I glanced at my screen, where I’d been staring at Mari’s app mockups for the last forty-seven minutes instead of working on myproposal for the Kussikov-Martin wedding. She’d left them up on her computer yesterday when she’d rushed out for a venue site visit for one of her other potential clients. I hadn’t meant to look at her laptop, but when her screensaver kicked off, there they were—detailed wireframes for what appeared to be a comprehensive wedding planning app.
It was brilliant.
Even in its rough prototype form, I could see the genius behind it. The timeline functionality incorporated not just vendor arrivals but family moments. The budget tracker factored in emotional priorities alongside financial constraints. The vendor database with compatibility metrics that went beyond services and pricing.
It was exactly the kind of innovation that could revolutionize our industry. Exactly the kind of innovation that would impress Eleanor Trolio. Exactly the kind of innovation I’d never been able to conceive on my own.
Exactly the kind of innovation I was about to take credit for.
Mari was right. I was a dickweed.
But a dickweed whose parents would finally recognize their son’s business as legitimate.
“Hudson?”
“Sorry. I’m reviewing some technical innovations as we speak.” I minimized Mari’s files that I’d sent myself, deleting the evidence afterwards. Opening my own pathetically inadequate notes, I responded. “A four-page spread sounds perfect.”
“Great! We will talk soon then, and I’ll need some of your concepts sent over in the next week or two, even if they’re still in their rough draft phase.”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Modern Wedding is always looking for fresh voices to feature regularly.”
After we hung up, I closed my eyes. My father had called the night before, and instead of talking the entire time, he’d actually asked questions. He’d almost seemed interested in my work.
It was the closest thing to praise I’d received from him in a long time. Even my mother had sounded something approaching proud.
I glanced at my desk when my phone buzzed with a text from Mari.
Where the hell are the vendor contracts for the lighting installation? I’ve been waiting at Royal Gardens for 20 minutes, and they’re asking for the signed paperwork YOU were supposed to bring.
I checked my watch and swore. The meeting. I’d completely forgotten about the lighting consultation at the venue. I was supposed to be there... twenty-three minutes ago.
On my way. Unavoidable delay. The contracts are in my portfolio.
Unavoidable delay, my ass. You forgot, didn’t you? Mr. Perfect forgot a meeting? Alert the media.
I was on a call with Eleanor Trolio. Modern Wedding feature.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared. I could almost see her typing furiously, deleting, then typing again.
Congratulations. Meanwhile, in the real world, where some of us actually do our jobs instead of sucking up to magazine editors, we have actual work to do. Hurry up before I tell them to install everything upside down just to spite you.
Don’t you dare.
Tick tock, Gable. Every minute you’re late is another light fixture I’m redesigning to look like a dick.
I gathered my portfolio and jacket, pausing briefly to check my appearance in the mirror on the back of my office door. Every hair in place. Tie perfectly knotted. Suit without a wrinkle. The fact that I could still look the same on the outside while feeling like I was a guilty, stealing criminal on the inside was both a relief and deeply disturbing.
Thirty minutes later, I strode into the Royal Gardens, where Mari was deep in conversation with the lighting designer. She wore a sundress in bright yellow, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. The sight momentarily stopped me in my tracks.
Ah, shit.
She was beautiful.
“Finally,” she said when she spotted me, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I was about to tell them you’d been abducted by aliens, though that would suggest you were interesting enough to study. But maybe they’d keep you for probing.”
“Sorry for the delay,” I said, handing the contracts to the lighting designer while trying not to let my gaze linger onthe way Mari’s dress accentuated her curves. “I trust Ms. Landry has been briefing you on our requirements?”
