22. Isla
CHAPTER 22
ISLA
My day officially sucked. I stupidly went to sleep when he left. Which meant I felt drained, exhausted, completely…well…fucked.
My eyes felt like they were lined with grit, and my tongue was sandpaper. I was on my third bottle of water.
I needed to hydrate.
I needed caffeine.
I needed to rewind twelve hours and never answer that door.
We were in a team meeting, and I hadn’t listened to one word that had been said. I knew they were congratulating me over the gala—still—because even though Zayn had stolen my thunder, there were still enough clients who had been there and who didn’t want their event in a nightclub. So, they came to us, and my firm was more than happy to take their business.
Every victory had its costs, and every defeat had its wins.
This was my win. It wasn’t the win I wanted, but I’d be damned if I was the loser.
“I heard you were partying last night,” Monica whispered beside me, “in Elixir no less.” She gave a slight scoff. “You’re a bigger person than me, Isla. I’d have punched him for what he did.”
I just gave a small nod at the compliment, not trusting myself to speak in case I revealed how very much I had not punched him. Not even close…
But today wasn’t about Zayn. I had to concentrate on my work, on myself, rather than dwell on the previous night.
“Isla?”
I looked up and saw my boss and everyone staring at me. Had I spoken out loud? Shit, what had I said? Wetting my lips nervously, I tried not to panic. “Yes?”
“The Grand Gracemont?” he probed. “How is it going?”
The Grand. Yes! Thank you, Jesus. “Yeah, it’s going,” I said with an eye roll, grateful for the smattering of laughter the comment received, enabling me to recover the lapse in my concentration. “The budget is…well, that could be its own meeting,” I told him truthfully. “But we are making headway, and I will make the amended completion date.”
“Fitzsimmons was always a tricky one,” my boss commiserated. “But I know you’re the best one to keep him contained.” He gave me a nod and then turned his attention to one of my colleagues. “The Martinez wedding?”
I almost slumped with relief, but I knew there were still a few people staring at me. A nod from John, my boss, was as good as a handshake on a well-known baking show.
The meeting concluded, and after an unintended nudge from my boss, I made my way to The Grand. During the drive, I replayed my night with Zayn in my mind—the phone call from Sienna, the push and pull between him and me at Elixir, and the fact he showed up at my door. The hours that followed…
I chastised myself silently. I would never be able to tell Julian that I had a one-night stand with Zayn. I could hear the lecture already—the outrage. It would be completely hypocritical of Julian, but he had always been his friend.
And I had always been an advocate of why he shouldn’t be.
I knew Julian had worked on one of Zayn’s properties before. They had a relationship, business and pleasure. I grinned. That made it sound so much more illicit than it was.
Parking at The Grand, I gave myself twenty seconds to go over it once more, and then I promised myself I would banish the man and the memory of his touch from my mind.
At the hotel, I greeted the front desk staff before I strode through the lobby with practiced purpose. I headed straight to the ballroom. As I walked, I caught my reflection in the glass doors—a face set in determined lines, eyes narrowed with focus. I didn’t have time for sentimental reflections on last night; this hotel’s reopening success depended on every detail being perfect.
If it didn’t look like a ballroom when I opened the doors, I was going to commit murder. With a flutter of apprehension, I pushed the door open and smiled widely. It was finished. It was stunning .
“Oh…” I walked deeper into the room. The navy tile with silver was fabulous; the light from the high windows danced across the floor. The walls had all been replastered. The light dove gray was not drab or dull, and there was a sheen to it that made it look like it was glimmering. It would look amazing in the evening with the light from the chandeliers catching it. There was a feature wall paying homage to the art deco era of the hotel, but it was so subtle and incredible I loved it.
“You look happy?” Pete said as he came into the room, looking around with a gleam of satisfaction.
I shared his sense of accomplishment. “It looks…amazing.”
Pete scratched behind his ear. “Yeah, it does.” He gestured to the flooring. “You have an eye for detail,” he complimented me.
My light laugh echoed in the room. “It’s my job.”
“Mr. Fitzsimmons is in the conservatory,” Pete told me, his satisfied expression gone. “He’s happy with what we’ve done,” he added hurriedly.
“But?”
“He has ideas to extend the conservatory…”
My eyes widened in horror. “No! No more!” I was only half serious. Together, we left the ballroom, Pete saying nothing when I stopped to look back at it with one final glance.
