Blitz: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy (Blast Brothers Book 3)

by Sabrina Stark

"No, actually. From a different committee member. Jeff Henderson, I think."

  "Is that so?"

  I didn't like the way he said it, as if he were calling me a liar. Again.

  I stiffened my spine and told him, "Yes. It is so. Even if it wasn't Jeff, it was someone."

  "But not you."

  "Right."

  He looked at me for a long moment before flicking his head toward the projector screen. "Go on."

  So I did. Over the next few minutes, I explained how these local festivals fit with his brand and how not only would he be supporting local communities all over the Midwest, he'd also be getting some great exposure.

  At this, he actually chuckled.

  I paused to look at him. "Excuse me?"

  "Exposure," he said. "You think I need more of it?"

  I almost rolled my eyes. "I didn't mean exposure for you. I meant for your products." But even as I said it, it suddenly struck me that a few personal appearances by Chase Blastoviak would go a long way in promoting not only his tools, but the festivals too.

  With sudden inspiration, I added, "Although if you did decide to get involved, it would make for some great publicity."

  "Oh yeah?" He looked unimpressed. "For who?"

  "For you. And um, the tools."

  "And…?"

  "Well…" I cleared my throat. "And the festivals too, of course."

  "Right. So you're not just asking for money. You're also asking for personal appearances."

  "No." I paused. "I mean, I hadn't planned on it. It's just that you brought it up, so I figured I'd throw it out there." I tried to sound casual. "You know, in case you're interested."

  "How about you?" he asked. "Are you gonna make appearances?"

  I gave him a perplexed look. "I'm not following. Why would anyone want to see me?"

  He looked ready to snicker. "You're the former Tomato Queen, aren't you?"

  I didn't like the way he said it, as if the whole thing were a giant joke. And besides, his statement wasn't even accurate. Even worse, I was pretty sure he knew it.

  "No," I said. "As you saw yourself, I was just the runner up."

  "So a bridesmaid, huh?"

  I had, in fact, been a bridesmaid several times by now. But this obviously wasn't what he meant. He meant that I hadn't won, that I'd been relegated to second place.

  And now, he was rubbing my nose in it, as if it were something to be ashamed of. I wasn't ashamed. Of course, it might've been a little nicer if I hadn't lost to Emory Hawthorne, who'd been less than gracious in her victory.

  I was still trying to come up with a decent response when Chase asked, "So, who was the bride?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "The Tomato Queen," he said. "You said you were runner up. So who won?"

  I didn't see why this was relevant. Still, I felt compelled to reply, "Emory Hawthorne."

  "A friend?"

  It was a simple question. And yet, the answer was stupidly complicated. With a tight shrug, I replied, "Sometimes."

  "And sometimes not?"

  "I guess."

  Chase grinned. "So you were jealous, huh?"

  I saw nothing to grin about. "No, actually." Or at least, I hadn't been jealous of that.

  He was still grinning. "Sure you weren't."

  He was goading me again. But for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why. Forcing a smile, I said, "So…do you have any more questions before I continue?"

  "Just one," he said. "What are you getting out of this?"

  I almost laughed. "Nothing."

  He gave me a dubious look. "So why are you doing it?"

  "Because it's good for the community."

  "Your community, not mine."

  "But that's not true," I protested. "Have you ever gone to a festival? A local one, I mean?"

  "I might've."

  "See? So it is part of your community. And even if it weren't, you'd still get loads of positive publicity."

  "As opposed to what?"

  Wasn't it obvious? Carefully, I replied, "As opposed to negative publicity, I suppose."

  "So you think we've got a problem with negative publicity?"

  "No. Of course not," I said. "But you can never have too much of a good thing, right?"

  His gaze darkened. "You'd be surprised."

  As he said it, I had the distinct impression that he wasn't talking about publicity. But what he was talking about, I had no idea.

  And I never did find out.

  Chapter 18

  Chase

  "So tell me," Brody said. "Scale of one to ten, how crazy was she?"

