“And how did he react to the coffee?”
“Controlled. Too controlled. Like he was holding back a tsunami.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“You sound disappointed that he didn’t explode.”
I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? You push people’s buttons, Mari. Always have. You want to see what’s underneath their perfect façades.”
I unlocked my car, sliding into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Just be careful. This isn’t just about your rivalry with Hudson. It’s about the Chicago expansion, your career, our business.”
“I know that. I won’t mess this up. I promise.”
“Good. Now show that perfectionist what you’re made of. Professionally.”
I laughed despite myself. “Yes, boss.”
We hung up, and I sat in my car for a moment, gathering my thoughts. Anica was right. This was too important to mess up with petty rivalry or inconvenient attraction. I needed to focus, to be strategic, to showcase my talents without letting Hudson get under my skin.
Two months. Eight weeks. Approximately sixty days of working side by side with Hudson Gable.
I could do that. Maybe. I hoped. Unfortunately, it’d be harder because I’d be sharing an office with a man who made me want to simultaneously punch him in the face and tear his clothes off.
Forget wedding planning—surviving this arrangement without either killing him or jumping him would be the real challenge.
CHAPTER 4
A True Innovator
HUDSON
Her fingertips left smudges on my presentation boards. Tiny, imperfect reminders that the she-demon had touched something of mine.
I straightened a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening, alone in the event hall where Chicago’s wedding elite had gathered for the annual industry gala. I’d been there a few times with my parents growing up, but never by myself. Thank god my parents had a high-profile wedding they were working in LA this weekend. I didn’t even want to think about having to explain Mari to them.
Four hundred of the city’s top wedding professionals dressed in their finest, all pretending they didn’t secretly hate half the people in the room. It was the kind of event where reputations were made and broken over champagne and forced smiles.
After two days of working in our shared office space, I needed this networking opportunity. Two days of Mari’s fiery energy, her constant humming while she worked, her habit of kicking off her shoes and propping her feet on her desk while reviewing vendor contracts. Two days of pretending I wasn’t constantly aware of her presence, that I couldn’t still taste her skin from that night at the hotel if I let my mind wander too far.
“Hudson Gable! Just the man I was hoping to see.”
I turned to find Eleanor Trolio approaching, martini in hand. As the editor-in-chief of Modern Wedding, she was arguably the most influential person in the room. Her magazine was the bible of the industry, and a feature could make or break a planning business.
“Mrs. Trolio,” I said, extending my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Please call me Eleanor.” She shook my hand, her grip surprisingly firm for a woman in her sixties. Up close, her shrewd intelligence shone behind her cunning eyes. This was a woman who hadn’t built an empire by accident. “I’ve been following your work since you opened in LA. When I heard you were expanding to Chicago, I knew I had to meet the man behind Perfect Day Planning.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I’ve long admired your editorial vision.”
She smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Gable. Especially when it’s sincere.” She took a sip of her martini. “I understand you’re working on the Kussikov-Martin wedding. That’s quite a coup for someone new to the Chicago scene.”
“News travels fast,” I remarked, taking a sip of my drink.
