Page 40 of Her Ruin

“Unless you’re offering your services, I’m not interested.” He sounded gruff as if I had woken him up.

“My services?” One sentence, and he had me on the defensive.

“Mouth or pussy, I’ll take either, probably both.” This time, I heard his laughter.

Asshole.

“You fucked with my client,” I snapped, ignoring the flush in my cheeks, which was no longer from anger.

Zayn groaned. “Isla, babe, you’re becoming obsessive; it’s not a quality I like in you.” The bastard yawned. “Was there something you wanted? Something that involves less talking?”

I hung up.

Getting back in my car, I threw the phone in my purse, convinced he had messed with Gerard somehow.

Or Rye had.

No. This was Zayn. I justknewthis was Zayn. He might not have had anything to do with the supplier delays, but I would put money on the fact he had gotten into Gerard’s head.

I knew from experience how skilled he was atthat.

Smoothing my hands over my hair, I twisted my ponytail between my fingers and wished it was a noose around Zayn’s neck. With a groan, I pushed murderous thoughts aside, flipping open my compact. I had a meeting with Lyndsay Shaw next, and I needed to look composed.

My eyes were bright with anger. I hoped it would be mistaken for enthusiasm. Signaling, I pulled out onto the road and resumed my drive over to the Shaw Foundation.

I had broken bigger news to more difficult clients before. This was just another meeting. Except it wasn’t. Because I wasn’t just informing anyone—I was about to tell Lyndsay Shaw, one of the biggest names in Gracemont’s social circles—that her grand gala, the one everyone knew was the social event of the year, was no longer happening at the venue I had talked her into changing to.

As I walked into the Shaw Foundation’s sleek downtown office building, my grip on my purse tightened. The lobby was quiet, starkly contrasting to the rolling of my gut.

I checked in at the front desk, and within minutes, I was being led to her corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows giving an unmatched view of Gracemont. Lyndsay stood behind her desk, bent over a paper as she signed it, she glanced up at me letting me know she knew I was there.

We both knew I wasn’t supposed to be here. This was an unplanned meeting. Her look was one of calculation as the assistant left the room, taking the papers with her.

Lyndsay offered me a polite, measured smile. “Isla.”

“Ms. Shaw,” I greeted, keeping my voice smooth. I set my bag down, taking a seat when she gestured to the chair across from her desk.

“Tell me,” she began, dropping the niceties. “What is happening with the gala?”

She looked calm, but I knew she was about to be very, very irritated.

I swallowed.Here we go.

“Things are…progressing,” I started carefully, choosing my words.

“But?”

I failed to hide the slight wince at her sharp tone. “But there’s been an unexpected turn of events with The Grand Gracemont.”

“Explain.”

“I’ve needed to shift the venue.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “Shift?” Her cool gaze swept over my turquoise shift dress and blazer. “From the ballroom?”

Well…

I nodded. “Given the additional renovations for the hotel, I won’t go into details,” I said because I no longer knew if I knew them. “It’s pushed the timeline for completion beyond the scheduled date for the gala.”

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