I almost flinched. "Yeah?"
"If you've got something to say, now would be an excellent time."
She was wrong. Now would be the worst possible time, because in an hour, I might have wonderful news – news that would make this conversation totally unnecessary.
Forcing a smile, I said, "Sorry, but I really am in a hurry. I'll call you back in an hour, alright?" As I said it, I offered up a silent prayer that I'd be calling her back with good news.
But Mom wasn't having it. "Wait a minute. Did you say you were heading into a meeting?"
"Yup." Even as the reply left my lips, I realized my mistake. Supposedly, I was still manning the coffee counter, which didn't jive with the whole meeting thing.
"So, who are you meeting with?"
Instantly, a vision of Chase Blastoviak popped into my head. In this mental picture, he wasn't wearing a suit and tie, but rather that white T-shirt he'd been wearing on the show, the one he'd used to wipe his face while giving me and millions of other people a delicious view of his abs.
The image was a huge distraction.
As far as my mom, it was true that I hadn't been completely transparent about losing my barista job or the sponsorship, but so far, I hadn't lied to her, not outright. And I didn't want to start now.
I replied, "It's just a local guy, that's all."
That's all?
Good grief. Chase Blastoviak was "just a local guy" the way some lions were "just cats."
"Who?" she asked. "Do I know him?"
Cripes, everyone knew him. Just last week, I'd recognized him instantly after only a single glance from inside the coffee shop.
I shifted nervously on the sofa. "Well, I'm sure you've seen him."
This was undeniably true. Blast was one of my mom's favorite TV shows. She and my dad were huge do-it-yourselfers. Plus, the local connection made the show impossible to resist.
My mom asked, "Where?"
"Sorry, what?"
"Where have I seen him?"
I bit my lip. "Um…around." I meant, of course, in their living room every Tuesday night when my parents were glued to the TV screen.
She asked, "What does he look like?"
Again, that image popped into my brain. He looked like every girl's fantasy, that's what. Unfortunately, he had the personality of a jackal.
I asked, "Why does that matter?"
"Because I'm trying to picture him."
And I was trying to not picture him.
I sighed. "Okay, he's exceptionally good-looking, alright?" Quickly I rattled off the basics. "Six-foot two with dark hair, and I’m pretty sure he works out. A lot. But it doesn't matter. He's a total jerk."
"But if that's the case," my mom said, "why are you meeting with him?"
Boy, if that wasn't a dangerous question. Going for a distraction, I teased, "Oh, you know me. I just love me some man meat."
Man meat. It was an old family joke, referring to guys with no personality, but plenty of muscles.
As far as Chase Blastoviak, he had muscles and a personality, except the personality was all bad.
On the phone, my mom went utterly silent. I knew why, too.
I was so busted.
Turns out, this was doubly true, because just then, directly behind me, I heard a different voice – a male voice – say, "Man meat, huh?"
Chapter 12
Mina
At the sound of his voice, I felt my whole body go rigid. I was still clutching the phone to my ear when my mom asked, "Who was that?"
"Nobody," I whispered. "Sorry. Gotta go." And with that, I disconnected the call and blinked long and hard before slowly turning to look.
When I did, I found my face mere inches from the pelvis of you-know-who.
I felt myself swallow. Speaking of man meat.
Oh, for God's sake.
I jerked my gaze upward to look at his face. As I did, he lifted a single eyebrow and asked, "So, how's it goin'?"
Terrible.
As if he cared.
He didn't look angry so much as amused, and for some stupid reason, this annoyed the heck out of me. And then, there was the matter of him being so darn sneaky.
Without thinking, I blurted out, "Next time, make a sound or something, will you?"
He lowered the eyebrow and asked, "You got a preference?"
"Excuse me?"
"The sound," he said. "What? You want me to moo?"
I frowned. Moo? Why would I want him to moo? I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. And besides, what could I say? I mean, I sure as heck wasn't going to moo.
In a near panic, I practically leapt up from the sofa. But when I did, my feet got all tangled up, and I tripped forward, falling straight into his arms. They closed around me as my face mashed into his chest.
I sucked in a horrified breath and then paused. He smelled good. His scent was all clean and woodsy. He felt even better, and for a split second, I forgot to be mortified that I'd apparently just hurtled myself against him.
But then, he spoke into my hair. "Subtle."
It was the same thing he'd said yesterday when I'd accidentally shown him a picture of myself in a bikini. But that too had been an accident.
I yanked myself out of his arms and nearly stumbled in the other direction. Just in time, I grabbed the arm of the sofa and held on for dear life.
Finally, I took a deep calming breath and summoned up what I hoped was a smile. It didn't feel like a smile so I widened it considerably.
As I did, Chase frowned. He glanced down to his pelvis, as if expecting to find me chewing on it or something.
I felt my eyebrows furrow, even as I kept the smile stubbornly in place. I said nothing. And neither did he.
The silence stretched out between us until a female voice off to the side said, "Mister Blastoviak? Should I call security?"
I turned to look and spotted Gretchen, eyeing me with obvious suspicion.
I straightened. "Why would you do that? I have an appointment." To drive the point home, I jerked a thumb toward Chase Blastoviak and said, "With him."
