8. Isla
CHAPTER 8
ISLA
Do we?
It had taken so much for me to text him. To even think about asking him for anything , and he replied with “Do we?”
God, I hated him sometimes. Most times, I was indifferent to him. But the more I knew he was in Gracemont, in my town, breathing my air…I could feel my resentment building. I also knew I was being irrational.
Do we?
I hadn’t answered last night. I’d put the phone down and tried to sleep, and I was sure I maybe got a few hours in between staring at the ceiling fuming and the time spent with my thumb hovering over the delete chat button.
In my office, my fingers tapped off my desk as I stared at my phone, debating how to respond. Every instinct told me not to engage, to find another way to fix the mess I was in. But logic—the cruel, undeniable reality of the situation—said otherwise.
My head told me to be rational.
My heart told me to stay away from him.
The delays at the hotel were stacking up. It was never supposed to be what it had turned into. Gerard had gotten excited, and I’d been caught up in his enthusiasm. Planning the renovation of the hotel had been intended to be a few rooms, not two floors. But I’d adjusted, I’d adapted, and I’d worked extra hard to get everything into my tight timeline.
And now…now the charity gala was inching towards disaster.
I didn’t have time to be stubborn. I didn’t have time to figure it out myself. Damn my head; it was always a louder voice than my heart. I took a deep breath, knowing I was being stupid. He’d replied, and that, in itself, was a miracle.
Yes. When are you free?
My foot tapped off the floor as I waited. And waited.
Three hours later, the reply came through.
9pm. Elixir.
Of course, it would be at his club. I tossed my phone onto my desk and pressed the heel of my hands against my eyes. My stomach was in knots at the very thought of seeing him again, not as my adversary but just…him. Going to him again because I needed his help.
Fuck my life.
“What the hell will I wear?” It was a question of dread and anxiety. It was Thursday. Was it a clubbing night? Of course, it was a clubbing night. The clubs were open. Elixir was open.
I had clothes. I had clubbing clothes. Okay, I did not have clubbing clothes. I had clothes that were suitable for evening attire. Looking down at my plain blouse and straight knee-length skirt, I sighed.
I called Julian. “Hey, it’s me.”
“I know.” I could hear his smile. “Caller ID is like a spoiler alert.”
“Or a warning.”
Julian laughed out loud. “What can I do for my favorite event planner?”
And I couldn’t tell him. The words stuck in my throat. If I told Julian, he would come with me and make Zayn help me. I knew he would. And if I told Julian, he would lecture me about how my own stubbornness had gotten me here.
I knew he would say I told you so .
The guy was my best friend. He was as close as a brother, and just like a sibling, he would gloat that he was right. This was already bad enough.
Shit.
“Isla?”
“Yup. Yeah…” I cleared my throat. “A girl can’t call to say hi?” My eyes closed at the sound of my own fakeness.
“You call me to say hi every day,” he said, sounding amused. “But you’re about two hours early.”
“Variety is the spice of life,” I quipped. “I’m keeping you on your toes.” The awkwardness faded, and as we fell into our usual easy banter, I relaxed slightly. After twenty minutes on the phone, I felt better. Even though he didn’t know what the reason was, he had inadvertently made me feel better.
I also knew I was procrastinating. Recognizing this, I did what any person would do if they didn’t know what to wear. I went to find Monica.
She was at her desk with at least six different shades of pink ribbon strewn around her. She looked up when I lightly knocked on her door.
“Tell me which one is Sunset Cloud?” she pleaded desperately.
Crossing the room, I stood at the desk and plucked the only shade of pink with a hint of lilac “Sunset Cloud.”
Monica grabbed it like a lifeline. “Gender reveal,” she explained. “Whatever happened to baby pink and baby blue?”
“Wider options and open minds.”
She rolled her eyes, but she carefully focused on rolling the ribbon. “Apart from knowing pink shades of ribbon, did you need me?”
I was distracted by the blue ribbons. “Do you know the reveal?” I didn’t want to ask if she knew what she was doing because that would be rude, but I couldn’t help but be curious about why the blue heap of various shades of ribbon remained at her elbow.
“No. The father’s sister is keeping a tight lid on it; she’s only telling me the moment before the reveal.” Monica pointed at the baskets I hadn’t noticed at the side of the office. “I have to do everything twice.”
“But the whole point of…” I saw Monica’s flat look and bit my tongue. “Sorry,” I commiserated.
“It’s fine. Their money, not mine.” She shrugged. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “I have a question. What’s club wear for Thursday night?”
Monica’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Are you finally going to Elixir?”
