16. Isla
CHAPTER 16
ISLA
Sipping my coffee, I checked my emails while telling myself it was just another Monday. A new week. A fresh start.
I didn’t need to think about the gala or Elixir or him again. I did my job, my company got the fee for an event well done, and the fact I knew that was probably the last event I did for the Shaw Foundation, well, that sucked, but that was the world of event planning. There was always another client out there.
That was what I told myself as I poured myself a travel mug of coffee. It was what I repeated when I got caught in traffic and some idiot in a Mazda beeped at me for no reason whatsoever. It was what I chanted in my head like a mantra as I strode through the lobby of The Grand Gracemont, my focus sharp, my attention firmly fixed on the next task in front of me.
I wasn’t thinking about Elixir.
I wasn’t thinking about Zayn.
I wasn’t thinking about the way he had looked at me or the way his breath skimmed my lips or the fact I had almost let him kiss me.
Again.
No. I was not thinking about any of it. I had work to do. I was quite firmly in reset mode.
As I made my way to the conservatory, it was quite obvious the hotel renovations had fallen behind schedule. Between the delays, the budget overspend, and the constant back-and-forth with suppliers, it was clear I needed to get this project back under control.
I pulled out my tablet as I approached the conservatory, flicking through the latest reports. The ballroom renovation was taking longer than planned. The updated kitchens still weren’t fully operational. And they’d made a mess with the tile in the foyer.
I had a job to do. The gala was done. It was time to move forward.
The conservatory was empty as I entered, and I wondered where Gerard was. I turned around slowly looking for someone, but when I couldn’t see anyone, I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers into my temples.
Because the truth of it all was simple. I was still pissed.
Not just about Zayn and what he had done—though, trust me, that still burned—but about Julian. Julian who had taken it upon himself to confront Zayn on my behalf.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew he meant well. I knew he thought he was protecting me, standing up for me in a way he believed I couldn’t. But that was the problem. I didn’t need anyone to fight my battles. I wasn’t some helpless woman caught up in Zayn’s trap. I had handled men like Zayn before—powerful, arrogant, used to getting their own way.
Except…except none of them had ever gotten under my skin like he did.
And that didn’t even sting as much as the argument I had with Julian after he had been to see Zayn and Zayn had led Julian to believe I was ready to hop into bed with him.
The very freaking nerve of the guy.
Turning on my heel, I left the conservatory and headed to the ballroom, where I was sure I would find Pete, the project foreman, if no one else.
“Focus,” I reminded myself as I walked briskly along the corridor. Business first. Always. Be in work mode with no distractions. I was in control.
“Isla!” Gerard greeted me with a warm smile as I entered the ballroom, and Pete looked genuinely happy to see me. Things must be worse than I thought.
“Morning,” I greeted them both, offering a polite but firm smile as I set my tablet down on a table that was half full of empty coffee cups. “Who’s ready to get this project back on track?”
Gerard and Pete exchanged a wary glance, and I hid my smile. They clearly weren’t expecting me to be in charge, but this was how it was going to be.
Pete cleared his throat. “Hi, Isla, nice to see you?—”
“Thanks, Pete,” I said with a firm smile. “Bring me up to speed.”
He looked flummoxed for one moment, and then he sighed. “We, uh, we had a few issues crop up since you left.”
“More issues?” I arched a brow at him, watching how he and Gerard both shuffled their feet like schoolboys getting reprimanded by the head teacher.
Gerard jumped in to save Pete. “It was nothing we couldn’t handle, just?—”
“Yeah, I remember the last time you said that to me,” I interjected, keeping my voice pleasant, but I wasn’t able to curb the edge out of it completely. “And yet, here we are, already another three weeks behind schedule and watching your budget inflate faster than I thought possible.”
Pete pursed his lips. “We’ve been trying to work within a revised structure?—”
I folded my arms. “A revised structure because the original wasn’t followed properly.”
Gerard huffed in displeasure. “Isla, you know how these things go. Unexpected setbacks, unforeseen?—”
I leaned forward, my tone sharper. “No, Gerard. I know how bad planning goes. I also know the more excuses I hear, the more money this project bleeds.”
