. Outside, the warm air greeted me as the noise of downtown Gracemont buzzed around me with an incessant hum.
I could count on one hand the number of times I had spoken to Zayn. Twice was to ask him for something. The other time was because we were in company, and I was brought up better than that. The other time, well, there was a reason I avoided tequila.
It was Julian’s fault. Their friendship always puzzled me. Julian was like me—straight and narrow. He had his own business and a nine-to-five job, but it was never a nine-to-five job because he worked a seventy-five-hour week. But he loved it because it was what he loved to do.
Julian was good .
Zayn McCabe was bad.
But he was Julian’s friend.
“Stop it, Isla,” I murmured as I picked up my pace, focusing on the rhythm of my footsteps on the concrete beneath my shoes. Why was I letting him in my head like this? It was a text message. He was messing with me.
And it was working.
The walk wasn’t helping. Instead of clearing my thoughts, it only left me more restless. I needed something—someone—to take my mind off him. I made my way back to the office, fighting the urge to check my phone again to see if he’d messaged. Ridiculous. I knew it. But the words were there, echoing in my head. You work fast, Isla.
Did it bother him that I did? Did he think the hotel was a threat to him? I started to smile. Was this what this was? Was he worried?
My phone vibrated in my hand. I glanced at it, seeing that it was a call from the lighting vendor. Swiping the answer button on the phone, I lifted it to my ear.
“Isla Wells speaking.”
This was work. Safe. Concrete.
Zayn had pushed my buttons with his antics, and as I walked back into my office, I realized maybe I’d pushed his .
* * *
I sat at my desk in my living room, staring at the numbers on the screen. They weren’t adding up. They hadn’t been adding up for the last hour. No matter how many times I refreshed the spreadsheet or checked the formulas, the result remained the same.
The Grand was over budget.
By a lot.
Six figures and possibly more.
I rubbed my temples as I stared at the numbers, the weight of the problem settling on my shoulders and building tension at the back of my neck. This was massive. I knew Gerard didn’t have this extra cash. Closing my eyes, I tried not to panic. But this wasn’t a simple setback—it was huge—so huge.
The Grand was my project. My baby. I’d been meticulously scrupulous with costs. I’d fought to get this renovation on a budget. I’d worked my ass off for this project. Now, it might fall apart before it was even finished.
I called Pete, the project foreman, not giving a shit it was after eight at night. “Pete, it’s Isla.”
“Yeah?”
I heard in his voice he was expecting this call. “What happened?”
Pete paused for a long time, and I was losing patience rapidly before he spoke, his voice tight. “There were some unexpected expenses, Isla. Mr. Fitzsimmons didn’t like the oak finishes in the foyer; he wanted mahogany; the cost of mahogany is more, then there was a delay with the subcontractors, and…we’re behind. Look, he told me not to tell you.”
“Why would you not tell me?” I snapped at him. “This is something I need to know. I have events planned for this hotel!” I took a deep breath. “How behind?”
“Four weeks.”
I almost choked. “Four weeks ? Tell me everything.” As Pete rattled off where the delays were, I felt my eyes widen as the list got longer. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked again, trying to remain reasonable and knowing I was failing.
“You don’t pay me, Isla,” Pete said bluntly. “Mr. Fitzsimmons pays me. He told me not to mention it.”
“Yeah, well, we’re so over budget and delayed four weeks; he won’t be paying anyone at this rate.” I hung up.
Shit.
I tried to keep my breathing steady. The charity gala was at The Grand in just under two weeks. It was supposed to be the hotel’s grand reopening, so Lyndsay’s gala had to be perfect.
Pete knew this. Gerard knew this. Why had they not told me?
Maybe Gerard had the extra money, but the delays? How was I going to get around the delays?
“I need this venue ready on time, or I can kiss Lyndsay and her recommendations away.” I stood up and paced my living room.
Lyndsay’s gala was my golden ticket to proving I had what it took to provide the perfect venue for my clients. If this fell apart—if I couldn’t pull this off—everything else I’d worked for would come crashing down.
On my laptop, I reviewed every contractor I’d worked with. I spent hours searching for nearby suppliers who had what I needed and had it in stock.
By midnight, I was no closer to getting a solution.
I stared at my phone, and almost against my will, I grabbed it, unlocking the screen. And there it was.
You work fast, Isla.
Zayn’s message from the other day.
I gritted my teeth.
He wasn’t just a distraction.
He was a damn temptation, too.
He was the last person I needed to reach out to. But…did I have a choice? Zayn had the resources, he had the connections, and he had the means to help me. If I swallowed my pride, I could maybe ask him if he knew of any other contractors who could make this project deliver on time.
Could I do that? Could I really turn to him for help?
He hadn’t used the same contractors for Elixir as I had for The Grand. I knew that. I’d made notes. I hadn’t purposefully avoided using the same ones, but it might have been a subconscious decision not to.
Was that what had cost me?
My pride?
“Damn it!”
The thought of asking him made my stomach turn, but it also felt like the only option. If I didn’t find a way to complete this on time, I wouldn’t be able to deliver the gala. Lyndsay didn’t tolerate failure.
This wasn’t about beating him anymore.
This was my career.
I glanced at the clock. It was after midnight. With a churning in my gut, I reached for the phone. My fingers hovered while I stared at the number. I hadn’t even added him as a contact on my phone, and now, now, I was thinking he might be the only one who could help me. I saved the number to my contacts.
With shaky fingers, I typed.
We need to talk
I stared at it for a few moments. I wanted to delete it, wipe the message, and never think about it again. With a groan, I pressed send.
My heart was pounding. My palms were clammy, and my thoughts were running wild.
That was it. I’d made my choice. I was going to ask him for his help, and if he got me out of this mess…well, I’d have to face whatever came next.
It took an hour, but finally, the reply came through, waking me from my light sleep.
Do we?