Page 76 of Hate You Later
I hold her gaze when I say this. Some of the fight seems to leave her. She lets out a sigh.
“Do you know how it happened?”
“Not entirely,” I admit. “But I have a pretty good idea.”
“Bryce?” she asks.
I nod.
“But why? Why would he do that?” She drops into a chair by the counter.
“Because you’re talented?” I suggest. “You have great ideas. He probably didn’t see it as stealing. He saw it as liberating your ideas. Delivering them to a wider audience.”
“Is that what he said?” she inquires, lip curling.
“Not in so many words,” I say.
“And is that what you think?” she asks, eyes searching mine in the dim light. I have to look away.
“Look, I obviously think it’s awful, Georgia. Bryce had no right to steal from you. But is it really the end of the world? Have you thought about the idea that you could reach a broader audience if you were willing to consider outsourcing some of the manufacturing, maybe partnering with a production house? I really think there are ways you could successfully scale—”
“Is this some kind of snow job where you try to convince me you actually did me a favor?” She stiffens. “You can’t have my designs. Those ideas are mine. You stole them.”
“Not me, Georgia. I didn’t steal them.”
“Fine, then YOUR family’s company! Same thing!” She jumps to her feet. Cookie barks, looking from Georgia to me.
Same thing? Well at least now I know how she really feels.
“I’m doing my best here. Just tell me what you want.” I hold up my hands, feeling utterly frustrated. What I want, very much, is to kiss her again. That business feels even more unfinished to me than the matter of the knocked-off clothes.
“Actually, I don’t know what I want right now. I need to think.” Georgia sits back down and sighs. “But I do think you should go now, Hudson. This …” She gestures at the phone, the dog, the shop. “All of this has been a lot.”
“Got it,” I say. “I guess I’ll see you at the next planning meeting?”
“Sure,” she says.
“And online?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” She frowns and draws up her knees, hugging them to her chest. All the fight has gone out of her. Folded up like that, she looks so small and so sad. I don’t want to leave her alone like this.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Georgia?” I ask, taking a tentative step toward her.
“Just go, Hudson. Please? Can you leave already?”
It’s the last thing I want to do, but I honor her wishes. I turn slowly and walk toward the door, pausing to pet Cookie before I go.
“Hate You Later, Cookie,” I say.
And then I walk out into the night.
georgia
On Wednesday morning,before the shop opens, I finally show the video to Kenna. I’ve barely slept at all and have lost count of how many times I’ve played it.
“Just watch it. Watch the whole thing. Do not comment,” I say.
“But …” she starts to object.
