Chapter 6
Tacos & Beer
HUDSON
Iwas thinking about frosting when Eleanor Trolio called.
Not just any frosting. The specific memory of vanilla buttercream sliding down Mari’s neck, disappearing beneath her collar, and the way her skin had tasted when I’d licked it off.
Sweet with a hint of salt. Smooth under my tongue.
The sound she’d made—half protest, half pleasure—when I’d caught that first taste.
“Hudson? Are you still there?” Eleanor’s voice crackled through my phone, dragging me back from a memory so vivid I could almost taste sugar.
I straightened in my chair, adjusting my tie, though there was no one to see me in the office I shared with Mari. “Yes, absolutely,” I said, forcing my voice into its professional register. “I was just considering the perfect angles for the constellation projection mockups.”
“Wonderful. I’m thinking a four-page spread. How do you feel about that?”
Guilty.
“I think it sounds great.”
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 my proposal 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 on the way Mari’s dress accentuated her curves. “I trust Ms. Landry has been briefing you on our requirements?”
“Yes, though we have some concerns about the projection mapping she’s described. The ceiling height in the garden space creates challenges.” The designer flipped through his tablet, showing me the technical specifications.
Mari crossed her arms, drawing my attention to her chest before I forced my gaze back to her face. “Which I’ve already addressed by suggesting we use the new XL-5000 projectors with enhanced throw distance.”
I tilted my head as I glanced down at the designer’s tablet and up at the ceiling. “Honestly, that might work. What’s the issue?”
The lighting designer coughed uncomfortably, adjusting his collar. “The XL-5000s do have superior calibration capabilities, but they require an additional power supply. We’re not sure that the venue is equipped to handle that load.”
“Well, why don’t we discuss it with Penelope?” I asked, stepping back from the light designer and sticking my hands in my pockets. “I’m sure we can work this out.”
Mari watched me with a guarded gaze, and I couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. “So you agree we should try to use the newer projectors?”
I shrugged. “I think it’s our best shot at achieving the vision the clients want after you put it in the couple’s minds.”
“Oh, okay. Good. Great.” She gave me another skeptical look before turning to the light designer. “I’ll go find Penelope.”
For the next hour, we toured the venue with the light designer and Penelope, debating placement, intensity, and programming for the various spaces. By the end of the consultation, we had a comprehensive lighting plan that was both innovative and practical.
“Well, that was…surprisingly easy,” Mari said as the lighting designer walked out with Penelope. “Did a small piece of you die when you agreed with me?”
I chuckled, scratching the side of my face. “I think maybe,” I replied, watching her hop up to sit on one of the tables, legs swinging, sundress riding up her thighs. I forced myself to look at her face. “But using the newer projectors makes sense to me.”
“So you’re saying I was right?”
“There’s nothing wrong with ensuring the couple’s vision using new equipment.”
“I’m taking that as a yes.” She tilted her head, studying me with an intensity that made me want to loosen my tie.
“You’re staring at me.”
“I’m waiting for you to implode.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
She rolled her eyes. “So what was this fancy call about with Modern Wedding?”
I stiffened as my stomach dropped. “Oh, uh, just an interview for my business.”
She hopped down from the table, moving closer. “Just an interview with the hottest wedding magazine?”
“I mean, yeah.” I shrugged, trying to look casual. “Eleanor Trolio is interested in featuring Perfect Day Planning in Modern Wedding. Nothing major.”
Mari stared at me, her blue eyes narrowing. “Nothing major? Gable, that’s like saying the Kardashians have a ‘small social media presence.’ Modern Wedding is the wedding magazine.” She stepped closer, her citrus and vanilla perfume wafting around me. “What did you pitch her?”
“I didn’t pitch anything,” I said, which was technically true. I hadn’t pitched anything. I’d just let Eleanor believe Mari’s innovations were mine. My stomach clenched. “She approached me.”
“Approached you about what?” Mari pressed, crossing her arms.
“My approach to planning.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why haven’t you been obnoxiously bragging and rubbing it in my face?”
I rolled my eyes, grateful she’d given me the perfect way out. “Because unlike you, I have class. Besides, I don’t think about you as much as you seem to think about me.”
“Uh huh. Sure, pal.” Mari studied me. “Well, congratulations. I’d say I’m surprised, but that would be a lie.” She tilted her head. “So, what’s this ‘approach’ exactly?”
I loosened my tie. “Look, we should head back to the office. I’ve got a wedding consultation at four.”
“That’s not for another two hours,” she pointed out. “And you still haven’t told me what caught Eleanor Trolio’s attention.”
“A comprehensive approach to wedding planning that incorporates technology,” I said vaguely, gathering my portfolio. “Anyway, how was the client meeting at the country club yesterday?”
Mari’s eyes lit up, her suspicion momentarily forgotten.
“They loved the venue! And my idea to incorporate both families’ traditions in separate ceremonial spaces that converge for the reception?
The parents almost cried.” She beamed, and I surprised myself by smiling.
“They’re signing the contract tomorrow.”
“That’s great.”
“Thanks.”