“No!” It was reflexive. It was automatic. It was instantly regrettable. “No. I, um, was wondering. I…I have a date.” What the actual fuck? Where the hell did that come from?
“Julian?”
What?” No! Why does everyone keep asking me if I’m dating Julian?” I snapped.
“Because the fact you don’t sleep together is weird.”
I felt myself gag. “The thought of sleeping with him is…gah!” I shuddered. “No. Not Julian. Just a guy I met. I…” I looked down at my sharp, professional attire. “Are Thursdays chic casual or just casual?”
“You’re an event planner.” Monica looked appalled at my question.
“Exactly, I plan events . I don’t attend events as a guest.” Which was true. I stayed in a suit for all my clients’ events. The staff needed to know whom to approach if there was an issue. The events I planned for Thursdays were never in clubs, or if they were, they were parties. Not just turn up at a club on a whim; they were events. Functions.
Oh God, was I out of touch? Or worse…old?
Monica was looking me over. “Short skirt, flirty blouse, preferably semi-see-through, or low-cut cami, and your good lingerie.”
“It’s a first date.”
She looked confused. “Well, if it goes well…”
“It won’t.” Seeing her eyebrows disappear in her hairline, I hastily backtracked. “Not that kind of date, yet.”
Yet? Please shut up, Isla.
“Anyway, thanks for your help.” I didn’t give Monica a chance to respond. I was already hurrying away.
See-through blouses? No. Never. Nine p.m. was hardly the pulse of the evening. I would be fine with what I was wearing. I did not need to make an effort to see Zayn. The idea was preposterous.
With my mind fully made up, I returned to my work and tried not to focus on meeting him later.
* * *
The soft breeze tickled the hair in my ponytail, and I was glad I had seen reason at home when I was getting ready to come here and pulled my hair back into its usual ponytail.
I’d changed, but I’d still opted for professional. Black wide-legged pants, a high-neck chiffon fitted blouse, dense not see-though, paired with a black camisole beneath. My single-breasted lightweight jacket was smart but casual.
I looked like I had made minimal effort. I would never confess that I took two hours to get ready. Never.
It was eight forty-five as I approached Elixir, and with every step I took closer to the main door, I resented it even more. I hated that I had to be here.
The wide, sleek doors were open, and the faint sound of music drifted outside. I saw the two sturdy bouncers at the entrance as well as a figure I recognized. Rye watched me approach, his look appraising.
“Back so soon?” His tone was neutral, but there was amusement in his eyes.
I ignored it and wished I could ignore him. “I have a meeting with Zayn.”
Rye didn’t answer right away, and I got the distinct feeling he was looking for confirmation in his earpiece, or maybe he was just trying to make me uncomfortable.
When a smile curved his mouth upwards in a look that reminded me of the Cheshire cat, he stepped aside. “Go on in, Isla. He’s expecting you.”
I bit my tongue from calling him an ass as I walked past him and up the stairs and entered the lion’s den.
The club was busy, music pulsing, the air thick with a mix of perfume, alcohol, and the electricity of a busy club. I was severely overdressed, and it relaxed me. Looking around, I took it all in. When I came here the first time, the club wasn’t open; it was the morning, and I’d seen all the potential the space offered. Now, with dim lights, thick with bodies and excitement, I struggled to put the two together. It really was a fantastic space, so versatile, and my confidence about The Grand dipped a little. When a girl in heels who couldn’t possibly be comfortable walking in her shoes stumbled into me slightly, I reminded myself this was not the clientele I was trying to get to The Grand.
Passing the main bar, I looked around for the man I was here to see. It wasn’t dark like some nightclubs, but the lighting was subdued enough that I needed to peer into the shadows.
“Where are you?” I muttered. There was no obvious signage for an office or private staff. Scanning the floor, I watched the people dance, then lifted my eyes to the upper level to the booths. Hidden and discreet and out in the open, an illusion of exclusivity.
Was I supposed to go up there?
Glancing at my watch, I realized I was still early, and my aim for the night wasn’t to wander around Zayn’s club looking for him. I went back to the bar, found a spot in the corner against the wall, and waited.
He could find me. With all the cameras there, I had no doubt someone was watching. I knew he knew exactly where I was as soon as I walked in. The club was hot, and I contemplated taking off my jacket, but I stubbornly kept it on.
