“You sold your business,” I said finally, focusing on the most mind-boggling part of his revelations. “You actually sold Perfect Day Planning.”
He nodded. “Got a good price for it, too. Turns out the Gable name still means something in the industry, even if I don’t want it anymore.”
“And you used the money to... what? Develop my app?”
“Essentially, yes.” He sat on the coffee table across from me, our knees almost touching. “Even before the press conference, I knew a public apology wasn’t enough. Words are cheap. Actions matter.”
“So you built an entire app in a week and then flew to New York?”
“With Callan’s help, yes. And we actually started working on it before the press conference. I reached out to him a week and a half after the wedding.”
“And you did all this... why?” I held his gaze, searching for the catch, the angle, the hidden agenda.
“Because it’s yours, Mari.” The simple sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten. “It’s your vision, your concept, your innovation. Your dream and future. I took that from you, and no amount of public confession or apology can undo that. But I could at least try to give it back.”
I was saved from having to respond by Anica’s return. “Food will be here in twenty minutes,” she announced. “And I’ve already updated the group chat.”
“Damn it, there is a chat, isn’t there? I knew it!” I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Chat? Did I say something about a chat? I don’t recall saying anything about any chat. Especially not one called ‘Operation Get Mari’s Groove Back.’” She smiled innocently. “I’m going to head out, actually. Callan’s waiting for an update—I mean, he’s waiting for me at home. For dinner. Nothing to do with you two at all.”
“Subtle, Ani. Real subtle.” I glared at her, but she just grinned wider.
“Fair payback for going behind my back when Cal was the idiot guy in the picture.”
“Can I hear that story?” Hudson asked.
“No,” we both said at the same time.
“The pizza’s paid for. Hudson can stay and make sure you eat it.” Anica grabbed her purse, heading for the door. “Call me tomorrow. Or don’t. I’ll find out what happens either way. And Dev’s not coming tonight. Apparently something came up, and she had to go back to Chicago. See ya.”
And then she was gone, leaving me alone with Hudson and a thousand unasked questions.
“Your friends really care about you,” he said after a moment.
“They’re nosy bitches with boundary issues,” I corrected, though there was no actual heat in my voice. “And apparently they’ve been conspiring with you behind my back.”
“Not conspiring, exactly. More like... cautiously aligning interests.”
“Nice corporate speak. Very diplomatic.”
“Old habits. I’m working on it.” He shrugged.
I looked at him. Really looked at him. I tried to reconcile this person with the Hudson Gable I’d known. The perfect hair, the designer suits, the calculated charm... all gone. This Hudson was rougher around the edges, more authentic somehow.
“What happened after you told your father to fuck off? The news stories only covered the public meltdown part.”
“Meltdown implies a lack of control.” There was a hint of the old Hudson in his precise phrasing. “It was a deliberate decision to speak the truth.”
“Fine. What happened after your deliberate truth-speaking?”
He sighed, running a hand through his shorter hair. “My father disowned me, as expected. Cut me off financially, though that matters less now that I’ve sold the business. My mother still calls when he’s not around. I don’t answer.”
“And the creative director position? The one at Modern Wedding?”
“Gone, obviously. Eleanor Trolio was... not pleased about the public revelation.” A wry smile touched his lips. “Apparently, magazines don’t like it when their new hires confess to idea theft during the announcement press conference.”
“I imagine not.”