Gerard was at his usual table with what looked like blueprints in front of him.
“Save me from this,” I whispered, an urgent prayer. I heard Pete mutter an Amen beside me. “Gerard?” I greeted him when I stopped beside his table.
“Isla! My darling girl!” He gestured to the seats at his table. “Sit, sit, we have much to discuss!”
“Do we?” I shared a look with Pete as I took a seat.
Gerard launched into a rambling presentation, outlining his half-thought-out ideas and grandiose plans. When he finished, he looked at me expectantly. “Well?” he asked me, looking at Pete, who sat still and silent. “What do you think?”
I cleared my throat and then rattled off numbers, percentages, and contingency plans as if reciting from a well-rehearsed mantra. Because it was; it was the ballroom, the entrance lobby, the hallways, and the conference rooms all over again.
The light dimmed in Gerard’s eyes the more I spoke, and when I finished, he rolled up his plans. “I thought if you were working here for me you would have better control.”
“Excuse me?” I glanced at Pete, who was conveniently looking out at the gardens.
“You would quit your job and come and work for me and be my full-time event coordinator.” Gerard waved his hand over the room. “Why pay a commission to a company when I can pay you directly? You would have full access to all of the hotel and make it truly a destination hotel.”
Pete jumped into the stunned silence. “I told him he couldn’t afford you, Isla,” he joked, and I appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood.
Gerard sighed. “You would also have a project foreman on hand.” He nodded towards Pete. “I offered him the same job, but he would be working for you; I learned my lesson,” he said, graciously bowing his head.
I didn’t buy it. Would he give me complete control? Never…but the idea was tempting.
“You should think about it,” Gerard offered as he sat back.
With a mental shake, I refocused. “You haven’t given me anything to think about.” I tried to sound teasing, but I sounded more serious than I intended. “No mention of salary, benefits, vacation…” I sighed dramatically, going for the lighter tone. “Pete’s right. I don’t think you can afford me.”
Pete snickered, but Gerard’s look made me realize I wasn’t fooling him. He knew I had thought about it, and I looked away.
I could have my own business. I would be tied to The Grand, but my god, the opportunities. My gaze swept across the grounds. Marquees in the summer for weddings, a few semi-permanent huts in the wooded areas, and we could create glamping packages with the hotel and transform the smaller conference room into a spa or something.
Looking back, I met Gerard’s small smile. Pete had gone, and I hadn’t even noticed.
“Is everything all right?” Gerard asked me casually. “You seem…distracted.”
I forced a smile. I couldn’t let him know I’d considered it. “I’m fine, Gerard. So, everything is complete?”
He let it go, and I successfully changed the subject, immersing myself in discussing the finished work. I returned to my tablet, and we began planning the grand reopening of The Grand Gracemont.
I left with a sense of accomplishment, and for the rest of the day, I was in a flurry of calls, speaking with clients regarding hosting their events at The Grand. After that, I reviewed vendor contracts and confirmed the upcoming deliveries for events already on my calendar.
Each task was a small victory—a reaffirmation I was still in control. Yet, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake the memory of Zayn—the way he had commanded the night and left me questioning…everything.
I made myself stay until five o’clock, unsure whether to prove something to myself or to punish myself. I think I simply refused to let tiredness gnaw at me and win. I wrapped up the final call and left the office, satisfied I let my own stubbornness succeed.
As I drove home, the familiar town blurred past, a collage of lights that failed to mask the memories of the night before. I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building, walked into my apartment, and headed straight for my bedroom. I stopped in the doorway, taking in the unmade bed, the discarded clothes, and the wet towel still on the bathroom floor.
I had done my best all day to avoid thinking about it, but I failed. In my bedroom, there was no escaping what I had done.
And who I had done it with.
This was bullshit.
His presence lingered in my room like an unwanted phantom, lurking in the back of my mind like an irresistible, dangerous promise.
With purpose, I strode forward and began to strip the bed.
This ended now .
He was not my first one-night stand. I blushed. Okay, he was my first one-night stand, but I would just make sure I had more. Five, ten, lots more. I’d start rewriting the rules. I could guarantee that he was functioning just fine today.
That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I was letting it turn into something bigger than a fleeting moment—when in reality, it was no big deal. We’d had sex, it was good, great even, but it was time to get over it.
