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

by Sabrina Stark

  "No," Mina laughed. "Laura had it in her satchel. It was a prop for the session with her niece."

  Forget the niece. I hadn't seen Laura or a satchel. But Mina, it seemed, had an answer for everything.

  I gave it another shot. "So where was Laura? I didn't see her."

  "Yeah, because she was standing under the awning. You know, because of the glare. It was a sunny day, remember?"

  It was another good answer, but I remained skeptical. Probing for holes, I said, "So your picture – it's gonna be on what? A poster or something?"

  "Me?" she laughed. "No. Like I said, she's doing some sketches. When she's finished, nobody will know it was me."

  "So that's your story, huh?"

  "It's not a story," she said. "It's the truth."

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  It was hard to say.

  I was still debating when Mina said, "And now, I've got a question."

  "Yeah?"

  "This happened what, two weeks ago? Why didn't you ask about it?"

  "Why would I?"

  "Well, you must've thought I was nuts."

  "Thought?" I smiled. "As in past-tense?"

  "Oh, that's nice," she said. "So you think I'm crazy."

  I lifted my hand and made a waffling gesture over my desk. "Eh, hard to say."

  Looking less than flattered, she said, "I don't get it. If you think I’m unhinged or something, why would you give me control over a million-dollar budget?"

  The answer to this was easy. "Because you don't have control. I do."

  With something that was almost an eye-roll, she said, "Yeah, but you know what I mean. Sure, you have the final say, but why would you want me involved in the first place if you think I'm unstable?"

  It was a good question, one I'd been asking myself for the past two weeks. Sure, the thing with Angelique's book had added a new twist to things, but the truth was, I'd made the decision to go forward with the campaign hours before Mason had tossed that book onto my coffee table.

  At the time, I'd already planned to get Mina involved, and not only because the blitz had been her idea. If nothing else, I'd been planning to make her a consultant.

  But why?

  After some serious reflection, I'd come up with a plausible answer, one I was perfectly willing to share. "Sometimes creative and crazy go hand-in-hand."

  It was no lie.

  Even now, my own brothers called me crazy at least once a week, and I was one hell of a creative guy.

  Across from me, Mina looked unconvinced. "So let me get this straight. You got me involved because you think that crazy people have better ideas?"

  I glanced down at her proposal. "Not this time apparently."

  Her chin lifted. "Well, maybe I didn't know what you wanted."

  I knew the feeling. Hell, I didn't even know what I wanted.

  But at the moment, I wasn't thinking of the campaign. I was thinking of the girl sitting across from me.

  She'd been on my mind far too much.

  Maybe I was the crazy one.

  This wasn't the first time I'd thought this. And odds were, it wouldn't be the last.

  Chapter 35

  Mina

  He wanted creativity?

  Oh, I'd give him creativity, alright.

  Our meeting had ended just fifteen minutes ago, and I was still stewing, even as I strode along the sidewalk, heading toward my car.

  To think, I'd spent two whole weeks putting together a proposal that he'd barely glanced at, except to criticize.

  And the worst part?

  He'd been right.

  The jackass.

  In hindsight, it was glaringly obvious that I should have tailored the events to Blast Tools and not to some generic idea of what made a festival fun.

  After all, Blast Tools was an exciting brand with three famous brothers at the helm. The brothers were hot and badass – edgy but not vulgar, with the possible exception of Chase himself, whose reputation was definitely on the raunchy side.

  A cakewalk would hardly fit with their brand. And neither would a horseshoe toss or a sack race. Damn it.

  But in my own defense, part of the reason I'd suggested wholesome stuff was because Chase had mentioned that tell-all book, the one written by his ex.

  I'd been reluctant to bring it up during today's meeting, but it had been on my mind, even more so during the past couple of weeks when I'd been compiling the proposed list of events.

  Based on what Chase had told me earlier, the book was scheduled to be released in mid-summer, just as the festival season reached its zenith. With this in mind, I'd made a point to select events that were nice, safe and maybe a little old-fashioned, thinking it would help offset the ugliness of the book.

