The Marrying Type

by Laura Chapman

  She made the introductions, leaving out the part about Will being in the area to hopefully take over her business. She kept her voice steady despite the loud thudding in her chest. Damn Eric for always having this effect—even when he was glaring at her.

  “I suppose I should go say hello to some of the other guests.” His eyes grew darker. “Have a nice evening.”

  With a parting frown, he joined a small group gathered on the other side of the room. Elliot recognized a few of them as members of the wedding party. Heloise’s face lit up when he walked her way. She called out a shrill greeting and linked her arm with his to draw him into their circle.

  “Is she going to give him trouble?” Will asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “The girl hanging on him like she can’t wait to sink her claws into him.”

  Elliot pondered the question and how to answer: Tact or truth?

  “I’d keep an eye on it, myself,” she said. “Heloise can be a sweet, fun girl, but between us planners, she’s a high-risk for disaster.”

  “I got that impression, too.” Will grinned. “I suppose we wedding planners can always spot any potential triggers for trouble.”

  Placing an arm around her back, he led her toward one of the tables set up with a buffet.

  “We’re not working—we don’t have to be polite about letting everyone else through first,” he said. “Let’s find a couple of seats together, and you can tell me how it is you’ve managed to reach the ripe old age of . . .”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Practically a baby.” He flashed a devilish grin. “You can tell me how you’ve managed your success at such a young age. Then you can tell me why such a beautiful, smart, and charming woman doesn’t have a handsome boyfriend sharing the evening with her.”

  After the salad course, their conversation turned back to the wedding business, particularly Will’s business.

  “My company started decades ago with my mom, kind of like Engagements,” he explained, passing her the bread basket. “By the time I graduated college, she’d kind of plateaued.”

  “How do you mean?” Elliot declined the butter he offered and nibbled on the crust.

  “She wasn’t bringing in enough revenue stream to make up for the change in times.” While he spoke, Elliot enviously watched him spread a generous portion of butter on his bread. He must have a lot more time to spend at the gym than she did. “She blamed the dip in the economy, which didn’t help, but mostly she was burnt out.”

  “But then you came along . . .”

  “Within three years we’d expanded out of our L.A. offices and set up major shops along the West Coast.” He pointed a finger at her. “You have to dream big if you want to be big.”

  “Why the multiple locations? How do you keep personal events personal when you’re operating a major franchise?”

  “The same way you do—with talented staff.” Will polished off his bread and reached into the basket for another. Elliot needed to find out his workout regimen. She’d do whatever it took—sacrifice an hour of sleep, sacrifice a chicken—if the end result meant a trim figure and unlimited carbs and fats. “Usually we keep the previous business owners on staff. We make them regional managers and leave them to do their thing while I manage from the top.”

  “If the businesses run the same as usual, why do they agree to the buyout?”

  “They need the money. They want more guidance. They want out.” He shrugged and offered her another slice of bread, which she declined. “The point is, they’re usually hurting financially, and we help them out.”

  “Why do you do it? What’s in it for you?”

  “I get my name out there. My business grows.” He stared at Elliot. “I’m building an empire.”

  “Maybe I should call you ‘Augustus.’”

  He grinned and went back to a story about his latest expansion venture. Elliot half listened, half watched the action at a table in the other room. Heloise had her arm linked through Eric’s. Arching her neck, she tried to overhear what they were discussing. Not having any luck, she leaned back in the seat and stared at her empty plate.

  IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT when Elliot made it home. She snuck inside quietly so she wouldn’t wake her father. Releasing the breath she’d been holding all night, Elliot checked her emails as she walked toward the kitchen. Most of the messages came from vendors wanting to verify details and brides needing reassurance.

  Elliot chose her words carefully for a bride who was worried she and her future partner would pick dresses that clashed or worse yet upstaged the other. This had a simple solution. She’d help with the dress shopping. She’d be a neutral party who could steer both in the right direction.

  A new text message interrupted her mid-response. Her brow creased as she tried to place the number. She opened the text, and a smile replaced her frown.

