Chapter 18 Like A Regency Romance Novel #2
“First,” he began, “I want to say I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve that, and I know it. I’m here because you deserve to have what’s rightfully yours.”
He opened the bag and pulled out a sleek laptop, setting it on the table between us. Next came the legal envelope, which he placed beside it.
“You saw that I publicly confessed to stealing your app concept,” he said, his voice steady. “But a public apology isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.”
He opened the laptop and turned it toward me. On the screen was what appeared to be a website homepage, the banner reading “The Mari Landry Innovation Project.”
“What is this?” I asked, leaning forward despite myself.
“It’s a comprehensive documentation of every concept of yours that I stole,” he explained. “Every idea, every design element, every innovation—all credited to you, with timestamps, documentation, and public retractions of my previous claims.”
I stared at the screen, then at him, confusion washing over me. “You... made a website about stealing my ideas?”
“I made a website to ensure you get proper credit,” he corrected. “It’s been shared with every major publication in the wedding industry. I’ve personally contacted every journalist who interviewed me about the ‘innovative digital platform’ and issued retractions, directing them to you instead.”
My brain struggled to process this information. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it’s right. Because they’re your ideas. Because you deserve recognition.” He opened the legal envelope and slid out a stack of papers. “But that’s just the beginning.”
I took the papers he offered, scanning the first page. My eyes widened as I realized what I was looking at.
“These are client contracts. Your clients.”
“Former clients,” he said. “I’ve referred all of my major accounts to Knot Your Average Wedding. With specific recommendations that they work with you directly.”
My head was spinning. “You gave away your clients?”
“I officially sold my business the day before the press conference, actually. Perfect Day Planning no longer exists.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the dismantling of his career. “And I used the proceeds for this.”
He tapped a key on the laptop, and the screen changed to reveal what was unmistakably my app—not just a concept or a mockup, but a fully designed, apparently functional application with my original interface ideas and workflow concepts.
“What...” My voice failed me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “What exactly am I looking at?”
“Your app. A working prototype, developed according to your original vision.” He pulled out a USB drive and placed it beside the laptop. “With the help of some very talented developers.”
“Developers you hired?” I asked, my voice rising in disbelief.
“Yes. Well, technically, Burkhardt hired them. He has better connections in the tech world than I do.”
“Callan Burkhardt? My Callan? Anica’s husband Callan?” The room suddenly seemed to spin. “The same Callan who threatened to, and I quote, ‘digitally erase Hudson Gable from the land of the living’ three weeks ago?”
Hudson nodded. “He, uh, had quite a lot to say about my character and ancestry. Used words I didn’t even know existed. I thought you swore like a sailor, but that man used curses in multiple different languages. He can be kind of terrifying.”
“I resent the fact that you think Cal swears more than I do, but go on.”
“Eventually, he agreed to help. Not for me, but for you.”
The room was definitely spinning now. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as everything Hudson was saying swam in the whirlpool of thoughts circling my very fuzzy brain. The website. The clients. The app. Callan’s involvement. It was too much.
“Mari?” Hudson’s voice sounded distant. “Are you okay? You look pale. Mar?”
“I’m fine,” I managed, though my voice sounded strange. “Just... processing.”
“There’s one more thing.” He tapped the legal documents. “These transfer all intellectual property rights for the app to you. Completely and irrevocably. It’s yours, Mari. It always was, but now it’s legally yours too.”
The black spots grew larger. The room tilted sideways.
My last coherent thought before darkness claimed me was that fainting was such a cliché, and I was going to be really annoyed with myself when I woke up.
Also, falling face-first into my own melted ice cream would be a fitting end to my dignity.
“—believe she actually fainted. Like a Victorian lady with her corset laced too tight. I’m never letting her live this down.”
“Should we call a doctor?”
“No, her pulse is fine. She’s probably just malnourished from the all-ice-cream diet.”
I opened my eyes to find Anica’s face hovering over mine, her expression oscillating between concern and barely suppressed amusement. Hudson stood behind her, looking genuinely worried.
“Did I just...” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“Swoon at the sight of your ex-fling? Fall dramatically into a heap? Yes, yes you did.” Anica’s grin was merciless. “I got here just in time to see Hudson trying to revive you. It was very Regency romance novel, minus the empire waist dress.”