  Obviously, I'd been thinking wrong.

  Nice wasn't what he wanted.

  This was perfectly reasonable. And yet, I couldn’t help but regret all of the wasted time.

  Why hadn't he told me up-front?

  And what was that bit about me being crazy?

  It wasn't the first time he'd suggested such a thing, and I didn't appreciate it – just like I didn't appreciate the way he made my pulse jump whenever he looked at me a certain way, like maybe I wasn't quite as repulsive as he'd originally thought.

  Was he doing that on purpose?

  Or did he just have that much sex-appeal?

  I was still trying to decide when I reached my car, parked along the same stretch where I'd parked the last two times I'd met with Chase.

  Just before opening the driver's side door, I paused and looked up toward the building that I'd just left. I zoomed on the top floor.

  Was he watching me right now?

  I gave a silent scoff. Yeah, right. As if he didn't have anything better to do.

  And speaking of better things to do, boy did I have my work cut out for me.

  Chapter 36

  Mina

  My dad stared out the front window. "He is coming to the door, right?"

  From the living room, I gave the driveway a long, worried look. Obviously, Dad was seeing what I was seeing – an exotic orange sports car turning into our long driveway.

  I reached for my purse. "What? No." With a nervous laugh, I explained yet again, "It's not a date. We're just driving to the fairgrounds, that's all."

  Sounding less than convinced, my dad said, "So, why's he picking you up?"

  "Because our house is on the way, just like I said." I turned and gave my mom an exasperated look. She remembered, right?

  Her only response was a resigned shrug, which was zero help.

  At the window, my dad grumbled, "Sounds like a date to me."

  Finally, my mom spoke up. "Oh, Bob. It can't be a date. She hates him."

  "What?" I sputtered. "No. I never said that."

  She gave me a knowing look. "You don't have to say it. I can tell by the way you say his name."

  I shook my head. "And how's that?"

  "You say it like he's that thing Uncle Joe had on his foot."

  Huh?

  Uncle Joe was my mom's brother. A couple of years ago, he had this weird foot condition, involving lots of festering puss. Happily, it cleared up a few days later, unlike my feelings for Chase Blastoviak, which swayed so wildly, it was enough to give me whiplash.

  Some days, he was a festering foot condition.

  And other days? Well, let's just say I was thinking of other body parts – mine and his.

  Together.

  Don't get me wrong. It wasn't that I wanted him. It's just that he was so stupidly sexy that almost anyone would surely get to thinking, especially late at night, alone in a single bed.

  On the upside, his personality was a perfect reminder on why thoughts like these were best left under the covers, in the world of fantasy where guys like Chase Blastoviak belonged.

  Plus, he found me repulsive. And crazy. So there was that.

  Almost a full month had passed since I'd given him my initial proposal, the one where I'd sugges
ted cakewalks and other nice, safe activities.

  After his scornful rejection of my ideas, I'd gone back to the drawing board and revamped the whole plan to include things that were more manly, more dangerous, and more likely to get news coverage.

  I had demolition derbies, mud bogs, tractor pulls, mini motorcycle races, and a whole bunch of carnival games involving giant orange hammers. I'd even managed to come up with a few miniature versions of these games for kids.

  I'd submitted all of this in my revised proposal.

  This time, Chase had loved it.

  Oh sure, he hadn't said so, but I'd seen the look in his eyes when I'd presented the new plan. Afterward, he'd even handed off some of the logistics to his own admin team to make sure that everything got done in time, including all of the sponsorship agreements with various festival planners across the Midwest.

  Today, Chase and I were planning to walk through the Hazelton Fairgrounds, where I'd be giving him a tour of the facilities that would be used for the event that had inspired the whole campaign.

  Yes, I meant the Tomato Festival.

  In just over two months, the Hazelton Fairgrounds would be packed with carnival rides, tents, tomatoes, and all sorts of festive things.

