28. Isla
CHAPTER 28
ISLA
The Grand was alive with movement.
At six thirty in the morning, trays of pastries were being brought into the conference room. Voices echoed down polished hallways, and screens lit in the room as presentations were being loaded and tested.
The sense of the familiar should have calmed me. The predictability of an event. The precision. Instead, I felt off-kilter.
I double-checked the table settings, updated the display board in the front foyer, and corrected a typo in the first slide of the host’s presentation that had been driving me slowly insane the longer he didn’t see it.
Everything was fine. So why wasn’t I?
I was at the back of the conference room, running through my event itinerary one more time; although at this point, I knew it better than the host knew his opening lines. I’d been up since five, left the house at quarter to six, and neither Zayn nor Rye had been home.
I was trying not to panic. I hadn’t been there that long. I didn’t know their routine. I was certain Rye didn’t live there permanently; maybe he went to his own place for a change. It sounded as empty as it felt.
I checked my phone again, hoping Zayn would text. I didn’t want to pester him or be the girlfriend who overreacted after telling someone she loved them without receiving a reply. Even though I knew that wasn’t what happened, I was still very close to spiraling.
“Fuck it.”
Missed you this morning, hope all is okay.
I hit send. I waited. My phone let me know it had been delivered. I waited for it to be read.
Nothing.
“Isla?”
I looked up to the host of the event, who was approaching me. “Everything okay?” I asked, pushing my phone into my pants pocket and focusing on the here and now.
“I already asked one of the staff, but I can’t seem to find them again but there’s no almond milk set out.”
I looked over to the drinks station. “I’ll get that sorted now.” He hovered. “Anything else?”
“The pastries aren’t warm.”
I waited.
“They’re traditionally served warm.”
Where? Where in the world were breakfast pastries served warm at a convention?
Instead, I smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.” I left him before he told me the butter needed to be softer and the sugar finer.
On my way to the kitchens, I met half of his delegates mingling around the front reception area and generally getting in the way. There were far too many takeout coffees and brown paper breakfast bags clutched tightly in hands, which made me think that warm or cold pastries might not be the problem this morning.
Bring your breakfast to the conference seemed to be the theme of the day.
“Hey, everyone,” I called out over the racket they were making. “The conference room is open and ready for you. If you could make your way there now, that would be appreciated.”
The concierge came out from behind his pedestal and happily led the gabble of delegates to the room while I hurried to the kitchen to source almond milk.
“Hi,” I greeted the head of the kitchen. “Client wants warm pastries.”
“I want a million bucks, but beggars can’t be choosers,” he said gruffly. He looked up at me. “Pastries are warm when they leave the kitchen. They’re pastries . They cool down.”
“I also need almond milk.”
“More?” He looked surprised. “Server just walked out of here with three carafes of almond milk.”
“I must have missed them,” I told him with a smile. “All good here?”
“It’ll be better when they are no longer taking up all my oven space and I can focus on breakfasts.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
“I don’t like these morning events,” he called after me. “They mess up my schedule!”
I nodded as I hurried out of the kitchen before he started his rant. I’d listened to it twice before. It was longer the second time.
Back in the event room, I was pleased to see most of the tables full with pastries being devoured—hot, cold, or lukewarm, the delegates showing no preference. Everyone had a cup of tea or coffee, and most tables also used their water bottles. The host flitted from table to table to do his meet-and-greets. I usually found that in breakfast seminars, all the networking happened first, and as soon as the presentation concluded, attendees rushed out the door like a herd of elephants hurrying to get to work.
This event was no different. By eight forty, the room was cleared of delegates, and the staff was in and the cleanup already underway.
Another event off the books and a gold star to me for it running smoothly.
I’d just sat down in my office with a black coffee and my schedule open when my office phone rang—the line no one used unless it was internal or vendor-specific.
I picked it up without thinking. “Isla Wells.”
Silence.
“You’re McCabe’s woman, yeah?” a man said, his smooth, deep voice unfamiliar.
I froze. “I’m sorry, who is this?”
A low chuckle. “Just need to know if he’s still good for Thursday. No slipups this time.”
“This is a business line,” I said tightly. “If you’re trying to book an event?—”
“You’re amusing,” the man interrupted, entertained. “Tell him it’s good to go. Same hands, different gloves.”
The line went dead. I stared at the phone, the dial tone buzzing in my ear like a warning.
What the hell was that?
My heart thudded as I slowly replaced the receiver, my fingers lingering like it might ring again. It didn’t. I was alone in the office. But the message was clear.
I wasn’t separate from Zayn’s world anymore.
People knew who I was. Knew where I worked. Knew I answered the phone .
And I had no idea what the message meant—only that it hadn’t been for me. And for the first time since I started at The Grand, I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be anywhere I couldn’t see Zayn.