I kept my eyes on the crowd and surroundings, soaking it all in. The muted lighting, plush leather booths, and scattered high-top tables blended seamlessly. The dance floor sparkled under the array of disco balls that should have looked tacky yet instead appeared as an artful masterpiece of clever lighting. Security moved around effortlessly, blending in while remaining recognizable. Waitresses wore simple black pants and shirts and seemed to be enjoying themselves as much as the customers.
Even when it was open to the public, there was a feeling of exclusivity. I’d been in nightclubs before, but this, this was just something... extra .
A barman appeared at my side, pulling my attention from the club. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, nothing,” I told him with a smile, leaning over so he could hear me better. “I’m waiting for…someone.” He gave me a simple nod, not commenting on my stumble, and moved on to the next person.
When I turned back, Zayn was in front of me, and I instinctively jerked back, bumping my head off the wall.
I saw the brief twitch of his lips at my reaction, and I scowled at him, which only caused his smirk to grow.
“Zayn.” I greeted him with a simple nod, hoping to gather myself before I had to talk to him about why I was here.
“This way.” He turned away from me, leaving me with no choice but to follow. Zayn led me to the hidden stairs that went to the booths upstairs, and I briefly thought we were headed up. However, he took us past that, and soon I spotted a separate door. Before long, he was leading me into a cool, white corridor. I said nothing as he scanned his thumbprint at the door, and I quietly followed him into an office.
I lingered near the door as he walked past me and watched as he took a seat in front of the desk, turning to see me hovering uncertainly.
“You look tense.” His lips curled at the corners, and he looked far too amused. “Take a seat.”
He seemed entirely at ease, but his presence put me on edge. He waited until I walked to the seat across from him, watching me with a slow, unreadable gaze that made it clear who had the upper hand.
I refused to let him see my nerves, so I dropped myself into the seat across from him, refusing to comment on the fact he wasn’t sitting behind the desk and was quite obvious in his intent to make it appear that he was making me feel more comfortable, which I was failing at miserably.
“You texted me.” I folded my hands into my lap as I watched him.
“I did.” Zayn waited.
“You work fast, Isla?” Why was I being so defensive? This wasn’t why I was here.
“A compliment.” Zayn leaned back in his seat, crossing his left ankle over his right knee in the effortless way men did. One hand rested on his knee, the other on the armrest of the chair. His black pants and black shirt were immaculate. There wasn’t a crease to be seen.
“You’ve never complimented me in your life.”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “First time for everything.”
“Don’t make a habit of it,” I snapped.
“Why are you here?” he asked, that smirk still hovering over his lips, and I felt like a fool.
“You know?” Leaning forward, I watched him closely. “Is it your doing?”
His head tilted slightly to the left as he watched me. “I am many things, Isla, but clairvoyant isn’t one of them. You need to tell me more before I can pin down exactly what it is that I am supposed to know or have done . ”
“Ugh, let’s just get to the point.”
Zayn’s face was a calm mask. “By all means.”
The words stuck in my throat, and I felt a bead of sweat trail down between my shoulder blades. I exhaled slowly, breaking eye contact and looking around his office. It was neutral, clean, and totally unexpected. The tempered glass that overlooked the club was impressive. “You have a nice office.”
“You sound surprised.”
I turned back to him, my eyes catching on the wall of screens. “White isn’t the color I associate with you.” He didn’t comment, but I saw the flicker of amusement once more. “I’m helping with the renovation at The Grand.” I hesitated. “But you know that? Right?” At his slight nod, I continued. “The project is over budget.” It pissed me off to say it out loud. I was an event planner, and coming in under budget was my specialty. “There’s been a few delays, and it’s putting me behind schedule, and if I don’t put this back on track, my first few events will not happen the way they need to.”
His expression didn’t change. “And?”
I wet my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “And…I need to know if you have any contacts that could deliver what I need quicker.”
He watched me for a few moments. “From the sounds of it, what you need is an alternative venue.”
I shook my head quickly. “No. It will happen at The Grand, but I need…I need contractors. I called alternatives. They’re all telling me they can’t do it on a shorter timeframe.” I glanced away from him, my focus back on the lifeless screens. “You know people.”
“I know a lot of people, Is,” he confirmed. “But if suppliers tell me they can’t supply, then I know they can’t supply.” I watched his long fingers as they lay unmoving on the armrest. He’d sat down, crossed his legs, and not moved. Completely still. I hadn’t sat still at all. Fidgeting constantly. His unnatural stillness was nerving.
“You won’t help me?”
“You’re a competitor.” Zayn’s tone was blunt. “I’m a competitive man. Why would I help a competitor? It’s not good business.”
“Are you the reason I have a supply problem?” I asked softly, surprising myself that I asked that out loud.