Page 5 of Her Ruin

“Shut up.”

His hearty laugh made me smile. “Zayn’s comfortable with who he is, and you aren’t. Do what you’ve done since the first day you met him.”

“Which is?”

“Avoidhim,” Julian said, and I could tell he was smiling. “Or, at least make an effort to be nice to him…”

“That’ll be the day,” I muttered, but Julian just laughed again, his calm, steady presence as unshakable as ever.

As I hung up, I stared at the phone for a long moment.

I could avoid him. I was quite good at it. But…this was business, so it made complete sense for me to go there when it opened. I didn’t have to see Zayn or even talk to him.

And yet, no amount of logic could explain the strange tightness in my chest when I thought of stepping into Zayn McCabe’s world once again.

CHAPTER2

ISLA

I was herebecause a client had canceled on me at the last minute, and this—this club, the shiny new venue—was the only option that might save my month. I refused to look at my phone again; the message from earlier was imprinted in my mind.

“We’ve decided to go in a different direction. No need to move forward with you for the opening event. Your venue choice was good at the time, but we have to move with the times.”

Move with the times? As soon as I read it, I knew the client hadmovedright over to Hardgate andElixir. God, even the name had set my teeth on edge. It wasn’t the first time a client had changed their mind while I was planning their event, circumstances changed all the time, but it still stung. It stung sharper this time because I knew exactly what had happened.

I’d put weeks of work into their event, so much thought into creating a night that their guests would remember, and for nothing. At least they didn’t have the audacity to ask for their deposits back or time already charged. A small condolence, but it didn’t soften the blow.

Call it pride, spite, or whatever you wanted—it was probably nosiness—but their email had made me do the one thing I’d avoided for weeks. I picked up the phone and called Elixir’s club manager, asking to view the venue for “potential clients.” I already knew it screamed luxury and would be the perfect backdrop for a high-profile event.

I also knew it meant I was stepping, willingly, into Zayn McCabe’s world.

At the top of the stairs, I pushed the lingering frustration aside and walked into the main club. Sleek and modern but the historic features of the original building had been incorporated into the decor seamlessly. It was expensive and edgy with touches of decadence that screamed money and prestige. Black leather seating in carefully positioned booths, glints of marble everywhere, and walls adorned with beautiful art pieces didn’t look out of place.

The bar ran the entire length of one wall. The amount of glass on display, either in bottles or glasses or mirrors, was enough to make me feel sorry for the cleaners. The dance floor was situated opposite it, and I saw the DJ booth, which drew my eye to the upper levels with what appeared to be private boxes for the VIPs.

It should scream overdone and tacky. Instead, it looked like an exclusive dance club or equally a private club for ladies who lunched.

It was perfect, and yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as I looked around. It wasn’t just the polished surfaces, the glamour, or the decadence. It was something deeper. Darker. There were so many security cameras; maybe that was what it was. I doubted there was a blind spot on this whole floor.

I wasn’t fooled by the shiny newness. I knew what lay beneath it.

Orwho.

Zayn.

The money behind this venture, and his influence was everywhere. I’d heard rumors and whispered stories about him and the clubs he owned. It was said that his clubs, like this one, were the front for something more sinister—modern speakeasies or hidden clubs tucked away beneath the surface of a popularaccessibleclub. And while I was here on a purely professional standpoint, I couldn’t ignore what this place was really about.

I didn’t want to get involved with Zayn or his business, but this morning’s message had reminded me why I didn’t have a choice.

“Ms. Wells?”

I turned to see a tall man in a deep-burgundy three-piece suit walking towards me. He looked more like aGQmodel than a club manager, but his wide smile put me at ease a little. My wide-leg turquoise pants and white chiffon blouse had looked clean and professional this morning, but now I felt inadequately dressed and regretted I hadn’t put on the matching suit jacket.

“Ms. Wells?”

“Yes!” My voice had become a high-pitched squeak, and I’d hurriedly coughed to cover it. I flicked my ponytail over my shoulder, desperate to recoup my first impression. “Sorry.” I threw him a smile. I was just taking it all in.”

The guy was tall and solid looking. As I spoke, the blond brickhouse smiled wider, which I hadn’t thought possible, showing even more perfectly white straight teeth. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said as he extended his hand to shake. “I’m Rye Nowak, the Elixir club manager.”

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