Page 12 of Her Ruin

“Nope, I am quite happy for you both to stay to your corners and keep as far away from each other as possible.” He turned to face me. “Did I tell you about the sweet new office building I designed today?”

The conversation shifted then just as I’d hoped it would. But even as Julian launched into details about his newest project, the thought of Elixir and how I would navigate around it being the most desirable location for events lingered at the back of my mind.

No matter how hard I tried to push it aside, it wouldn’t budge. It was a puzzle I had to solve, a challenge I couldn’t afford to ignore. But I had no idea how to put those pieces together.

The allure of exclusivity was what would draw people. I already knew people were talking about the club, eager for opening night. When they found out you could only book through the club, they’d be desperate to claim a spot.

It was a clever marketing ploy—I could admit it even if it burned. The exclusivity would pull away my clients like a magnet, drawing them away before I even had a chance to counter. The venue was a prize, one I should’ve been able to deliver to my clients, and yet here I was on the outside looking in.

I reached for my wineglass, disappointed to notice it was empty. I had no recollection of drinking it. My mind stewed on the predicament. It wasn’t just about the club itself; it was about what it represented. Zayn had created something irresistible, something that had the power to overshadow every other venue in town, and he’d done it in a way to lock me out. I mean, that wasn’t personal; I knew that. He wouldn’t have specifically made this aboutme, but the effect was the same.

There was no compromise.

Even as my best friend continued talking, his voice a familiar comfort, my mind refused to let go. I couldn’t stop thinking about howsmughe had been, that infuriating confidence he carried like armor. He knew exactly what he was doing—making it impossible for me to compete.

I needed a countermove. Something clever, something unexpected.

I refused to let that shit Zayn McCabe beat me.

Julian cleared his throat, and my eyes snapped to him, seeing he’d paused and was waiting for me to respond to something he had said. I didn’t hide my guilt, and he gave me a rueful smile.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “There’s room for you both in Gracemont.”

I appreciated his quiet acceptance of my not listening to him, so I scooted to his side, took the comfort he offered, and pretended to believe him.

But the truth was, I wasn’t sure there was or how I could fix it…and I didn’t have the faintest idea where to start.

* * *

By the timeI pulled up in front of The Grand Gracemont, I was running on nothing but determination and caffeine. I’d spent a week scouring my contacts, analyzing venues, sketching out ideas, and replaying every kind of event I had planned in the last year. All to find one establishment in Gracemont thatfitwith my plan. The Grand wasn’texactlythe kind of place people were clamoring for,butit had potential. It was a beautiful old building with history, elegance, and asolidlocation.

What it didn’t have was the exclusivity and prestige of Zayn’s new club.

Yet.

I pushed through the heavy double doors and into the foyer. Black and white floor tiles arranged in a checkerboard design immediately caught my eye. The Grand’s foyer was a striking example of art deco sophistication, blending geometric elegance with opulent luxury. The grand, pun intended, double-height space was illuminated by a massive, tiered chandelier of cascading glass panels framed in polished brass. The ceiling features were stepped patterns accented with gold leaf that reflected the glow from the soft lighting. It cast an unforgiving yellow glow over everything, but it didn’t detract from the beauty of the fixture.

The walls were adorned with bold geometric motifs in deep jewel tones of emerald, sapphire, and amethyst. Paired with sleek black and chrome finishes, they created a striking look.

Along one wall ran the reception desk, made from glossy black lacquer and inlaid with mirrored panels, topped with vases of flowers that assaulted my nostrils as I got closer.

Lilies.Why did every bouquet have to have freaking lilies?

Art deco–inspired furniture, plush velvet armchairs with curved arms, and long rectangular coffee tables made of glass and brass were arranged in conversational clusters atop richly textured rugs.

The impressive staircase exuded glamour and refinement with gleaming brass railings, and the checkerboard patterned steps ascended dramatically to the mezzanine floor,

The hotel effortlessly curated the golden age of the 1920s and 1930s, offering an ambience of timeless elegance and sophistication.

This wasnotgoing to be easy.

I made my way to the concierge desk, eyeing the overabundant vase of flowers with distaste.

“Hi, I’m here for a two o’clock appointment with Gerard Fitzsimmons. It’s Isla Wells.”

The concierge smiled with a familiarity that made me wonder if I already knew him. “He’s expecting you; he’s taking tea in the conservatory.”

Another excellent plus in favor of The Grand. Not only was its location on the outskirts of Gracemont, but it also had sprawling manicured gardens and a large conservatory—where you couldtake tea—and it also had the added bonus of bedrooms.

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