The Marrying Type

by Laura Chapman

  The Marrying Type

  By Laura Chapman

  THE MARRYING TYPE

  Second Edition

  Copyright © 2015 Marching Ink/ 2016 Laura Chapman

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Katie Nieland

  Proofreading by EFC Services

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  By Laura Chapman

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  About the Author

  By Laura Chapman

  Sneak peek of Playing House

  Acknowledgments

  Sign up for Laura Chapman's Mailing List

  For Whitney, the very best of friends

  By Laura Chapman

  The Marrying Type

  Smyth Saves the Date

  Playing House

  Making Christmas

  What Happens at Midnight

  The Queen of the League Trilogy

  First & Goal

  Going for Two

  Three & Out

  Amarillo Sour Series

  Counting on You

  Let It Be Me (Fall 2019)

  ALWAYS THE WEDDING planner, never a bride, Elliot Lynch is famous for orchestrating the splashiest weddings in Charleston, South Carolina. When her father’s sloppy management practices leave them on the brink of bankruptcy, Elliot will do whatever it takes to save the family business. When asked to appear on “The Marrying Type,” a reality TV show about the people behind the scenes as couples exchange I dos, she says yes to the invasion of privacy (and the hefty paycheck that comes with it).

  With a camera crew capturing every detail of her life, Elliot faces her most challenging contract yet: planning a wedding where her ex is involved in every part of the process. Add in a lazy assistant, liquor-loving bridesmaid, and rival planner encroaching on her turf, and Elliot’s wedding season goes from high-end to high-stress.

  Forced to confront her past, Elliot must live out her troubled present on national TV if she has any hope of saving her future.

  Chapter One

  “A happy marriage is a long conversation which always seems too short.”

  ~ Andre Maurois

  ELLIOT LYNCH WAS IN the business of making perfection reality. From the high-end weddings she organized to the chocolate chip cookies she baked for her father once a month, she specialized in excellence.

  For thirty years—longer than she’d been alive—planning one-of-a-kind weddings for Charleston’s elite had been a profitable venture for Engagements. And once she located the company’s financial documents, Elliot would be able to see firsthand just how profitable. With her father months away from announcing his retirement, it was time she familiarized herself with every detail of the family business.

  Finding the company’s financial records was proving to be a chore. Her father’s idea of record keeping consisted of tossing a mixture of receipts, files, and used napkins in boxes.

  “Come on, Daddy,” she muttered, wincing when something gooey stuck to her hand.

  She’d tried his computer first without luck. Clicking through the files, she’d uncovered a handful of unfinished letters and a document named “memoir.” The file lit up under the arrow, beckoning her to double click. What sort of memoir would he write? Born into a wealthy South Carolina family with ties back to the colonial settlement, he’d spent most of his life living off a trust fund.

  But the trust coffers weren’t as deep as they’d once been. Not with his expensive taste. These days, most of his money went toward stocking a wine cellar and upgrading his luxury car every year. His only great adventure had been taking her mother on a month-long honeymoon through Europe back in the ’80s. After, they’d settled into family life and started a tame and tasteful wedding planning business.

  Her finger itched to open the file, but good manners won out. She switched off the computer and turned her attention to the rest of the desk. Her eyelid twitched. Starting at the top, she flipped over a blank sheet of paper and found a Chinese takeout menu. If the man refused to embrace the digital era, at least he should have the decency to use real folders.

  Her cell phone rang. Distracted by the reasonably priced moo shu pork and the rumbling in her stomach, she answered the phone. “Engagements, Elliot speaking.”

  “I’m in trouble, and you’re my only hope.” Perching the phone between her ear and shoulder to keep her hands free so she could continue sifting through the papers, Elliot waited for her cousin, Marissa, to continue. “My TV show concept was green-lit, and we’ve been asked to shoot a full first season.”

  “Congratulations,” Elliot answered without dropping a beat. “Which one?”

  “It’s the one about wedding planners.”

  “Which one?” Elliot repeated. When Marissa had brainstormed possibilities for her small production company’s next reality program, she’d come up with at least half a dozen ideas surrounding wedding planners. Elliot hoped the network hadn’t gone with the one that pit a bunch of wedding planners against each other to land a date with a handsome millionaire. It seemed too desperate and degrading.

  “It’s the one that follows four wedding planners from across the country to document the ups and downs of the business for a summer,” Marissa said.

  Elliot released a breath of relief on behalf of planners everywhere. “I remember that concept.” She’d given her cousin a little background on the wedding industry to develop the pitch. “Do you need more information on the latest trends?”

