Page 20 of Her Ruin

A few hours later, I sat back in my chair, my pen lingering over the notebook beside me. I’d dealt with the cake vendor for the Youngs’ christening. Then, it was a new color scheme for the bride who emailed yesterday to say she hated the color scheme she picked six months ago. So now, instead of teal and cream, we were going with pink and lilac. The barn wedding theme was “so last year,” which, as an event planner, I knew was “so not true.” But I did so few weddings now, and this one was a favor to my work colleague, so I bit my tongue and did what any good event planner did. I went through the motions but didn’t implement anything as I knew she’d change her mind again.

My phone rang, and I answered it without looking. “Isla Wells speaking.”

“You eaten?”

I smiled as I heard Julian’s warm voice.

“I had a sandwich.” He was checking in. He did it when he knew I had a full plate.

“You had a sandwich? Or youatea sandwich?”

I eyed the sandwich wrapper on my desk, and the food inside was untouched. “I ordered a sandwich.”

The technicality didn’t fool him. “Unwrap your chicken and bacon wrap, Isla,” Julian mock-scolded me. “Take a bite.”

Putting the phone on speaker and rustling the wrapper right beside the earpiece, I grinned as I heard his yell of protest and took a huge bite of my wrap. “Mmhmm.”

“How is your day so far?” he asked as I chewed.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Liar.”

I swallowed. “Fine. Barely fine,” I amended. “I’ve been running around since seven, and I still have to check back in at the hotel before heading to a venue walk-through later.”

“You know you have nothing to prove, Isla. Right?”

I closed my eyes for a second. We’d had this argument for several weeks. “I’m not trying to prove anything.”

It was about makingsurethat prick Zayn McCabe knew I didn’t need his club to be successful in my job and keep my clients satisfied.

Julian sighed. “Isla…”

“I’m not trying to prove anything tohim.”

“Ugh…” He groaned. “Just…just don’t burn out, okay?”

Midafternoon, I was back at The Grand, double-checking the ballroom dimensions for Lyndsay’s table layout. Her gala would be the first one to be held in the newly renovated hotel.

So much depended on this. So much.

“Pete, when do the chandeliers arrive?” I asked without looking up from my notebook.

“Day after tomorrow,” he said, his voice tight, making me look up. He was on the floor, his back to me, as he wrestled with a box of wires.

“Do I want to know about the box?” I asked him with amusement.

“Not unless you want me to answer impolitely,” he said as his fingers ran over the countless knotted cables.

I couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped me, but when I saw the glare, I knew it was best to leave the man alone with his knots. “I’ll be in the conservatory.”

He grunted, and I knew it was definitely time to take my leave.

Gerard brought me a coffee on the pretense he was being courteous, which turned into a thirty-minute “debate” about the new color of the ballroom flooring.

I won.

Yes, it was his hotel, but he’d given this project to me. He’d trusted me. I just needed to keep reminding him of that.

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