Pete looked to Gerard for support. “Look, I understand your frustration?—”
“Not frustration,” I corrected smoothly, not letting either of them spin this into something personal. “It’s about accountability.” I let the words sit between us for a moment before I reached for my tablet and pulled up the most recent numbers. “The renovation of the ballroom should have been completed by last week,” I continued, scrolling down. “Instead, we’re looking at a ten-day delay with no firm timeline on the new flooring installation.” I turned the screen towards them. “The new kitchen equipment was supposed to arrive three days ago, but instead of delivery confirmation, I have an email from the supplier asking for a final approval they should have received two weeks ago.”
Gerard shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve been handling multiple moving pieces?—”
I pinned him with a look. “I don’t need to hear what you’ve been handling or what you think you’ve been handling. I need solutions. Your bank account needs to hear solutions.”
Pete glanced between us, his brows furrowed. “Isla, the delays have been?—”
“Unforgivable,” I snapped at him. “You told me you incurred the changes because Gerard was the one who paid you. Well, let me put this very clearly; the more the project bleeds money, the more you’re likely to lose a very lucrative contract and your reputation as being reliable.”
Silence.
Gerard cleared his throat again. “Your suggestion to remedy this?”
I was all business. “I suggest you both stop throwing around excuses and we start talking about actual next steps.”
And just like that, I took back control.
I led the meeting with precision, breaking down the revised timeline and making it clear any further delays were unacceptable. Suppliers made excuses, and I shut them down. Interior designers bemoaned delayed shipments, and I gave them solutions. This was so far outside of my comfort zone. I was an event planner, not a project manager, but it was all about the moving pieces and getting results. At the end of the day, that was my job.
No matter what the hell had happened over the weekend, no matter how much Zayn had thrown me off my game, I got back up, and I was still capable of doing a good job.
No more hesitation. No more fumbling. This was what I was good at; this was where I thrived.
I had spent the weekend stewing over what happened at Elixir, over how I let Zayn get into my head, into my space. But now? Now I was reminding myself of who I was.
I was Isla Wells. I didn’t get distracted, and I sure as hell didn’t get caught up in men like Zayn McCabe.
By midafternoon, I was walking back to my car, rolling my shoulders to shake off the lingering tension. I had The Grand’s reopening back on track, and I was feeling good about the progress made today. Gerard hadn’t outright apologized, but he was humble, and I would take it.
My phone buzzed as I got into the car, and I barely glanced at the screen before answering. “Isla Wells.”
A slow, familiar chuckle hummed through the speaker.
Fuck.
I stilled in the car, my fingers tightening around the wheel.
“Little Isla,” Zayn murmured, voice as smooth as silk. As dangerous as ever.
I closed my eyes for a half a second, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
I wasn’t thinking about him.
I wasn’t.
And yet, the second I heard his voice, my pulse betrayed me.
I exhaled sharply. “What do you want?”
There was a pause, like he was enjoying this, like he could hear the tension in my voice and was thriving on it.
Finally, he spoke. “Just checking in.”
I scoffed, my finger hovering over the end call button. “You don’t check in on people.”
I heard his huff of laughter. “No, I don’t.”
I waited. He didn’t speak. Neither did I. The silence stretched, too long, too heavy, filled with everything I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
And then he spoke. “You’re still thinking about it,” he said, his voice lower now. Darker.
I didn’t ask what he meant. I knew what he was taunting me with. The gala. The speech. The almost kiss.
I clenched my jaw, my knuckles white around the steering wheel. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Zayn gave out a low chuckle. “You lie so easily for someone so proud of how straitlaced you are.”
My stomach twisted. I forced myself to remain cool, even, unshaken. “This is getting us nowhere. Goodbye, Zayn.”
“See you soon,” he replied like he already knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away.
I ended the call, shoving my phone into my purse before I could be tempted to throw it out the damn window.
Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong. I was still thinking about it. That stupid almost kiss, and I had no idea how to stop.
* * *
By Thursday, I was knee-deep in planning for a corporate fundraiser, something so far removed from Elixir and Zayn that I could almost pretend the weekend never happened.
Almost.
The event was for a local biotech company launching a new medical initiative, a classy, low-risk affair meant to impress investors and donors alike. No high-stakes egos. No underground power plays. No arrogant men in black suits stealing credit for my work.