  I'd just escorted Mina down to the lobby and had returned to my office to find my younger brother lying in wait.

  Unlike me, Brody wore jeans and a T-shirt. This was pretty standard, considering that he was the guy who handled the construction side of things.

  For him, it was a full-time job.

  For me, it was a once-in-a-while thing. A few times a month, I'd show up at some property-or-other, swing a hammer, and look pretty for the cameras. And then, I'd go back to what I did best – making our company a shit-ton of money.

  But I couldn’t do that without Brody, not when it came to the cable show. He was the one who picked the properties, kept the construction on-track, and made sure the show went off without a hitch.

  Usually, he spent very little time in the office, which made his appearance today more than a little suspicious.

  Was he only here to hassle me?

  Maybe.

  But I couldn't exactly blame the guy. I'd shoveled quite a bit of shit his way, too, especially last year when he'd come down with a case of love-sickness – a fatal case, as it turned out, considering that he was on the verge of getting married.

  Hey, better him than me.

  In my office, he was leaning his ass against the same conference table where Mina had made her presentation.

  In reply to his question about her level of craziness, I gave a loose shrug. "Eh, hard to say."

  He laughed. "What, you don't know?"

  It was embarrassing as hell, but my brother had the gist of it. The truth was, Mina had come across as reasonably sane. And her proposal had some merit.

  She'd ended her presentation with a list of a hundred Midwestern Festivals that would welcome the sponsorship of Blast Tools.

  When I'd pressed her on the issue of commitments, she'd told me that she'd secure them personally if she needed to.

  I doubted that.

  It was a big project, and although she'd done a decent job of making her case, I couldn't see her doing a hundred times the work for no benefit to herself. Plus, she was thinking too small.

  She'd said nothing about TV or social media coverage. And instead of wrapping it up into a larger campaign, she'd mentioned only the festivals.

  But me? I was thinking bigger.

  When I made no reply, Brody said, "And why'd you walk her down yourself?"

  I was still thinking. "Down where?"

  "To the lobby," he said. "When I stopped by, that's where Erin said you were." He grinned, "So you're offering escort service now?"

  I didn't know what I was doing.

  It was a strange sensation. Normally, I knew what I wanted, and how to get it. But with Mina, I knew neither of these things.

  It had been a long time since I hadn't been able to figure someone out. This was the third time I'd seen her, and I was starting to wonder if I'd gotten her wrong from the get-go.

  As far as her proposal, I'd told her only that I'd give her an answer soon.

  When she'd asked how soon, I'd been vague in my reply.

  I wasn't giving her the runaround. But I was giving myself time to decide on our level of commitment. As it stood, the campaign wouldn't cost much money, only half a million total.

  This amount was only a fraction of what I'd paid for a single thirty-second spot during the last Super Bowl.

  If I played my cards right – which I always did – I'd get more bang
for my buck with the festival thing.

  In reply to Brody's question on why I'd escorted Mina down to the lobby, I said, "Hey, I couldn’t let her run loose, could I?"

  "Not if she's crazy," he said. "But you didn't have to walk her out yourself."

  He was right.

  And yet, I had. In fact, I'd escorted her both ways – in and out. I'd never done this before and hadn't planned on it today.

  But I'd done it regardless.

  I still wasn't sure why.

  What was that about?

  When I made no reply, Brody said, "And you never answered the question."

  "What question?"

  "Scale of one to ten, how crazy?" He chuckled. "C'mon, give it your best shot."

  As I considered the question, I wandered to the nearest window and looked out over the city. I did a double-take when I spotted Mina down below.

  She was on a narrow side street, maybe five blocks away from our building.

  She wasn't facing me. She wasn't facing anyone. But it was definitely her.

  I could tell by the hair and the dress – and the fact she was doing something I'd never seen.

  Considering that I'd seen pretty much everything, this was truly saying something.

  From behind me, Brody said, "C'mon, give me a number."

  "Scale of one to ten, huh?" I kept my eyes on Mina. "Eleven."