“Fuck.” I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating this entire conversation.”
Anica was enjoying this too much. “Nope. Real life, baby. You’ve got ice cream in your hair, by the way.”
“I know.” I attempted to sit up, and the room spun alarmingly. “Okay, bad idea.”
“When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t mostly sugar?” Hudson asked, his concern apparently overriding any awkwardness about the situation.
“Define ‘ate,’” I muttered.
“I’m ordering food,” Anica announced, already pulling out her phone. “And don’t say you’re not hungry, because your body literally just shut down in protest of your treatment of it.”
“Pizza,” I said weakly. “Extra cheese. And garlic knots. Lots of garlic knots.”
“On it.” Anica stepped away to place the order, leaving me alone with Hudson.
“So,” I said, struggling for dignity despite being horizontal on my couch with ice cream in my hair. “That happened.”
“Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
“Other than dying of embarrassment? Sure.” I sat up, moving slowly this time. “Just give me a minute for the room to stop spinning.”
Hudson disappeared into my kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water. “Small sips,” he instructed, handing it to me.
“There’s no alcohol in this.”
“Drink the fucking water, Landry.”
“Fine, asshole.” I stuck my tongue out at him, but did as I was told, using the moment to gather my thoughts, which were scattered like the confetti cannon I’d used for Anica’s twenty-fifth birthday party.
“You sold your business,” I said finally, focusing on the most mind-boggling part of his revelations. “You actually sold Perfect Day Planning.”
He nodded. “Got a good price for it, too. Turns out the Gable name still means something in the industry, even if I don’t want it anymore.”
“And you used the money to... what? Develop my app?”
“Essentially, yes.” He sat on the coffee table across from me, our knees almost touching. “Even before the press conference, I knew a public apology wasn’t enough. Words are cheap. Actions matter.”
“So you built an entire app in a week and then flew to New York?”
“With Callan’s help, yes. And we actually started working on it before the press conference. I reached out to him a week and a half after the wedding.”
“And you did all this... why?” I held his gaze, searching for the catch, the angle, the hidden agenda.
“Because it’s yours, Mari.” The simple sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten. “It’s your vision, your concept, your innovation. Your dream and future. I took that from you, and no amount of public confession or apology can undo that. But I could at least try to give it back.”
I was saved from having to respond by Anica’s return. “Food will be here in twenty minutes,” she announced. “And I’ve already updated the group chat.”
“Damn it, there is a chat, isn’t there? I knew it!” I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Chat? Did I say something about a chat? I don’t recall saying anything about any chat.
Especially not one called ‘Operation Get Mari’s Groove Back.
’” She smiled innocently. “I’m going to head out, actually.
Callan’s waiting for an update—I mean, he’s waiting for me at home.
For dinner. Nothing to do with you two at all. ”
“Subtle, Ani. Real subtle.” I glared at her, but she just grinned wider.
“Fair payback for going behind my back when Cal was the idiot guy in the picture.”
“Can I hear that story?” Hudson asked.
“No,” we both said at the same time.
“The pizza’s paid for. Hudson can stay and make sure you eat it.” Anica grabbed her purse, heading for the door. “Call me tomorrow. Or don’t. I’ll find out what happens either way. And Dev’s not coming tonight. Apparently something came up, and she had to go back to Chicago. See ya.”
And then she was gone, leaving me alone with Hudson and a thousand unasked questions.
“Your friends really care about you,” he said after a moment.
“They’re nosy bitches with boundary issues,” I corrected, though there was no actual heat in my voice. “And apparently they’ve been conspiring with you behind my back.”
“Not conspiring, exactly. More like... cautiously aligning interests.”
“Nice corporate speak. Very diplomatic.”
“Old habits. I’m working on it.” He shrugged.
I looked at him. Really looked at him. I tried to reconcile this person with the Hudson Gable I’d known. The perfect hair, the designer suits, the calculated charm... all gone. This Hudson was rougher around the edges, more authentic somehow.
“What happened after you told your father to fuck off? The news stories only covered the public meltdown part.”
“Meltdown implies a lack of control.” There was a hint of the old Hudson in his precise phrasing. “It was a deliberate decision to speak the truth.”