Hudson, we need to talk about your feature. I have an additional opportunity I’d like to discuss. Call me ASAP. - Eleanor
I stared at the message, guilt churning in my stomach. In the month since I’d begun working with Mari, I’d avoided returning to the topic of the Modern Wedding feature, using the excuse that we were focused on Lia and Manny’s wedding. But I was no closer to figuring out how to handle the situation.
With a sigh, I dialed Eleanor’s number.
“Hudson!” Her voice was warm and enthusiastic. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
“Not at all. Just incredibly busy with the Kussikov-Martin wedding.”
“Ah yes,” she paused. “I assume that’s going well?”
“It is.” I kept my tone neutral.
“Excellent. But that’s not why I called. I’ve been reviewing your app concept for the feature, and I’m incredibly impressed.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “Thank you.”
“So impressed, in fact, that I’d like to offer you a position as creative director for our digital division. We’re expanding our online presence, and your innovative approach to wedding planning technology is exactly what we need.”
I froze. “Creative director?”
“Yes! Full creative control, a substantial salary, and of course, the prestige of the Modern Wedding brand behind you. Think of it, Hudson. Your ideas and app concept as the cornerstone of our digital strategy.”
My ideas. My app concept. Except they weren’t mine at all. They were Mari’s.
“I’m... flattered,” I managed, my mind racing. “But I have my own business, clients who depend on me.”
“You wouldn’t have to give up your business entirely,” Eleanor countered. “Think of it as a partnership. And the exposure would only bring you more clients.”
“It’s certainly a generous offer. I’ll need some time to consider it.”
“Of course.” She sounded pleased, as if my hesitation was merely a formality. “There’s no rush at this point.”
After hanging up, I sat motionless at my desk. I’d never intended for it to go this far. It was supposed to be a simple feature, a boost for my business. Not a job offer based on someone else’s ideas. Running a hand through my hair, I slumped back in my chair.
I could decline, of course. Should decline. But the opportunity was incredible. It was exactly the kind of recognition I’d been seeking, the kind that would finally force my parents to acknowledge my success on my own terms.
Maybe there was a way to make it work. I could bring Mari in as a consultant once everything settled. Give her credit for her contributions. Share the spotlight.
Even as I thought it, I knew it was a weak rationalization. Mari wouldn’t want partial credit or a consultant role. She deserved full recognition for her ideas.
But the thought of confessing everything now, of watching her expression shift from surprise to hurt to contempt, was unbearable. Especially now that we were working so well together. Now that I was seeing sides of her I genuinely admired.
I would make it right. After the wedding. After I’d had time to think.
Decision made (or rather, postponed), I turned my attention back to work. We had a weekend trip to prepare for, and I needed to focus on something other than the growing knot of guilt in my chest.
“Your playlist is objectively terrible,” Mari announced, scrolling through my phone.
We’d been on the road for barely half an hour. Mari had shown up at my apartment promptly at 2 PM with coffee, snacks, and more energy than an almost thirty-year-old should have.
“What’s wrong with my playlist?” I asked, glancing away from the road briefly to see her horrified expression.
“It’s all instrumental movie scores and classical music.” She looked at me as if I’d confessed to a crime. “Where’s the variety? The energy? The singalong potential?”
“I find it relaxing.”
“Well, I find it boring,” she said, already connecting her own phone. “We need road trip music. It’s non-negotiable.”