  Hey girl, it’s Smyth. I’m in Chaaarllleston as of next weekend. You free for drinks? Soon?

  Absolutely. The sooner the better.

  Next Friday? Saturday?

  Her frown returned. She didn’t have much spare time. Wedding planning ate up your weekends—especially during the spring and summer months. She wouldn’t be available to meet up with Smyth any night between Thursday and Saturday. Unless . . . Lips pursed, Elliot mulled over an idea for a moment, before making an executive decision.

  I have weddings both nights, and I’m booked.

  Are you available to assist or do you need more time to settle in before starting for the summer?

  This is a paying gig right?

  Of course.

  I’m in.

  What’s for dinner?

  She laughed to herself, because it was such a Smyth thing to ask. The man had a bottomless pit for a stomach, but it never showed around his waistline. She’d be jealous if he wasn’t such a sweetheart. She had to exercise every chance she had to keep herself in a size eight. And after a day like today, she didn’t need the guilt of grabbing a handful of cookies on her way to bed, even if she’d earned them.

  From The Marrying Type Transcript

  Filmed: July

  Airing: November

  Announcer: There are countless rites of passage in a person’s life. Getting a driver’s license. Graduating from high school. Going to a bar for the first time. For a bride, one of those milestones is the infamous bachelorette party. For bride-to-be Sadie Warner, that moment has come.

  Heloise: I may not be the maid of honor—a minor technicality—but I’m the best at planning a good old-fashioned night of debauchery. Naturally, I stepped in to do the job right.

  Announcer: Uh oh. Just what does she have in store?

  Heloise: Originally, I wanted us to go on a weekend trip to Majorca or even Vegas, but some of the other bridesmaids—and I’m not naming names—balked at the price. Instead, we’re having a night on the town.

  Announcer: A night in Charleston has many options. Cocktails. Concerts. Theater. Fine Dining.

  Heloise: This will be a night dear Sadie will never forget. And if all goes right, one she’ll never talk about.

  Announcer: Sadly, we’ll have to sit out this part of the Warner-Crawford nuptials, but maybe the girls will break their gag rule and share a few details.

  Heloise: What happens at this bachelorette party stays at the bachelorette party.

  Announcer: And maybe not.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “All married couples should learn the art of battle as they should learn the art of making love. Good battle is objective and honest—never vicious or cruel. Good battle is healthy and constructive, and brings to a marriage the principles of equal partnership.”

  ~ Ann Landers

  SADIE’S FRIENDS THREW her a bachelorette party a few weeks before the wedding. Elliot tried, and failed, to discourage them from holding the party the night before the bridal shower brunch. The women had assured her they’d be on their best behavior. She remained skeptical, but ultimately, it hadn’t been her decis
ion.

  When Heloise learned Elliot’s wedding would wrap by mid afternoon, she’d roped her into the night’s festivities. Elliot didn’t put up much of a fight. She’d make sure they stayed hydrated by forcing water bottles on them if necessary. And if the evening took a nasty turn, she’d be on hand to post bail.

  After dinner at a Mexican restaurant, the limo pulled into a parking spot in front of their next destination. Elliot scoped out the building and worried she didn’t have enough bail money stashed away. It took her eyes a long moment to adjust to the dim light inside.

  “Shots for everyone. Shots. Shots. Shots.” Heloise’s demand spurred mixed results from the other girls.

  Elliot was too distracted by the neon lights to care whether or not tequila was on its way. While the strip club’s exterior had been relatively demure, inside the displays featured nude men. The flashing neon gave the illusion they were dancing. The stage stood front and center with a wall of mirrors to the back and a trio of poles in prime positions.

  “I have no idea what we’re supposed to do.” Sadie giggled nervously. Her eyes grew wide, and she adjusted the condom-covered veil Heloise had insisted she wear for the night. “I’ve never been to a strip club before.”

  “I haven’t either,” Elliot murmured.