Her mouth tightened. She leaned toward me and hissed, "Yes. But you're obviously under the influence."
I felt my gaze narrow. "Excuse me?"
She didn't even bother to reply. Instead, she turned to Chase and said, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Blastoviak. If I had known…"
I cut her off. "I'm not drunk, if that's what you think."
Her gaze shifted once again in my direction. "Well, you're obviously on something."
"Oh, please." I tried to laugh. "I am not." I looked to Chase and said, "You don’t think I'm drunk, do you?"
He gave me a long, penetrating look before saying. "No." And just when I concluded that he was actually being reasonable, he added, "I think you're nuts."
"What?" I sputtered.
Again, he did the thing with the eyebrow. By now, I was pretty sure he was doing it just to taunt me.
I made a sound of frustration. "Nuts? As in crazy? Like that's any better."
He gave a loose shrug. "Hey, you said it, not me."
Gretchen spoke up. "So, should I call security?"
Chase spared her half a glance before returning his attention to me. With cool deliberation, he reached up and stroked his chin as if deep in contemplation.
I wasn't buying the act for one moment. Whatever he was going to do, he'd already decided. I don't know how I knew. I just did, which meant that he was only doing this to torment me.
Still, I refused to squirm. Instead, I waited in stubborn silence for him to either toss me out or escort me up to his office.
I just prayed it was the office thing, because after that phone call with my mom, I'd reached a whole new level of desperation. Thanks to that blabbermouth Ginger Hawthorne, the proverbial cat was out of the bag.
If I couldn’t get Chase to say yes to the sponsorship, I'd need to deliver the bad news today, not only to the festival committee, but also to my own family.
A
s far as the festival itself, I'd still try to get another sponsor, but the odds weren't looking so great. Some might say it was only a festival. But to my little hometown, it was a really big deal.
The festival was where my grandpa had proposed to my grandma over fifty years ago. It was where my dad had his won his first tractor pull at only eighteen years old. It was where my mom had been crowned first runner up in the tomato queen competition – and where I'd been crowned the same thing over two decades later.
At sixteen, I'd had my first kiss under the lights of the carnival midway and had eaten my first funnel cake as a toddler while watching my older brother ride the Ferris Wheel.
Over the past few decades, our town had lost a lot of people – some due to death and old age, and others due to younger people moving away in search of better jobs.
But some of us were still here. And as long as we were, it seemed incredibly important to continue our traditions.
As my thoughts swirled, I felt my eyes grow misty. And in that moment, as I stood waiting for Chase's answer, I decided that I wouldn't give up, no matter what.
If it came down to it, I'd promise him just about anything to make this sponsorship happen – well, anything except my virtue, because whoring myself out for any event would make a mockery of everything I held dear.
But somehow, I would convince him. And I'd keep smiling no matter how much he irritated me.
If I came down to it, I'd even beg.
I just prayed that I wouldn't have to.
Chapter 13
Chase
In the lobby, she looked almost ready to cry.
See? Crazy.
I knew this because sane people didn't cry if a potential meeting went off the rails. But she looked like she wanted to, which was a real kick in the teeth, because it took all the fun out of teasing her.
I looked to Gretchen and said, "Nah. I think I'll be safe."
Hell, I knew I'd be safe, as long as I kept Mina Lipinski away from my privates.
Across from me, Mina blinked several times before perking up to say, "Great. I'll just grab my stuff."
I shifted my stance. As long as she didn't grab my stuff, I figured we'd be alright.
That stunt of falling into my arms had been about as subtle as a sledgehammer. And yet, I'd enjoyed it more than I should have.
There'd been a moment – and not a short moment either – when I'd been tempted to go with it anyway, to pull her hard against me and kiss her like I meant it.
I was good at rolling with that sort of thing. I should be. I'd had plenty of practice.
By now, I'd seen every trick in the book.
"Oops, I dropped my pen. I'll just bend over and pick it up in front of you. And what do you know? I'm not wearing any panties."
That sort of thing used to be a blast. Pun intended. But sometime in the last few months, the routine had gotten stale, like a day-old donut. I mean, yeah, it wasn't terrible. But it wasn't something to savor either.
I watched as Mina turned and bent toward the sofa to retrieve her computer and purse. The purse was the same one she'd been carrying yesterday, which made me wonder if it was the only purse she had.
I wasn't into purses, but I did notice things – like her dress. It was just as respectable as the one she'd been wearing yesterday. This one was pale yellow, the same color as the highlights in her hair.
The dress wasn't short or low-cut. It wasn't tight either. And yet, it hugged the curve of her ass as she leaned further out to pick up a leather portfolio.
I resisted the urge to take a good long look – and not at the portfolio – even as I wondered if she was wearing any panties. And if so, what kind were they?
I was still wondering when she stood and turned back to me. Clutching the portfolio against her chest, she said, "Ready whenever you are."
As she spoke, something inside me stirred. Or more likely, something in my pants stirred. Either way, it was something best ignored, like a craving for cheap tequila on an empty stomach.
