Page 23 of Her Ruin

Julian wasgood.

Zayn McCabe was bad.

But he was Julian’s friend.

“Stop it, Isla,” I murmured as I picked up my pace, focusing on the rhythm of my footsteps on the concrete beneath my shoes. Why was I letting him in my head like this? It was atextmessage. He was messing with me.

And it was working.

The walk wasn’t helping. Instead of clearing my thoughts, it only left me more restless. I needed something—someone—to take my mind off him. I made my way back to the office, fighting the urge to check my phone again to see if he’d messaged. Ridiculous. I knew it. But the words were there, echoing in my head.You work fast, Isla.

Did it bother him that I did? Did he think the hotel was a threat to him? I started to smile. Was this what this was? Was he worried?

My phone vibrated in my hand. I glanced at it, seeing that it was a call from the lighting vendor. Swiping the answer button on the phone, I lifted it to my ear.

“Isla Wells speaking.”

This was work. Safe. Concrete.

Zayn had pushed my buttons with his antics, and as I walked back into my office, I realized maybeI’dpushedhis.

* * *

I satat my desk in my living room, staring at the numbers on the screen. They weren’t adding up. They hadn’t been adding up for the last hour. No matter how many times I refreshed the spreadsheet or checked the formulas, the result remained the same.

The Grand was over budget.

By a lot.

Six figures and possibly more.

I rubbed my temples as I stared at the numbers, the weight of the problem settling on my shoulders and building tension at the back of my neck. This was massive. I knew Gerard didn’t have this extra cash. Closing my eyes, I tried not to panic. But this wasn’t a simple setback—it was huge—so huge.

The Grand was my project. My baby. I’d been meticulously scrupulous with costs. I’d fought to get this renovation on a budget. I’d worked my ass off for this project. Now, it might fall apart before it was even finished.

I called Pete, the project foreman, not giving a shit it was after eight at night. “Pete, it’s Isla.”

“Yeah?”

I heard in his voice he was expecting this call. “What happened?”

Pete paused for a long time, and I was losing patience rapidly before he spoke, his voice tight. “There were some unexpected expenses, Isla. Mr. Fitzsimmons didn’t like the oak finishes in the foyer; he wanted mahogany; the cost of mahogany is more, then there was a delay with the subcontractors, and…we’re behind. Look, he told me not to tell you.”

“Why would you not tell me?” I snapped at him. “This is something Ineedto know. I have events planned for this hotel!” I took a deep breath. “How behind?”

“Four weeks.”

I almost choked. “Fourweeks? Tell me everything.” As Pete rattled off where the delays were, I felt my eyes widen as the list got longer. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked again, trying to remain reasonable and knowing I was failing.

“You don’t pay me, Isla,” Pete said bluntly. “Mr. Fitzsimmons pays me. He told me not to mention it.”

“Yeah, well, we’re so over budget anddelayedfour weeks; he won’t be paying anyone at this rate.” I hung up.

Shit.

I tried to keep my breathing steady. The charity gala was at The Grand in just under two weeks. It was supposed to be the hotel’s grand reopening, so Lyndsay’s gala had to be perfect.

Pete knew this. Gerard knew this.Why had they not told me?

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