I checked my phone. He hadn’t read my message from earlier, and I had no other missed calls or messages. I didn’t want to text him again, especially not this.
Between the guy from yesterday and now this, I didn’t want to be here either. The coffee in my cup was lukewarm, but I gulped it down anyway.
Instead of texting Zayn, I stood. I needed a fresh coffee, and I knew exactly where to get it.
The café was two blocks from Elixir, and in the back corner of the café, nursing a cappuccino as if he hadn’t nearly gotten me killed, was Julian. Exactly where I knew he would be.
He looked up in shock as I approached, then smiled widely as if it hadn’t been days since we’d spoken.
“Isla?” he said like nothing was wrong. “This is a nice surprise. You look tense,” he added, leaning forward and pulling out a chair for me.
“Mmhmm, do I?” I asked as I sat down. “I wonder what could possibly be making it seem that way?”
His smile dimmed, and he let out a big sigh. “Okay, I deserve that, but you came to me. You chose to find me.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Everyone knows where to find you on a Wednesday morning at nine a.m.” The server came to the table, and I ordered myself a black coffee with a dash of hazelnut syrup. Julian asked for another cappuccino.
“What happened?” he asked casually. Too casually.
I could lie. I could fluff it up and be clever. Or I could just be me. Honest . “A man called my office.”
Julian’s jaw tensed .
“With a message for Zayn.”
He looked out the window, away from me. “They used to call me,” he said, sounding sorrowful. “Guess they’re not interested in me anymore.”
“Why?” I snapped. “Because you gave them Zayn instead?” I took a breath. “Or because you gave them me .”
His face changed. “I didn’t give them you.”
“They know where I work. Know how to reach me. That’s not a coincidence.”
Julian gave a low laugh as he sat back, looking at me with a mix of pity and contempt. “No, it isn’t. That’s your life. You’re with him now,” he said coldly. “ That’s on you.”
I recoiled like he’d slapped me. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, I gaped at him. “You’re jealous?” He looked away quickly. “Julian? What happened to you?”
“Zayn McCabe happened to me.” His voice was bitter.
I sat back and looked at him. Really looked at him. “No.”
He looked back at me in surprise.
“Zayn didn’t drag you into this. You aren’t a victim, Julian.” I folded my hands in my lap, feeling a slight tremor as I watched someone I loved unravel before me. “You gambled. He never asked that of you. In fact, he probably wanted you far away from all this.”
Julian looked at me, that mocking pity back in his eyes; it was surreal to see that look directed at me. “How do you think he gets his money clean?” he asked coldly. “He started out with me . I was his partner.”
I swallowed back the taste of bile in my throat. “How?”
“He bought shitholes, I redesigned them, and he flipped them for a profit.”
I listened. “But he never asked you to do anything other than design them?” I asked softly. Julian looked at me, his gaze wary. “He never asked you to buy them. He never asked you to sell them? Right?” At his reluctant nod, I chewed the inside of my cheek. “He employed you through your firm?” He didn’t answer; he didn’t have to. I knew him too well. “He employed you above level, legally and legitimately.” I took a shaky breath. “The rest was all you. Every step of the way. You gambled. You lied. And now…whatever mess you’re in is your fault. Not his. Not mine.”
Julian watched me silently before releasing a low laugh that sent shivers down my spine. “He’s got his fingers in you deep,” he said, the gleam in his eye one of malice. “Enjoy it while you can, I hear he loses interest quickly.”
The knot in the pit of my stomach tightened. “What happened to you?” I asked softly. “Gambling is an addiction. An illness. We can help you?—”
Julian stood up abruptly, causing the table to rock, and I quickly reached for my coffee before I wore it. “I don’t need his fucking help,” he hissed at me.
“I meant you and me ,” I shot back angrily, wiping a drop of spilled coffee from my hand. “Jesus Christ, Julian. Let me help you!”
He simmered above me, running his hand through his hair. “Shit, I’m…I’m sorry, Isla.” He finished his coffee. “Stay close to Zayn. He’ll protect you. Tell him everything. It’s the only way he’ll trust you.” He blew out a breath. “I didn’t want this, any of this, especially not for you.”
“Julian—”
He stood next to me, bending down to kiss the top of my head. It was a simple gesture he’d done a thousand times before, but this time, it brought tears to my eyes. “Love you, Wells.” He straightened, and I looked up and he gave me one of his signature smiles, but this time, it didn’t mask the sadness. “Stick with him. He loves you. He’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you—don’t doubt that.” He glanced towards the door before looking back at me. “Don’t be afraid of him.”
My throat tightened. “Julian, we can?—”
“See you around.”
He left me sitting there, stunned. There was so much more to say, but I had no words left. I feel that a significant part of my life ended the moment he walked out the door.