  But today, there wouldn't be much to see – just a basic barn, a big open field, and a large cinderblock building called Hazelton Hall with its standard commercial kitchen, some public restrooms, and lots of open space for dancing, dining, or whatever.

  Three of my cousins had used the building for their wedding receptions, and I was very familiar with the setup.

  Still, that didn't explain why Chase wanted to see any of this. To me, today's excursion seemed so far below his paygrade, it was almost laughable.

  But it had been his idea, not mine.

  And who was I to object? He was paying me so much money, I'd gladly tour every festival site and consider myself lucky.

  In the living room, my dad whispered to my mom, "She's all dressed up."

  My mom whispered back, "You mean the skirt? Oh, come on. It's almost to her ankles."

  "But she's wearing lipstick."

  "So?"

  "It's a Saturday afternoon. She doesn't wear lipstick on a Saturday afternoon."

  "Oh, come on, Bob. It's not real lipstick. It's basic gloss."

  I reached up to touch my face. By now, I was feeling seriously self-conscious about my lips, and maybe my eyes, too, because I'd also put on some mascara and a hint of eyeshadow.

  But that didn't mean anything. And besides, my dad was reading way too much into this. I wasn't wearing a slinky cocktail dress. I was wearing a long floral skirt and basic white blouse.

  As far as the makeup, sure, I was wearing more than I'd normally wear on a Saturday afternoon, but the amount wasn't more than I'd be wearing for a business meeting.

  And that's all this was.

  A business meeting.

  Nothing more.

  As they whispered back and forth, I ran a nervous tongue between my lips and tried to pretend that I didn't hear what they were saying.

  As far as the debate, both of my parents were at least a little right. The stuff on my lips was gloss, but it was the colored variety, nothing fancy, just a light pink something-or-other so my lips wouldn’t feel naked when dealing with Chase.

  In the end, my dad muttered, "Call it gloss all you want, but I know lipstick when I see it."

  I gave the front window another nervous glance. By now, the orange sports car had traversed most of the long driveway and was nearing the house.

  Finally.

  I hoisted my purse over my shoulder and bolted for the front door.

  Before Chase's car came to anything resembling a stop, I was already on the front porch, tossing a quick goodbye to my parents.

  I figured they'd stay inside.

  I was only half right.

  Mom stayed.

  Dad didn't.

  Instead, he followed me out onto the porch and stopped at the front railing.

  Oh, boy. I picked up the pace and kept on going, making a beeline for Chase's car. By the time I reached the passenger's side door, Chase had already pushed it open from the inside.

  I practically dove into the car and slammed the door shut behind me. I looked to Chase and said, "Alrighty then. I guess we should head out, huh?"

  When I looked back to the porch, my dad was still there. His arms were crossed, and he was staring at Chase's car the way Grandma Lipinski used to stare at squirrels whenever they got into her bird-feeder.

  In the driver's seat, Chase gave a slow shake of his head before shifting the car into reverse.

  I didn't know what the head-shake was for, and figured I was better off not knowing. So I didn't ask. Instead, I watched in silent wonder as Chase backed all the way out of the long driveway just as easily as if he'd been going forward.

  When he reached the end, I said with a nervous laugh, "Too bad there's not a contest for that."

  He gave me a sideways glance. "For what?"

  "You know, driving backwards."

  He smiled. "Who says there isn't?"

  At his smile, my stomach gave an irritating little flutter. "You mean like a car race in reverse?"

  "No." His smile turned into a grin. "I mean demolition derbies."

  Finally, I knew what he meant. Over the years, I'd attended an embarrassing number of demolition derbies. A popular strategy was to ram the other cars while driving in reverse, destroying their cars with your back end while keeping your front end – where the engine was located – intact and operational.

  After a whole lot of crashing and smashing, the driver of the last car running was declared the winner.

  Of course, around here, all of the cars involved were absolute beaters – old rusted hunks of junk doomed to destruction anyway.

  Chase's car – whatever the heck it was – was the opposite of a beater. It was sleek and expensive, and still smelled brand new.

