Chapter 6 #2
We walked toward the parking lot, our conversation shifting to other clients and upcoming events. The knot in my stomach loosened. Maybe I could figure out a way to make this right, to incorporate Mari’s ideas while giving her proper credit.
As we reached the parking lot, I opened Mari’s car door for her without thinking.
“What’s this?” She raised an eyebrow. “The asshole has manners?”
“It’s called basic courtesy, Landry. You know that urge you give in to every time you call me a name? Yeah, it’s like if you resisted it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for opening the door, Hudson.” She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat but didn’t get in. Instead, she turned to face me, so close I could count her eyelashes. “Seriously though, congratulations on Modern Wedding. That’s... impressive.”
I swallowed hard. “Thanks.”
“Just know that when I’m featured next year, my spread will be way better than yours.” She flashed a cocky grin.
“In your dreams, maybe.”
“My dreams involve much more interesting scenarios than magazine layouts.” She slid into the driver’s seat with a smirk. “Most of which involves you in a very different position.”
“What kind of position?”
“On your knees, bowing before me.” She pulled the door shut, but rolled down her window. “Good luck with your consultation, Gable.” Mari drove off before I could respond.
Later that night, I was still at the shared office, staring at my computer screen.
I’d been trying to create my own version of Mari’s app concept for hours, but everything I came up with felt hollow and inferior.
I rubbed my eyes, considering my options.
I could confess to Eleanor that the ideas weren’t mine.
I could tell Mari what I’d done and face her fury.
Or I could continue down this path of deception and hope to develop something similar enough to pass inspection.
My phone buzzed. Mari.
Still at the office? Your car’s in the lot.
Finalizing some details from my consultation earlier.
Well, I’m outside with tacos and beer. Left my keycard at home. Buzz me in.
I glanced at my computer screen where Mari’s app mockups were displayed, quickly closing the files before heading to the front door.
Mari stood there holding a paper bag that smelled divine and a six-pack of craft beer. “You know, there’s this revolutionary concept called ‘going home after work.’ You should try it sometime.”
“Says the woman who’s also here at ten PM,” I countered, stepping aside to let her in.
“I was visiting a vendor nearby and saw your car.” She strode into the office as if she owned it, setting the food on my desk. “Figured you might be hungry.”
“Thanks.” I cleared a space, careful to keep my notes on the Modern Wedding pitch hidden beneath a folder.
“What are you working on so intently?” She peered at my desk, and I casually placed my arm over the folder.
“Just the usual. You know how it is.” I grabbed a beer, twisting off the cap. “How was the rest of your day?”
“Boring.” She unwrapped a taco and handed it to me. “Devonna, Anica’s assistant, called, and we talked about some expansion stuff. The bank still doesn’t want to give us a loan, and I’m feeling like I’m the lame kid no one wants to play with at recess.”
“I doubt you were ever lame.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. Nevertheless, the point remains. I need to figure out how to convince that asshole Radfordt that we’re worthy of a loan.”
“But you’re already helping plan, at least until the engagement party.”
“That’s what I said!” She pointed her taco at me. “But Mr. ‘I’m the one with the money’ insisted that they still don’t have enough proof. Doesn’t matter that I have three other weddings that signed.”
“He’ll come around.”
“He better. Otherwise, I can find out where he lives, and—”
“For the sake of plausible deniability, I suggest you stop talking.”
“Asshole.”
“Me or the bank guy.”
“Yes.”
I chuckled, taking a bite of the taco. We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, and I started relaxing for the first time all day.
“So,” Mari said, wiping her hands on a napkin. “About this Modern Wedding feature.”
And just like that, the tension was back. “What about it?”
“When’s the interview? Is there going to be a photoshoot?” She leaned forward. “Are they coming to the office? Because if so, we need to upgrade the sitting area. That couch has seen better decades.”
“It’s still in the early stages,” I hedged. “But yes, they’ll probably want photos, eventually.” I took a long drink of beer. “So, why wedding planning?”
“Subtle topic change.” She shrugged, tossing the wrapper from her taco into the trashcan next to me. “Anica wanted to do it while we were in college together, and when I told my parents, they flipped out and told me it was a stupid idea. So I did it.”
I frowned. “Your parents didn’t want you to be a wedding planner?”
“Nope. A lawyer or a doctor would’ve sufficed.” She reached for another taco. “But no daughter of theirs would work a job as frivolous as picking out pretty dresses and flowers and cakes.” She mimicked a man’s low voice, shaking her head with an exaggerated frown.
“I thought Knot Your Average Wedding was doing well in Manhattan.”
“It is. It’s one of the most notable wedding planning businesses there. Ani’s done an amazing job.”
“I’m sure you helped too.”
She tilted her head. “Was that a compliment?”
“An observation. You’re not completely useless.”
“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ve helped. Between Ani, her assistant Devonna, and me, we make a pretty badass team. And Cal’s helped some.”
“Your friend’s husband?” I remembered the tall man from the dreaded wedding expo. He could’ve been intimidating had he not clearly been amused by the fire Mari had started and the wrestling match afterwards.
“Yeah. The model wannabe. Actually,” she paused, biting her bottom lip.
“I think he actually has done some modeling. Anyways, he’s been helpful the last year on the business side of things.
Ani won’t let him give us any handouts, though.
She calls it cheating.” Mari gave me a once over and then snorted.
“You and Anica are a lot alike, now that I think about it.”
“She seemed very professional.”
“She is. In fact, that’s probably what would be on her tombstone. Anica Burkhardt, wife, friend, and professional genius.” Mari moved her hand out in front of her as if she were reading the words in the sky.
“And what would yours say?”
“Mari Landry: She set fire to a wedding expo booth and lived to tell the tale.” She grinned, unapologetic.