  Chapter 19

  Mina

  Un-freaking-believable.

  I'd left Blast Tools just ten minutes ago – without an answer, by the way – only to discover that I'd accidentally locked my keys in my car.

  I knew why, too. I'd been so stupidly nervous that it was a small miracle I hadn't forgotten my own shoes.

  And speaking of shoes, it was unfortunate that I'd worn high heels today, because I knew exactly how to get into my car, and the method wasn't heel-friendly.

  As I stood on the city curb, I couldn't help but sigh. Why, oh why, wasn't I wearing sneakers?

  And hey, while I was at it, jeans and a long-sleeve shirt would've been a whole lot better than a dress. Still, I tried to look on the bright side. At least the weather was unseasonably warm, and it wasn't raining. Otherwise, I'd be in real trouble.

  I'd parked on a narrow side-street with very little traffic, probably because most of the nearby businesses were closed – meaning for good, not simply for the day.

  I should've known this street was bad luck.

  As I stood just outside my driver's side door, I took a long look around. Although my car wasn't the only one parked along this stretch, I saw nobody else nearby.

  So I did the only thing that made sense. I reached into my purse and pulled out a screwdriver. The screwdriver was brand new, purchased only two days ago as a prop for my presentation. And even though I'd ended up ditching the whole prop idea, I was still lugging the tool around.

  It was a good thing, too, because it was about to come in very handy.

  With the screwdriver in-hand, I set my computer, along with my purse and portfolio, on the sidewalk beside my car. And then, I circled around to the vehicle's front.

  After verifying once again that I was alone, I kicked off my shoes and crawled up onto the hood and then onto the roof.

  My car was old, but reliable – with one exception. My sunroof was a real lemon. I'd had it installed maybe four years ago, and it had never worked quite right. Not only did it leak during heavy rainstorms, it also made annoying wind noises whenever I drove over fifty-three miles an hour.

  Yes, I did know the exact speed.

  And why?

  It was because the sound was that annoying – so annoying that for years now, I'd been driving no faster than fifty-two miles an hour. Happily, this wasn't a huge deal, considering that I didn't do much highway driving, anyway.

  As far as the sunroof itself, after several failed attempts at fixing it, I'd given up and focused on saving up for a new car.

  On the upside, I'd learned the hard way last summer that if I pried on the sunroof hard enough from above, it would pop open just enough for me crawl into the car.

  So that was my plan.

  Unfortunately, just as I'd managed to wedge the screwdriver between the sunroof and the seal surrounding it, who did I see exiting a nearby building?

  Emory Hawthorne.

  I almost groaned at the sight of her.

  She was leaving Hank's Deli – a local sandwich shop that had gone out of business last winter. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing pink yoga pants along with a cut-off white tank top that looked fabulous with her tanned, tight stomach.

  She was carrying a pink duffle bag that perfectly matched her yoga pants, as if the whole outfit belonged in a fitness commercial, the kind where no one ever looked rumpled or sweaty.

  As for myself, I was sprawled across the roof of my car, jabbing at it with an orange screwdriver.

  When Emory spotted me – as if I'd be hard to miss – she smiled like she'd just caught me masturbating to tentacle porn.

  Unlike Emory, I wasn't smiling.

  Then again, I never smiled when I saw Emory, not since she'd run off with my boyfriend seven years ago.

  Emory was still smiling when she sat down on the deli's top step and stretched out her long, tanned legs over the two steps below. Under the deli's faded green awning, she looked perfectly at ease, sitting there like she owned the place.

  I gave a snort of disgust. It was vintage Emory, making herself perfectly at home where she didn't belong.

  Like in my boyfriend's pants.

  Deliberately, I looked away and started prying once again at the sunroof. The last time I'd done this, it had popped open in a matter of seconds. This time, it was proving to be a lot more stubborn.

  From under the awning, Emory called out, "You need to put more oomph into it."

  My jaw clenched. What I really needed was to put my fist in her face. In my whole life, I'd never done such a thing, and I didn't plan to either. Still, if I were about to get violent, she'd be number-one on my list of punchable people.

