The Substitute Bride (The Great Wedding Giveaway Series Book 7) by Kathleen O`Brien
Authors: Kathleen O`Brien
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emotional. If only she’d inherited Angelina’s poise and practicality, instead of having an imagination that served up one horror scenario after another.
She took a deep breath. If she let herself panic, things would just get worse. Maybe she should call Drake. Last night, he’d had a way of helping her stay grounded—and even making her smile.
But she didn’t touch her phone. Her mother had drilled that lesson home to Marly’s core. Never, ever put your happiness, or your financial security, in the hands of any man.
Besides, her mission here was to find a good approach for approaching these ridiculous Giveaway stories. She tapped her fingers on the iPad, accidentally closing her file and opening her email.
As long as it was open, she took a quick look. Had any of the job possibilities written back?
They hadn’t. She drummed her fingers on the upholstered arms of the chair instead. What was wrong with her? So much for that famous imagination. She couldn’t think of a single fresh angle on any of this.
Only one semi-interesting question nibbled at her imagination. How satisfied was Troy Sheenan with his investment in the Graff? Any chance he was going to take a bath on this venture? After half an hour or so watching people come and go, she wasn’t sure the registration desk was as busy as a place like this required, just to break even.
And if the Graff folded again...what did that mean for little Marietta’s rebirth?
Looking down again, hoping for the job inquiry that would punch her ticket out of here, she noticed she had one new email. Not a job nibble, though. This email was from the Chamber of Commerce, which was in charge of the Giveaway circus.
Yesterday, Marly had asked Jane Weiss, the Chamber’s director, to consider releasing the names of the eight semi-finalists a day early. Marly needed the extra time to research each couple, if she had any hope of writing a decent piece for the Monday paper.
She’d given her word she’d keep the names private, but since she didn’t know Jane, and vice versa, she hadn’t held out much hope.
But this email, which came from Jane’s assistant, included several attachments. Marly’s hopes rose. She scanned the email quickly. Apparently Jane had agreed. The applications of the eight semi-finalists were attached, under the hold-for-release conditions they’d discussed earlier.
Marly made quick victory fists, clenching her fingers an inch or so over the keyboard. This was a small success, but it gave her something to work on.
She probably ought to return to the Courier to read them, but she was too eager to wait. She opened the attachments quickly, one after another, looking at the names and photos on the applications, gathering first impressions.
If something unusual showed up, she’d recognize it.
At first blush, the crop wasn’t promising. All such pretty, young, healthy women. Such manly GQ grooms. Jane had told her the judging criteria were simple—the best love story, and the most compelling reason for wanting to be married here in Marietta. But apparently being gorgeous didn’t hurt.
Some of the names were local, familiar to Marly to one degree or another.
Brock Sheenan and Haley Diekerhoff . A Sheenan. Of course. On the other hand, the Graff didn’t actually run the contest—it merely had offered some of the prizes. So probably nothing hinky going on there.
Sage Carrigan and Dawson O’Dell .
McKenna Douglas and Larry Joplin . McKenna was the queen of the beauties, of course. Everyone knew McKenna, and everyone loved her. Marly felt a momentary pity for the other seven finalists. McKenna would be hard to beat.
Robin Armstrong and I.B. Coole.
Marly grimaced, thinking what Mr. ‘I Be Cool’ must have endured on the playgrounds of middle school. What had his parents been thinking? She glanced at Robin Armstrong’s picture, and was glad to see that the
She took a deep breath. If she let herself panic, things would just get worse. Maybe she should call Drake. Last night, he’d had a way of helping her stay grounded—and even making her smile.
But she didn’t touch her phone. Her mother had drilled that lesson home to Marly’s core. Never, ever put your happiness, or your financial security, in the hands of any man.
Besides, her mission here was to find a good approach for approaching these ridiculous Giveaway stories. She tapped her fingers on the iPad, accidentally closing her file and opening her email.
As long as it was open, she took a quick look. Had any of the job possibilities written back?
They hadn’t. She drummed her fingers on the upholstered arms of the chair instead. What was wrong with her? So much for that famous imagination. She couldn’t think of a single fresh angle on any of this.
Only one semi-interesting question nibbled at her imagination. How satisfied was Troy Sheenan with his investment in the Graff? Any chance he was going to take a bath on this venture? After half an hour or so watching people come and go, she wasn’t sure the registration desk was as busy as a place like this required, just to break even.
And if the Graff folded again...what did that mean for little Marietta’s rebirth?
Looking down again, hoping for the job inquiry that would punch her ticket out of here, she noticed she had one new email. Not a job nibble, though. This email was from the Chamber of Commerce, which was in charge of the Giveaway circus.
Yesterday, Marly had asked Jane Weiss, the Chamber’s director, to consider releasing the names of the eight semi-finalists a day early. Marly needed the extra time to research each couple, if she had any hope of writing a decent piece for the Monday paper.
She’d given her word she’d keep the names private, but since she didn’t know Jane, and vice versa, she hadn’t held out much hope.
But this email, which came from Jane’s assistant, included several attachments. Marly’s hopes rose. She scanned the email quickly. Apparently Jane had agreed. The applications of the eight semi-finalists were attached, under the hold-for-release conditions they’d discussed earlier.
Marly made quick victory fists, clenching her fingers an inch or so over the keyboard. This was a small success, but it gave her something to work on.
She probably ought to return to the Courier to read them, but she was too eager to wait. She opened the attachments quickly, one after another, looking at the names and photos on the applications, gathering first impressions.
If something unusual showed up, she’d recognize it.
At first blush, the crop wasn’t promising. All such pretty, young, healthy women. Such manly GQ grooms. Jane had told her the judging criteria were simple—the best love story, and the most compelling reason for wanting to be married here in Marietta. But apparently being gorgeous didn’t hurt.
Some of the names were local, familiar to Marly to one degree or another.
Brock Sheenan and Haley Diekerhoff . A Sheenan. Of course. On the other hand, the Graff didn’t actually run the contest—it merely had offered some of the prizes. So probably nothing hinky going on there.
Sage Carrigan and Dawson O’Dell .
McKenna Douglas and Larry Joplin . McKenna was the queen of the beauties, of course. Everyone knew McKenna, and everyone loved her. Marly felt a momentary pity for the other seven finalists. McKenna would be hard to beat.
Robin Armstrong and I.B. Coole.
Marly grimaced, thinking what Mr. ‘I Be Cool’ must have endured on the playgrounds of middle school. What had his parents been thinking? She glanced at Robin Armstrong’s picture, and was glad to see that the
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