“So what about you? Why wedding planning? I’ve been wondering how Mr. Gable, son of Gable & Gable Weddings, ended up in the trenches with the rest of us flower-arranging peasants rather than working with your parents. ”
I nearly choked on my beer. “You know about them?”
“Of course I know about them,” she said, like I’d asked if she knew what a bouquet was.
“Every wedding planner in the country knows about Gable & Gable. They did that insane wedding with the horses in the ballroom.” She tilted her head.
“If it makes you feel any better, I just made the connection a few days ago.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty well known, I suppose.”
“So if you’re wedding planning royalty, why don’t you work with them?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why, instead of taking your rightful place in the family business, did you start your own competing company?”
“I guess I wanted to make a name for myself. They expected me to join them after college. Continue the legacy, eventually take over. But they, they’re...”
“Let me guess. Controlling? Manipulative? Disappointed in everything you do no matter how hard you try?”
“Something like that.” I smiled despite myself. “They plan beautiful weddings, but they have their particular way of doing things. I wanted to try something different. They didn’t like it.”
“Hence Perfect Day Planning. Not exactly a rebellious name,” she teased.
“I never claimed to be a revolutionary.”
“Says the man about to be featured in Modern Wedding.” She tilted her head. “Your parents must be thrilled about that.”
My stomach twisted. “They’re... coming around.”
“Coming around?” She sat up straighter. “Oh my god, they really were pissed when you left, weren’t they? The prodigal son dared to compete with the family business.” Her eyes lit up with mischievous delight. “This is amazing. I thought my parents were bad.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Of course it is.” She leaned forward, elbows on my desk. “My parents basically disowned me for choosing wedding planning over law school. My brother became the golden child the moment I chose flowers over torts.”
“Torts?”
“It’s a type of law.” She waved dismissively. “The point is, my parents barely acknowledge my existence now that my brother is a junior partner at their law firm.”
“I would almost prefer my parents forget my existence.”
“You say that, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. No family holidays. No calls on your birthday. Nothing but the cold shoulder 365 days a year.” She shuddered. “Your turn. What did your parents do when you defected?”
“My mother cried. My father threatened to cut me out of their will.” I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, though the memory still stung. “They didn’t speak to me for three months.”
“Amateur hour,” Mari scoffed. “My parents didn’t even call me when my grandmother died. I found out from my childhood neighbor’s cousin, who went to church with my grandparents.”
“That’s... actually worse,” I conceded.
“Told you. I win the terrible parents competition.” She raised her beer in mock victory. “Though your parents sound like a special brand of nightmare. Wedding planners who can’t support their son becoming a wedding planner?”
“They’re supportive as long as I do it their way,” I clarified. “The Gable & Gable way. Which means catering exclusively to old money, using the same five venues, and charging obscene amounts for basic services.”
“And you wanted to...”
“Create something modern. Accessible. Something that didn’t rely on my parents’ connections.” I realized I was getting worked up and took a breath. “Something that was mine.”
Mari studied me, her expression softening. “I get it. Even though it terrified me, I was glad Anica trusted me to come out here to Chicago and try my hand at this alone.”
“How’s it been working out for you?”
“I set a booth on fire at the wedding expo, so...” She gave a half-smile.
“The booth fire wasn’t entirely your fault,” I admitted and drained the rest of my first beer. I cracked another one open.
“Did you just defend me, Gable?” She placed a hand over her heart in mock shock. “I think the apocalypse is upon us.”
“Oops. Must be the beer.”
“I’m sure it is.” She finished hers too. “So how did you get your parents to speak to you again? Or do they just communicate through their lawyers?”
“A client referral from one of their friends. A senator’s daughter.” I rolled the empty bottle between my palms. “They couldn’t ignore me after that. It was too embarrassing.”
“Politics. Figures.” Mari snorted. “You know, now that I think about it, my parents did invite me to Thanksgiving two years ago. My brother brought his fiancée, and they needed me to help plan the wedding. The irony was completely lost on them.”
“Did you do it?”
“Hell yes. I charged them triple our usual rate and created the most amazing wedding their stuffy social circle had ever seen.” Her grin was both triumphant and a little sad. “Still didn’t get a thank you.”
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need one. We got twelve clients from their wedding from my brother and sister-in-law’s friends.” She reached for another beer. “Are your parents still holding out for you to come crawling back to Gable & Gable?”
“They were. Until the Modern Wedding thing.”
“Ah, yes. Because nothing says ‘I’m a legitimate business’ like a fancy magazine feature.”
The guilt hit me so hard I had to look away. “Right.”
“Hey,” she said, her voice gentler than I’d ever heard it. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s cool that you stuck to your guns. Started your own thing instead of following the path of least resistance.”
“Thanks.”
“But don’t let it go to your head.” She kicked my chair. “I still think you’re an uptight perfectionist with control issues.”
“And I still think you’re an agent of chaos sent purely to disrupt everything I work on.”
“But you like my tacos,” she pointed out.
“I do like your tacos,” I agreed.
“And I like your...” She scanned me as if searching for something to compliment. “Your freakishly neat handwriting. Seriously, your contracts look like they were typed.”
“Some of us paid attention in penmanship class.”
“You had a penmanship class? Lame. Some of us had better things to do. Like passing notes about cute boys.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “I should probably go. Early client meeting tomorrow.”
“Don’t you hate those?”
“Mmm-hmm. Can’t seem to avoid them though.” She gathered her things. As she headed for the door, she paused, turning back. “For what it’s worth, this was... not terrible.”
“High praise indeed,” I echoed her earlier words, tilting my beer towards her.
She gave a small wave. “See you tomorrow, Gable. Try not to stay up all night staring at pictures of me or whatever it is you do for fun.”
“Get lost, Landry,” I said, but she was already gone, the door swinging shut behind her.