  The only time my car smelled brand new was when I hung one of those "new-car-smell" air-fresheners from my rear-view mirror. And even then, it didn't compare to this.

  As Chase pulled out onto the long country road that would take us to the fairgrounds, I joked, "So, are you gonna enter?"

  Today, he was wearing jeans and a dark button-down shirt. But where I felt plain and ordinary whenever I wore jeans, Chase looked like some kind of movie star, cruising down the highway – except in our case, the highway was a long country road surrounded on both sides by open fields.

  Chase said, "Enter what?"

  "A demolition derby."

  He gave me an inscrutable glance. "Hard to say. Ask me in a few weeks."

  The answer wasn't surprising. With his money, he could decide last-minute and be fine. Probably, he'd simply send some lackey out to acquire a car all ready to go.

  But I could hardly begrudge him such a thing, considering that he was the guy who'd saved the Tomato Festival – and provided a much-needed boost to festivals all over the Midwest.

  And just when I'd decided that he might not be too obnoxious, he looked to me and asked, "So, what's the deal with your dad?"

  Chapter 37

  Mina

  I stiffened in the passenger's seat. "Excuse me?"

  "Your dad," he said. "What's his deal?"

  I knew exactly what Chase meant. Still, I didn't appreciate the question or his tone. "There's no deal," I said. "He was just seeing me off, that's all."

  With a low scoff, Chase said, "What, like you're heading out on a cruise?" He gave me a long sideways glance. "So it's a 'von voyage' thing? That's what you're telling me."

  I shouldn't have to tell him anything. The question was rude and intrusive. Still, I grudgingly replied, "Yeah, it's sort of like that, I guess."

  Chase laughed. "Yeah, right."

  His laughter sounded nice, which only made it more annoying. Not bothering to hide my irritation, I said, "Well, what do you think it is?"

  Chase leaned back in
the driver's seat. "I think it's more of a…" He paused as if thinking. "…'I'm-gonna-rip-out-his-liver' sort of thing."

  "Oh, come on! Whose liver? Yours?"

  "That's what it looked like."

  Talk about insulting. "I'll have you know, my dad has never ripped out anyone's liver."

  Yes, I knew that Chase was speaking metaphorically, but that didn't change the fact that my dad was normally a pretty easy-going guy, which meant that Chase was wildly exaggerating.

  In the driver's seat, he asked, "How do you know?"

  "How do I know what?"

  "That he's never ripped out a liver."

  God, what a total jackass.

  My eyes narrowed as I turned in the seat to face him. Was he messing with me? I couldn't be certain either way. But even if he was, that didn't change anything. There was no way on Earth I'd just sit here and let him make fun of my dad.

  Stiffly, I informed him, "I think I would know if he ever ripped out a liver."

  "You sure?" Chase said. "I mean, he might've fed it to the hogs."

  Huh? "What hogs?"

  "Well, he's got some, right?"

  Oh, for God's sake. "No. Do you have hogs?"

  "No. But I’m not a farmer."

  "Yeah, well my dad's a vegetable farmer," I said. "And before you ask, we don't have any cows or chickens either."

  Chase frowned. "Well that's disappointing." From the look on his face, he actually meant it.

  Against my better judgment, I asked, "Why?"

  "I'm just saying, a farm should have a few chickens."

  "Yeah? Well maybe I'll suggest it at the next hoe-down."

  Chase looked a little surprised. "Is that really a thing?"

  By now, he was seriously getting under my skin. "Is what a thing?"

  "A hoe-down."

  "No. It was a joke. You want the truth? I don't even know what a hoe-down is."

  I was pretty sure it was a dance of some sort, but I'd hardly bet my life on it.

  Chase asked, "So why'd you bring it up?"

  "Gee, I don't know," I said. "Why'd you bring up the hogs?"

  "I just figured your dad would have some."

  I almost rolled my eyes. "What about my mom? Would she have some hogs?"

  "She might."

  "Oh yeah?" I shot back. "And you might have a harem. So what?"