The server asked me if I wanted a refill as if everything had remained the same, but everything had changed.
Tell him everything.
I straightened in my seat and pulled out my phone. He still hadn’t read my message. I made my decision. I got up from the table, paid my bill, which included Julian’s two coffees, and left the café.
I didn’t go back to work, nor did I go to my car. I told myself I needed air and that I just wanted to clear my head after seeing Julian. But the truth was, I knew exactly where I was headed.
I couldn’t pretend anymore.
The call. The guy from yesterday. The way Julian’s entire personality changed when I mentioned Zayn, when he saw how deeply I was involved. None of the last twenty-four hours could be ignored.
Whatever illusion I had painted for myself, whatever line I thought I couldn’t cross between Zayn’s life and mine, had vanished.
Julian had made his choice. Now I had to make mine.
By the time I climbed Elixir’s front steps, my hands were steady and my steps purposeful. My mind was no longer racing; everything in me had quieted. I knew what I had to do, and I understood that by doing it that I was fully committed.
The front door was open, and after I climbed the stairs, I entered the main club and saw a familiar face sitting at one of the booths.
“Hey, Jayden,” I greeted him warmly as I approached.
“Hey, Isla. Zayn’s not here.”
Well , at least I was predictable.
“Do you know where he is? Or Rye?” Jayden hesitated for just a moment, but that was enough. “I would really like to talk to Zayn, but I’ll take Rye if that’s not possible. Zayn’s not answering, and I don’t know if Rye’s available to talk.”
Jayden looked up at the cameras. “He’s in the office.” He shuffled out of the booth. “Come with me.”
“Thanks.”
He led me up the stairs, and soon I stood before the familiar office door. I’d only been there a few times; I still got confused by the maze that was the back inner workings of Elixir, and I knew that if Jayden hadn’t taken me I wouldn't have found it on the first try.
He knocked, and the door swung open. Upon seeing Zayn at his desk, I glared at Jayden. Jayden reddened, but I brushed past him and shut the door deliberately behind me.
“Isla?”
“Hi.” I closed my eyes for a moment before speaking. “Do you have a minute?”
“Always.”
“You haven’t checked your phone today?” I asked softly. Zayn pulled it out of his pocket.
“Shit, it’s dead.” He walked around the desk. “Long night. I caught an hour or two upstairs. I just came down.”
Perfectly reasonable. Right? “I didn’t think you were the kind of man who would let his phone run out of juice.”
Zayn actually flushed. “I don’t usually. Rye’s always on my case to charge it. I had a late night…what’s wrong?” He lo oked me over as he reached out to pull me closer. “You got to work okay.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact. I really needed to know who was spying on me at work—a problem for another day. I ignored the voice telling me it was another problem for another day.
I took a breath, stepping back out of his hold. “Someone called the office. My office. The direct line.”
Silence.
“They didn’t give a name, but they asked if I was your woman. Said you were good for Thursday. Then something about same hands, different gloves.” I looked down at my feet.
More silence.
I looked up at him as he watched me, his face expressionless. “Zayn?”
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean?”
A pause. “When did they call?”
“Um, about quarter to nine, round about then.”
“Okay.” He stepped back and went to his desk. He pulled out a different phone; this one was an older style, clunky.
A burner?
“Yeah, it’s me. Check the lines for her office from eight thirty to nine. I want to know where it came from.” He hesitated, listening. “She’s here.” He hung up, glancing at his watch. “Where have you been?”
No explanation on who he just called. No reassurance. Just action.
“I went for coffee.”
He stilled. His eyes sharp as he focused on me. “BonBons on a Wednesday morning?” he asked softly .
He knew. “I knew Julian would be there. I wanted to talk to him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s been my best friend for my entire life, and I won’t let that go without a fight.”
Zayn’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “Is…”
“He’s my best friend, and he’s hurting. And I got a scary call, and I didn’t know what to do. You weren’t answering your texts, so I made a decision.”
“You should have come here.”
“I’m here now.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.” I inhaled deeply. “I told him I received a call. He mentioned that they used to call him. We had a very surreal conversation. Then he told me he loved me and the only way for you to trust me was to be honest with you. But I already knew that.” I looked around the office. “So here I am. Not waiting to tell you, I understood I needed to come here, and I left The Grand intent on telling you. I’m not hiding anything from you. I just took a detour.” I pointed at his phone. “If that stupid thing were on, you’d know all this.”
Zayn’s lips twitched. “Fair point.”
The door opened, and I turned to see Rye come in. His hair was wet, and his clothes were slightly askew as if he had dressed hastily. He pulled up short when he saw me.
“What is it?” Zayn asked, his demeanor changing instantly.
Rye flicked his eyes to me, then closed the door. “We’ve got a problem.”