  Marissa and Libby had refused strippers for their bachelorette parties. They’d also forbidden condom-covered veils, penis straws, and anything else involving male anatomy. Heloise wouldn’t have listened to those rules. She’d likely bought every penis-shaped party favor available.

  “Oh my.” Sadie’s cheeks colored as a man in a loin cloth strolled by. “I guess this is what a strip club looks like.”

  “Mmm.” Elliot watched a middle-aged woman smack a stripper’s butt with growing trepidation. She would be hard-pressed to touch anything in this club, let alone one of the performers. She didn’t have enough hand sanitizer.

  “This way, ladies.” Heloise pulled Sadie and Elliot to a set of tables directly in front of the stage. She gestured for the other women to follow. “Take your seats and get ready for the show.”

  A waiter, dressed like a cowboy in ass-less chaps, took their drink orders. Trying not to let her eyes linger too long on his backside, Elliot permitted herself one vodka press. After this, she’d stick to sparkling water with a twist of lime. More alcohol might help Elliot enjoy the night, but she’d regret overindulging the next morning.

  The women watched the opening act take the stage while they sipped their drinks. From her seat next to Elliot, Sadie downed a shot of tequila chased with a long drink of vodka diet.

  The burgundy velvet curtains rose on the first solo stripper of the night—who happened to be their server—standing center stage, donning a cowboy hat and pair of spurs.

  Heloise raised a wad of singles in the air. Maybe she had a thing for cowboys. Elliot scanned his body, eyes lingering a little too long on the banana hammock. She gulped. No point faulting Heloise. In this instance, she had excellent taste. The DJ walked over to their table.

  In a brief moment of selflessness, Heloise turned to Sadie. “Do you want to go up first?” she asked. “This is your night.”

  Sadie shook her head. “No. I’m waiting for a man in uniform. You go.”

  “Thanks.” Heloise grinned excitedly and stood to be led up to the stage for a dance.

  “A man in uniform?” Elliot asked. Sadie nodded as they watched Heloise take a firm grip of the cowboy’s bare derriere.

  “Yeah. I’ve always had a thing for a hot man in uniform. Must be in my blood.” Her eyes widened when the cowboy moved Heloise’s hands to his thighs. “Those days are behind me—and I’m glad they are since I have Adam—though I still wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one tonight. Strictly in a stripper-patron way of course.”

  “Of course.” Elliot’s cheeks grew hot even as a grin spread across her face. “I’d be lying if I said I’d never had . . . unprofessional ideas about a cop or firefighter.”

  “You have ideas . . . like that?”

  “Sure. Sometimes.” Her cheeks flushed. “I have no idea how it started. Maybe it goes back to elementary school. We took a field trip to the firehouse. They let us slide down the pole, sit in the front seat of the engine, and ring the bell. What I remember most was the line-up of men. Broad shoulders, tight shirts, and Tom Selleck mustaches. I was seven, and I fell hard for each and every one of those men.”

  Elliot paused to contemplate the memory. “I’ve had a few nights since when I wonder what they had on underneath. Am I a total creep?”

  “Totally,” Sadie said. She laughed at Elliot’s expression. “But you’ll get no judgment here. My father was ex-military and a cop. How weird am I, lusting after men in uniform?”

  Sadie was about to continue, but her jaw dropped open and she pointed at the stage. “Oh my God! What are they doing?”

  On stage the cowboy—who was now wearing only a bandana, cowboy boots, and loincloth—had lifted Heloise into his arms and turned her upside down. Her face was pressed up close to his crotch, her legs flailed open near the cowboy’s head.

  “Is he pretending to . . .” Sadie trailed off.

  Stupefied, Elliot nodded. She’d expected men to take off their clothes and dance around for the audience’s enjoyment. These theatrics were a whole new dynamic.

  “Oh my,” Jessie whispered.

  Their table stared in captivated silence. Elliot had to admire Heloise’s confidence on stage. When she set out to conquer a good time, she did. But what would Chase—or Eric for that matter—say? Elliot doubted her brother or boyfriend would be able to look her in the eye if they’d caught this performance.