  “Actually, yes, but that’s not all.” Marissa paused, and Elliot stopped sorting while she waited for her cousin to ask for another favor. It didn’t take long. “There’s something else.”

  Elliot shook her head in amusement, nearly dropping her phone in the process. “What do you need?”

  “We have three planners lined up. One in Manhattan—he’s sassy and fabulous, and I love him. We found someone in L.A. She’s a mean little wench. People are going to love hating her. We have a cute old couple in Chicago. Their story is freaking adorable.” Marissa cleared her throat. “We need a planner from the south, and I figured . . .”

  “No.” Elliot turned her focus back to sorting. “You cannot follow the Engagements team for the summer.”

  “Com
e on. Our Dallas planner dropped out, and we need someone from the south.”

  “Charleston and Dallas aren’t interchangeable,” Elliot said.

  “It’s still a southern city.”

  “A small southern city. They’re hardly the same.” Elliot dumped a stack of old wedding announcements and programs in a box to archive. “Besides, I’m not sure our gentlemanly forefathers would like to be put in the same category as cowboys. Find someone in Atlanta or New Orleans.”

  “The network adores the idea of setting one of our planners outside of a major metropolitan area. When I told them about your family . . .”

  “I appreciate you considering Engagements, but now isn’t the right time.” Elliot doubted her father or sister would ever agree there was a right time to air their dirty laundry on a reality TV show. Still, family was family, and she didn’t want to disappoint Marissa. Angering her cousin would undoubtedly make next Thanksgiving more than a little uncomfortable. “I can put you in touch with a few of my contacts.”

  And that was as much as she would do. With Walter’s retirement, Elliot would be far too busy figuring out the transition with her sister. Negotiating the company’s future would pose plenty of its own challenges. While Libby had been quick to support their father’s announcement at dinner, she hadn’t been as fast to offer any business management ideas. After a nasty divorce, Libby had devoted most of the last year to spending her paychecks rather than earning them.

  Marissa pressed on. “I don’t have time to win over a complete stranger. We have to start filming in one week—two at the most. The execs want you.”

  “Again, thank you, but I’m sure you can find someone a million times more interesting than us to film. We’re simple people. Boring, simple people.”

  “We’ll provide a hefty lump sum for everyone who participates,” Marissa continued on, ignoring Elliot’s protests. “We have serious advertisers on board. They’re willing to pay big bucks for wedding-related entertainment.”

  Elliot had no doubt. Weddings were a lucrative business.

  While Marissa continued to spout out details about her TV show, Elliot found yet another shoebox filled with envelopes and receipts. Barely avoiding a grimace, she removed the lid. Her brow creased. Second notices. Third notices. Still balancing the phone, she reached for a calculator and tallied up the figures. The past due amounts grew higher and higher.

  Why weren’t these bills being paid? The most recent carried yesterday’s date. Something was not right. Surely their accountant settled these bills promptly, or at least he’d better have a good explanation.

  “Can I call you back?” Elliot cut off Marissa midsentence. “Sorry, I have an emergency. With a bride.”

  “You’ll call right back?”

  “I promise.” Elliot hung up and punched in a number. A robotic voice said it had been disconnected and asked her to dial another. So she did.

  “Darling,” Rosalyn Russell’s cheery voice filled the phone when she answered. “I haven’t spoken to you in days. How are you, peanut?”

  “I’m fine, sorry to call this late.”

  “I’m always available where you’re concerned.” Elliot gave a half grin. Rosalyn had always been there. She’d supported Elliot’s mother when she’d started Engagements thirty years ago. While she owned the biggest bridal boutique in South Carolina, their friendship had been about more than lace, ribbons, and brides. Rosalyn had stood by Kelly Lynch’s side during two recurrences of cancer. She’d kept on supporting the family after Kelly’s death.

  “Do you have Mr. Peters’ new phone number?” Elliot flipped through the barely filled Rolodex once more to check. “I can’t find it in Daddy’s files, and since you work with him too, I figured you would. I have an accounting question for him.”

  “Mr. Peters retired six months ago. He closed his practice and moved to Florida with his wife. They had a beautiful retirement party, but you had to work the Manchester-Knight wedding.”

  “That’s right.” Elliot vaguely recalled the busy weekend. She’d worked weddings on Friday and Saturday night. “Who did Daddy hire to take over the accounts?”

  “No one. Walter said he'd handle the money himself.”

  How was this the first time Elliot had heard about her father taking over the accounting? Walter was great at spending cash, but terrible at managing it. If not for their thriving business, he would’ve been forced to sell the house and cars years ago to finance his spending habits.