Tossing my bedding into the laundry, I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. By the time I was finished, the apartment gleamed with the sterile precision of a fresh start. I knew, without a doubt, that I was ready to put this whole day behind me. I didn’t even bother checking the time—I had a long, hot shower and crawled between the clean, crisp sheets, finally ready to forget.
This would all be better by the time the weekend was over. Women made mistakes all the time when it came to sexy, hot, dirty, smooth-talking men. It was almost a rite of passage—an experience that left you both bitter and somehow hungry for more. And while I’d labeled it for what it was, I was glad this wasn’t the start of a pattern I might never escape.
Zayn had always been surrounded by girls. I was a notch on his bedpost and nothing more. I was confident he would never tell Julian, and neither would I.
Safe in that knowledge, I closed my eyes and let sleep claim me.
I woke to the sound of a soft knock at my door—a sound that sent my heart fluttering in a way I hated and craved all at once. Groggy and disoriented, I pulled the covers over my head, willing the moment away. But the knock came again, insistent and impossible to ignore.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sat up and checked my phone. It wasn’t Julian.
As if I were still dreaming, I walked across the floor and, without overthinking it, swung open the door. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes dark with that familiar intensity, his expression unreadable and undeniably provocative.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and husky. He looked me over and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him with a finality that sent a chill down my spine.
I blinked, trying to reconcile the man before me and the wild, chaotic dream I’d been having about the night before. “What… Why are you here?” My throat was so dry, which was another reason I had to stop opening the door to him. Yeah, dry throat was the reason!
Zayn reached out and brushed his thumb over my cheek, his touch both gentle and commanding. “Is it a problem that I’m here?” he murmured, leaning in so that his warm breath mingled with mine.
My heart pounded in defiance and desire, but I forced myself to step back, trying to regain some form of control. “I was sleeping.”
He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of my couch, uncuffing his sleeves. “I can see that.” He reached for me and pulled me into his body. Even though every fiber of me was screaming to resist, I wasn’t ready to push him away. He tilted his head, his dark eyes softening for just an instant, and in that brief flicker, I saw a promise of more—of passion, of chaos, of something I was terrified to admit. “Don’t overthink it, Is.”
I stared at him, conflicted. My mind screamed to open the door and ask him to leave, yet my body betrayed me, leaning in as if to catch every word he uttered. I wasn’t sure if I was angry, aroused, or simply terrified of what this meant. This morning, I had been determined to forget. All day, I had berated myself, and now, faced with him back in my apartment, every rule, every resolution, I’d made seemed to crumble away.
Zayn smiled down at me. “That’s it,” he murmured.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight with conflicting emotions. “I… I don’t know what you mean.” The silence stretched between us—charged and breathless. Finally, I found my voice shaky but defiant. “You should go,” I whispered though I wasn’t sure if I meant it as a command or a plea.
He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m not leaving,” he said firmly.
I felt a rush of heat, a mix of anger, and something perilously close to acceptance. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Zayn, this isn’t?—”
He kissed me, and the protest died on my lips as I readily kissed him back. There was no hesitation on either part. It began as a delicate caress, the softness of his lips contrasting with what I was used to. But it quickly deepened into the same passion as the night before, and I shivered with eager anticipation.
Every nerve in my body awakened as the kiss unfolded. Zayn was tender but insistent, and the deep kiss made my toes curl with delight and longing. My arms hooked around his neck, and my fingers dug in his hair as he walked me backwards. My spine hit the wall, and his hand caught the back of my head before it connected with a thump. He kissed his way down my body, effortlessly stripping my jammies from me. Our passion was insatiable, and when he lifted one leg over his shoulder and put his mouth on me, my moan of appreciation only spurred him on. When I cried out and clenched around his fingers, I wasn’t ready for him to stop; no, I was desperate for him to continue. When he pushed into me, sinking deep, holding me up against the wall, and started to fuck me not five feet from my main door, I knew I had completely surrendered.
We clashed and fought for control with our tongues, teeth, and bodies. But when we tumbled into my bed, breathless and still reaching for each other, I no longer cared what this was.
When we were both too exhausted and utterly spent, I realized that, no matter how much I tried to deny it, Zayn had already burrowed too deep under my skin and become woven into my thoughts.
Nothing was certain except one thing…I only wanted more.