  At the end of the dance number, the cowboy helped Heloise off the stage and back to her seat. The women in the group blasted her with a series of questions. She casually shrugged each of them off and downed the last of her drink, signaling to a construction worker behind the bar for another.

  “I’ve made a decision.”

  “About what?” Elliot asked.

  “You’re going up at some point.” When Elliot shook her head, Heloise placed a gentle hand on her forearm. “I understand this is your first time around strippers, but you have to try.”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Don’t be a wuss.”

  The women surveyed each other, the challenge still hanging in the air. The choice was Elliot’s, of course. But if she didn’t work up the courage for a not-so-private dance from one of the men, she’d never be able to prove she was anything more than an uptight prude.

  Elliot wanted to hate Heloise for daring her. But at least she’d done it when the camera crews—and Eric—weren’t present.

  Once the cowboy finished his run with a couple other partners, the curtain fell again. Between their gushing and giggling, the women placed money on who would take the stage next. Heloise had her money on the construction worker, while Jessie insisted they’d have a man in uniform for Sadie.

  “Are all of the dancers going to be dressed as brawny, hands-on type of professionals?” Elliot asked.

  “Of course,” Heloise said. “Why would they put anything else on stage?”

  “Maybe some of us wouldn’t mind an actuary or anthropologist worked into the mix,” Elliot teased. “Man candy for the thinking woman.”

  “I bet the anthropologist would have a whip, like Indiana Jones,” Heloise mused.

  “Indiana Jones was an archaeologist,” Jessie corrected. “Maybe we should cut you off. You’re clearly drunk.”

  “Ladies,” the DJ’s voice returned over the PA, “I’d like to invite our next gentleman to the stage.” They fell silent and held their breath, waiting to discover who was right. “He’s back from serving our fine nation overseas, and he’s hoping you’ll give him a welcome home.”

  Sadie’s face lit up, and Jessie took bills from the other women around the table, as a soldier in full fatigues strutted across the stage. Elliot’s heart beat a bit faster. She shifted uncomf
ortably in her seat to settle the stirring in her belly.

  “Friends,” Sadie said loudly, never tearing her eyes from the performer on stage, “I’d like to remind you of our little pact.”

  “What happens in the strip club stays in the strip club,” Jessie assured her.

  “And no one drops any hints to the production team during your interviews with the producers,” Elliot added.

  Vow made, Jessie placed a pile of singles in her friend’s hand and raised it high. The soldier stopped in his tracks. He stepped off the stage to walk to the table. He reached down for Sadie and helped her stand.

  In one swift movement, he leaned down and swept her off her feet. As he carried her to the stage, the theme to An Officer and a Gentleman played over the loud speakers. Playing along, Sadie grabbed his hat and placed it on her head. Elliot was too caught up in the reenactment unfolding to worry about how many germs might be on the cap.

  “Do you think they’ll recreate the final scene of ‘Dirty Dancing’ later?” Jessie asked. “Because if they do, I have dibs.”

  “You wouldn’t have a clue how to do those dance moves,” Heloise said.

  “Maybe not, but in my fantasy, the Johnny lookalike will help me through them.”

  Elliot stifled a laugh and the rest of the audience sang along to “Up Where We Belong.” On stage, the soldier gently placed Sadie on one of the chairs. The music switched to an up-tempo disco beat.

  He kicked off his boots. In one swift move he tore his pants off, exposing his boxer briefs.

  Elliot gasped. His thighs were the most magnificent and muscular she’d ever seen. The oil layered on top accentuated every curve and angle. How had she never noticed how impressive a pair of strong legs could be on a man? She should take better note in the future.

  The soldier guided Sadie’s hands to clasp around his neck. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. Face bright red and lips slightly parted, she nodded. Seconds later, she slid her hands underneath his jacket and ripped. The last piece of his fatigues fell to the ground. Her fingers roved down his chest and stomach and around back to cup his butt. They drifted lower to lightly caress the exterior of his thighs. Elliot forgot to breathe.