  She found a bank statement for the business with their checking and savings account information. Her stomach pitched again. The balances were lower—much lower—than she’d imagined.

  Her first impulse was to panic, but she fought the urge. Losing control of her emotions wouldn’t help the situation. She needed to keep calm and figure out what she needed to do.

  Shaking off the gnawing fear, Elliot took a deep breath. She’d find a way to pay these bills. The first step was speaking with Libby and their father to figure out what exactly had happened. The next was deciding what they were willing to do to break even.

  Maybe they should temporarily mortgage their family’s historic waterfront house. That would more than cover expenses. They’d also need to increase their business to make up the difference for the additional loan payments every month. Once she crunched the numbers more concisely, she’d figure out how long that would take.

  Elliot wanted the matter settled now, but she’d have to wait a few days to present the mess to her family. Neither Walter nor Libby handled confrontation well. Her mother had always said they required extra care with delicate issues like these. She called them her “free spirits.” Elliot figured that translated to “irresponsible dreamers who don’t want to be held accountable for their actions.”

  Despite the cost, she’d hire a new accountant to oversee the finances. None of the Lynches were equipped to manage the money they had coming in and going out.

  Yes, they would survive the setback. She hated mortgaging their ancestral home, but it was necessary. The house was the only asset they owned. Grandmother and Grandfather Lynch, God rest their souls, would forgive them. The Lynch family was nothing if not practical.

  She read the next bank statement, and her optimism crashed. She reread the words more carefully, and a cool shiver ran down her back. “When did Daddy mortgage the house?”

  Rosalyn’s voice was hushed when she answered. “When did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t. I found a notice from the bank.” Elliot cleared her throat, fighting the lump forming. “When did he take out the mortgage?”

  “The summer before you went to college.” Mere months after her mother’s death.

  According to the letter, Engagements had faithfully paid the interest for years. But no payments had been made in more than six months. Engagements had ninety days to make the payments—plus the late fees. If they didn't, the bank would foreclose on their house and business, which was listed as collateral.

  “We’ll be ruined.”

  “What, dear?”

  “The flowers,” Elliot covered for herself quickly. “They’ll be ruined if I don’t get them in a vase.”

  “Well, you’d better take care of them. I’d hate for perfectly good lilacs or daisies to go to waste. Call me tomorrow. We’ll talk about this more later.”

  Elliot hung up the phone and stared at the papers spread across the desk. Black and white proof her family was in serious trouble.

  How were they going to come up with this kind of money? They’d already opened up their house for events. Even if they doubled the rental fees, they wouldn’t make enough in three months to foot the bill.

  One obvious option stared her in the face. No, she would find another way. Something that wouldn’t completely violate her privacy or sanity. Increased prices. New services. More business. All of those would help in the long run, but not in such a tight time frame.

  She had no other choice. Picking up her phone again, she made the call. Mari
ssa answered on the first ring. Elliot took a deep breath. “Two questions. How much money are we talking? And how much can we get paid in advance?”

  The Marrying Type Teaser Campaign TV Ad Transcript

  Announcer: Coming soon . . .

  Wedding bells chime as the sun rises over the ocean, revealing rows of empty white chairs, tied with satin ribbon, facing a floral arch. The music shifts into a rock beat. Wedding video clips flash across the screen: on a beach, in a gothic church, on top of a high-rise.

  Announcer (continued): You’re invited to witness the classiest and most dramatic weddings ever on The Marrying Type. This is your backstage pass to watch four wedding planners guide lavish couples down the aisle.

  A woman in a black suit comforts a crying bride. A man twirls around in Central Park. A woman shouts into an earpiece. A couple toasts each other.

  Announcer (continued): You’ll see no two weddings or planners are exactly alike.

  The music ends, and the wedding bells return. The Marrying Type appears on screen.

  Announcer (continued): Check your local listings.

  Chapter Two

  “There is no more lovely, friendly and charming relationship, communion or company than a good marriage.”

  ~ Martin Luther

  ERIC WARNER’S HAND tightened on the remote control. Staring at the screen in mute shock, he shook his head in disbelief. This wasn’t possible. He rewound the commercial and froze the picture. The woman on screen—the one hugging the teary-eyed woman in a cream puff dress—couldn’t be her.

  He pressed play and paused on the next image. Dressed in a black suit, the pretty young woman tugged at her jacket and chewed the inside of her cheek. Quietly fretting the way she did when she was worried. Her blue eyes crinkled around the edges in concern. It was those eyes that told him the truth.

  Elliot—the woman who broke his heart back when he had one—was coming to a TV near him this fall.