A welcome change.
I stood in the middle of Bennett Hall, one of Gracemont’s older event spaces, reviewing the floor plan as staff bustled around me. The venue was old money—marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and chandeliers dripping with crystal. Everything was polished and pristine.
Flipping through my notes, I took a sip of my now cold coffee.
Seating? Finalized.
Catering? Confirmed.
Guest list? A few stragglers but manageable.
For the first time in days, I felt fully in control.
And then, of course, that control had to be shattered.
“Wells.”
I looked up at the sound of my name, my stomach tightening immediately at the sight of the man approaching.
Rye.
Zayn’s right hand. His enforcer. His shadow.
He looked as put together as always—dark dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, watch gleaming on his wrist. Professional but dangerous.
Exactly like his boss.
I exhaled through my nose, willing my pulse to stay steady as I crossed my arms. “You lost, Rye?”
He smirked. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“What do you want?” I didn’t have time for whatever this was.
Rye tucked his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight like he had all the time in the world. “Zayn asked me to check in.”
I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I don’t need checking in on.”
His smirk deepened. “Funny. That’s what he said you’d say.”
I gritted my teeth. “Then why are you here?”
Unimpressed, Rye took a slow glance around the venue. “Busy, I see.”
“I don’t have time for games, Rye.”
He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “Then I’ll make it simple. You’re expected at Elixir tonight.”
I laughed. Actually laughed.
“Not happening.”
He shrugged. “Not my problem. Just delivering the message.”
I shook my head, already done with this conversation. “Tell Zayn I don’t take orders from him.”
Rye exhaled a quiet chuckle, not the least bit deterred. “Suit yourself. But he figured you might want to stop by on your own.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why would I do that?”
He smiled, slow and knowing. “Because your friend is already planning on it.”
As if on cue, my phone rang, and he looked at me expectantly. I saw Sienna’s name, and dread coiled low in my belly. Hesitantly, I answered, and Sienna’s voice filled with excitement burst through. “You didn’t tell me you got an invite!”
I turned slowly as I watched Rye looking around, a smirk on his face. I could hear how animated she was, her excitement immediate and obvious, and I could envisage her almost bouncing with glee.
I shot Rye a glare. “You didn’t.”
He grinned, offering me a lazy two-finger salute before sauntering off toward the exit. Smug bastard.
I turned my attention to my friend. “You cannot be serious.”
I got a wail of excitement as an answer. “Oh, but I am. You’ve been holding out on me, Isla. I didn’t know you were on Elixir’s guest list like that.”
I groaned. “I’m really not.”
She gave me a pained groan. “Isla! I met Zayn earlier today. He told me all about how you had asked him for me to have a—what did he call it?” She hesitated. “A dry run for my bachelorette party.”
I might kill him.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?” she challenged. “Because all I’m hearing is that you asked to get us into the most exclusive club in town.”
I sighed, already knowing this was a battle I wasn’t going to win. I could fight Sienna on a lot of things. But what was I going to say? He was messing with her just to get to me? That sounded conceited, and even if I laid it all out for her, there would be no changing her mind.
And the worst part? She was right. Elixir was the place to be. Exclusive, high-profile, and impossible to get into unless you knew someone.
And I? I knew someone. I hated that fact, resented it, but ignoring it didn’t change the reality.
Weighing my options, I ran my tongue over my teeth.
On one hand, walking into Elixir willingly was exactly what Zayn wanted—and the last thing I wanted to do was give him the satisfaction.
On the other… If I didn’t go? I’d be letting him win. I clenched my jaw. Screw that.
If Zayn wanted to play games, fine.
I’d play.
But I’d play on my terms.
I turned my attention back to Sienna. “Fine. But we’re only going for a few drinks. That’s it.”
Sienna laughed. “Oh, we’re going for way more than one. I love you so much for this. I know how hard it must have been for you to pull this off. I’ll speak to you later. I need to find something slutty to wear.”
“You’re engaged!” I yelled, but she’d already hung up on me.
With a groan, I put the phone in my pocket. I had spent all week trying to put that place and that man out of my mind. And now?
Now I was willingly walking straight back into his territory, back into his game.
And somehow, I knew…Zayn was already waiting for me.