  I muttered, "I'll give you oomph, alright."

  With obvious delight, she called out again, "What was that?"

  With a sigh, I turned and asked, "Don’t you have somewhere else to be?"

  She laughed. "What, and miss the show?"

  Oh, I'd give her a show, alright.

  If Emory had been anyone else from my old high school, she would've offered me a ride or least some moral support. But not Emory. No, what she wanted was to eat popcorn and mock me from the sidelines.

  The thought had barely crossed my mind when she reached into her pink duffle bag and pulled out a small bag of nuts. She tore it open and plucked a single nut from the bag. She popped it into her mouth and called out again. "Go ahead. Don't let me stop you."

  As if she could.

  I looked back to the sunroof and frowned. Maybe I was prying at the wrong spot. I yanked out the screwdriver and moved it several inches to the left.

  Once again, I placed the screwdriver's tip between the sunroof and the rubber gasket surrounding it. I pushed long and hard, but nothing happened.

  Terrific.

  Maybe if I had a hammer, I could pound the screwdriver down as far as it needed to go. But I had no hammer. Cripes, I couldn’t even buy a hammer, considering that Skeezak Hardware – the only hardware store within walking distance – had closed for good last August.

  As far as getting a ride, calling anyone in my family was out of the question, because even now, I wasn't quite sure what I should tell them about the festival.

  Damn it. If only Chase Blastoviak had given me an answer. But he hadn't. And I had no idea when he would. He did say it wouldn't be long. But what exactly did that mean?

  From the steps, Emory called out, "I hope that's your own car."

  Oh, for God' sake. She knew it was my car. After all, this wasn't the first time she'd seen me with my vehicle. Just a few weeks ago, in fact, we'd seen
each other in the grocery store parking lot.

  I'd been loading groceries into the trunk of this same exact car when Emory had parked directly across from me.

  She'd been driving a late-model Cadillac. And of course, it was ten times nicer than anything I had ever owned.

  Then again, Emory's things were always nicer than mine. Her mom had come from money – and had been marrying up for years. In the process, she'd acquired two gas stations and a car dealership.

  If Emory ever needed a ride, she'd know exactly who to call. But I wasn't Emory.

  I moved the screwdriver to yet another spot and pushed with all my might.

  Nothing happened.

  By now, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry – even more so when I looked up and discovered that Emory wasn't the only one watching me.

  Sometime in the last minute or so, she'd been joined by someone new but annoyingly familiar. And who was this person?

  Chase Blastoviak.

  Of course.

  Chapter 20

  Mina

  In his suit and tie, Chase looked strangely out of place – like a diamond in a turnip patch – as he leaned back against the grubby brick exterior of what used to be Hank's Deli.

  He was watching me with quiet amusement.

  At the sight of him, I froze with my screwdriver in-hand. When our gazes locked, I felt like crawling under my car until both of them went away – Emory and Chase.

  Unlike Emory, Chase would have no way of knowing that the car beneath me was my own. Should I explain? And if so, where to begin?

  I blurted out, "It's not what it looks like."

  From the deli steps, Emory called back, "Are you sure? Because it looks like you're humping your car."

  Oh, please. It did not.

  I frowned. Did it?

  And to think, I'd been worried that I looked like a thief. But noooooo. If Emory was telling the truth, I looked like a car-humping pervert.

  With renewed dismay, I looked back to Chase.

  He didn't think I was humping the car, did he?

  From the look on his face, I wasn't so sure.

  As far as Emory, she hadn't yet realized that she wasn't the only spectator to my humiliation. But even this bit of luck didn't last.

  For this, I had only myself to blame.

  When I didn't look away from Chase, Emory turned to see what had caught my attention. When she spotted Chase Blastoviak standing a few paces away, her mouth fell open, and she dropped her bag of nuts. The bag hit the top step and opened on impact, sending nuts rolling down the remaining steps and onto the pavement below.