I jerked my chin toward the elevators. "I doubt it." I began walking toward them, leaving Mina to follow along beside me.
As we walked side-by-side, she asked, "You doubt what?"
"That you're ready." Yesterday, I'd asked for proof that she'd attended the festival as a baby. I'd done it for a damn good reason, whether she realized it or not.
By now, I'd learned the hard way that when someone made an outrageous claim, you'd better get the proof – or regret later when they didn't meet their other commitments. These days, I liked prospects who underpromised and overdelivered – not the other way around.
When Mina said nothing in reply, I gave her a longer sideways glance. She didn't look worried. She looked quietly amused, like she knew something I didn't.
And in that moment, I very much wanted to know something. It was something I'd never wondered before.
Just what was she thinking?
Chapter 14
Mina
He was too smug by half. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking that I'd neglected to bring the photo – the one he'd demanded yesterday.
Obviously, he still thought I was a liar.
Fine.
I still thought he was a jerk. And yet, I couldn’t help but smile because I knew something he didn't. Soon, I'd be rubbing the photo in his face – not literally, of course, because the last thing I wanted was to get anywhere near his face, not to mention the rest of him.
He was the kind of guy who made it hard to think – or to stand on my own two feet, apparently. On the upside, I hadn't drooled on him. And for that, I was supremely grateful.
On top of that, I had a few more aces up my sleeve – over twenty aces, in fact. And boy, was I ever going to enjoy playing them.
Inside the elevator, Chase pressed the button for the top floor, and we both watched in silence as the doors slid shut in front of us.
We were alone in the confined space, and I was dying to ask him a very basic question. Why on Earth had he come down to retrieve me personally?
I just knew it couldn't be for a good reason, which led me to believe that he'd been hoping for exactly the sort of thing that had happened – for me to make a total fool of myself yet again.
And I had.
Repeatedly.
Man meat, indeed.
As the thought crossed my mind, I had a sudden epiphany. "Oh, my God," I said. "I just figured it out."
Without so much as a glance in my direction, he said, "Figured what out?"
"The 'moo' thing." I turned to face him. "It was some sort of meat joke, wasn't it? A clever twist about cows and beef and what-not."
He kept his gaze trained on the doors. "It couldn’t have been too clever if you're just getting it now."
"So it was?"
He shrugged. "Hey, if I have to explain it…" He never did finish the sentence. Instead, he just stood there, looking all delicious in profile as he refused to make even the smallest eye-contact.
Talk about rude.
Fine. Two could play at this game. I turned forward and stared at the elevator doors like they were the most interesting thing I'd seen all week.
For several long moments, I resisted the urge to speak – or to look at my equally stoic companion. But then, just before we reached the top floor, I risked a tiny peek in his direction only to catch him doing the exact same thing.
Instantly, his gaze snapped back to the doors.
I felt my own gaze narrow. It was like the thing with Gretchen all over again. But where the thought of her watching me was only a minor annoyance, the thought of Chase Blastoviak watching me was a major something.
I just didn't know what.
All I knew was that he made feel all nervous and flustered, which probably went a long way in explaining why I'd stumbled into his arms.
Knowing him, he probably thought I'd done it on purpose. In fact, I knew he thought I'd done it on purpose, because he'd made that crack about it being subtle.
But was it any wonder? Women probably collided with him all the time, and not by chance.
I heard myself say, "It really was an accident."
Now, he did turn to look at me. In his eyes, I saw a hint of mischief as he said, "Sorry, you're gonna have to be more specific."
I opened my mouth to protest, but instantly thought better of it.
Crap.
He was right.
I cleared my throat. "All of it was – yesterday's photos and tripping into you today. None of it was on purpose. I just want you to know that."
With something like a smile, he said, "Suuuure, I believe you."
I felt my jaw clench. This wasn't the first time he'd said this to me. But right then and there, I vowed it would be the last.
Damn it.
Chapter 15
Mina
This time, I knew the drill. When we entered his office, I marched straight to the conference table, plugged the cord into my computer, and waited for Chase to lower the projection screen.
He didn't, even though he was already sitting behind his desk, just like he'd been doing yesterday. I glanced toward the empty wall and felt my brow wrinkle in confusion.
When I looked to Chase, he leaned back in his chair and gave me an expectant look, as if to say, "Go ahead. I'm waiting."
Yeah, me, too.
With growing uncertainty, I said, "So…do you want me to lower the screen?"
I wasn't even sure if I could. Yesterday, he'd pulled the remote control from his top desk drawer. I glanced around, but saw no sign of the remote anywhere, which meant that it must be somewhere inside his desk, just like yesterday.
Why wasn't he getting it?
In reply to my offer to lower the screen myself, he said, "What do you think?"
"Me?" I felt my palms grow sweaty. "Hey, if you want me to rummage around in your drawers, just say the word."
He frowned, and his gaze shifted – not to his desk, but to his lap.
Way too late, it hit me that "drawers" had a double-meaning. The second meaning was slang.
For underwear.
Well, this was just terrific.
As heat flooded my face, I quickly added, "And just so you know, I meant your desk drawers, not the other kind."
Blitz: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Blast Brothers Book 3) Page 5